Claire Delacroix (32 page)

I take a deep breath of air, cold salt-tinged air, and feel the warmth of the dying sunlight upon my face. I see the brilliant blue of a summer sky streaked with the orange and gold of the setting sun. I stand on the lip of the sea and curl my toes around the rocks of the coast. I stand straight and tall, filled with vigor.

I smile, reassured, for I not only know this dream, but know the buoyant optimism which it awakens in me. Though I cannot summon it apurpose, it comes when all seems darkest.

It is a gift, from I know not where. I welcome it.

I tip my head back and lift my arms, laughing when the wind lifts my toes from the earth.

I am liberated. I am freed. I am invincible.

And I am flying. I wheel like a gull, as naked as the day I was born. I turn back inland and sweep over the ruins of Kinfairlie manor, then soar to cast my shadow across the forbidding face of Ravensmuir. I laugh, leap and tumble through the air, swoop down to play with the waves crashing against the cliffs.

Then, as always I do in this dream, I dip and turn, fly out over the sea to seek Merlyn, drawn to him like a moth to the flame. The sky is darker in the east, a blue so deep where the heavens meet the sea that the horizon cannot be readily discerned. There are stars out in the east, a thousand stars lighting the sky, diamonds cast on velvet.

I spy the silhouette of the ship almost immediately, its sails full of the wind. He is close, my Merlyn, closer than usual, a measure perhaps of how large he looms in my thoughts this night.

His ship races toward me, the prow slicing through the sea and casting the foam aside. My heart leaps painfully when I see him, his gaze trained upon the sky, his feet braced against the deck, his white chemise fluttering in the wind. He seeks me, as if he has summoned me though I know that is not so.

No, I have chosen to seek him.

Perhaps he always is waiting for me, waiting for me to dream of him, waiting for me to come to him. I cry out as I swoop low, sounding not unlike a gull, and I see the flash of Merlyn’s smile. Matters are simple in my dream - there is nothing left unsaid between us, nothing one needs from the other, nothing but joy in our meeting again. Matters are so simple that I nearly weep with gratitude - nothing has ever been simple between we two.

It is as if my husband is another man. There is joy in his smile and a thousand stars shining in his eyes. He is not burdened, this Merlyn - he is hearty and open and his embrace is resolute. His kiss tastes of salt and sea and Merlyn himself, his tongue demands, his hands caress.

I wrap myself around him, twine my fingers into his hair, meet him touch for touch. I want no less than his all, return his kiss with the ardor of a wanton, I demand no less than every pleasure he can give and am prepared to grant him all of myself.

Because I love him.

* * *

I awakened shivering in Ravensmuir’s solar, the linens knotted about myself as night and starlight spilled through the windows. I awakened alone. There was no scent on the pillows, no hand on my waist, no warm indent in the bed beside me. The hound whimpered softly, snared in some dream, but I was snared more surely in the tangles of this life.

And I was afraid as I had never been afraid. I feared that Merlyn only laughs unburdened, as in my dream, because he draws breath no longer. I feared that Merlyn came to me in dreams to say farewell because he could not do so in life.

That prospect left me terrified of future days, for I would face them alone. A ring and a hound seemed poor substitutes for my Merlyn.

For I have realized the truth of it too late.

* * *

December 30

Feast Day of Saint Sabinus

and his companion martyrs,

of Saint Anysia

and of Saint Maximus

* * *

XIII

It was Malcolm Gowan who came first to Ravensmuir’s gates.

Berthe brought word to me as I bathed, and I bade her invite him into the hall. I did not doubt that he came to confirm the truth of my newfound wealth, and perhaps to ingratiate himself.

Malcolm did better than I expected at that. He bowed low over my hand, pausing to admire my ring. “An heirloom?” he asked, studying it with the keen eye of one who knows good work.

“My husband’s mother wore it.”

“It is a remarkable piece.” He held fast to my hand, apparently unwilling to release my hand lest he be forced to end his perusal.

I pulled my fingers away. “Your sister is in the kitchen, if you come to bid her good tidings for the year ahead.”

“I will do so, but first I will render my due.” He lifted a small sack and smiled at my confusion. “The proceedings from the sale of your ale,” he said, and pushed the sack into my hand. A dozen silver pennies spilled into my palm when I opened it, more than my share of this batch.

Perhaps it was compense of a balance previously withheld.

I met his shrewd gaze. “It seems that the profits are high from one batch of ale.”

Malcolm colored. “It befits a man to even his accounts before the dawn of the year. I apologize if such renderings have not been timely in the past.”

I saw no reason to argue the matter with him. We both knew what was at root - it no longer was fruitful to take advantage of me. I stepped away from him, saddened by this view of human nature. “You are welcome to break your fast in the hall or the kitchen.”

“If you have need of the services of a silversmith...”

“I am neither buying nor selling in this time,” I said, granting him a steely glance. “As befits a widow.”

“But in future...”

I smiled coolly. “I know how to find your abode, and know well the reputation of your family.”

He flushed then, the back of his neck as fiery as his face. He dropped his gaze, my implication understood by both of us. I stared at the coins, so long overdue and only rendered because my favor could now be advantageous to the Gowan silversmiths.

I hoped he would not plea for trade from me again.

* * *

As the morning sun reached over Ravensmuir’s towers and gilded the moor to the west, I stood at our gates, Mavella on my right hand and the dog seated at my left. We could hear the earls approach, hear the rumble of numerous steeds and the heavy tread of men of war, and I was agitated.

They said they came in peace, but I was skeptical. As they rode into sight, I sought to look unimpressed, as if displays of finery were a bore to one so worldly and wealthy as me, but it was not readily done.

Indeed, the pageantry nigh stole my breath away.

The Earl of Douglas’ heralds arrived first, their trumpets sounding at intervals. The boys were garbed in the earl’s colors, the coats of their palfreys were brushed to gleaming chestnut. Behind them came the standard bearer, holding the earl’s banner high before himself, his mare prancing proudly. And the wealth was startling! The rings on one squire’s hand would have seen we three siblings not merely fed for a year in Kinfairlie village, but sustained with meat and every manner of fine victual.

Next came the knights themselves, riding their enormous destriers in pairs down the road. Their greaves and helmets flashed in the sun, their visors up and their shields slung upon their saddles. There must have been a dozen of them in all, men with grim countenances who bloodied their hands to earn their way. A few of them were likely mercenaries, for their garb was less regal and their emblems unfamiliar.

“God in heaven,” Mavella muttered through her teeth. “There must be a thousand in this party.” The knights arrayed themselves in a half circle, the standard bearer and heralds before them, a gap in their ranks for their lord.

“Perhaps two hundred, that is all.”

She snorted as if the difference mattered little, which was true enough. “What do they want, Ysabella?”

“I would guess Ravensmuir.” I watched them warily.

“Is this not the standard of the Earl of Douglas?”

I nodded. “Sir William, keeper of Tantallon, lord of Liddesdale.”

My sister’s lips tightened in disapproval. “His notoriety is as considerable as his age.”

I nodded. Even we had heard the old tale of William’s return from knightly adventures abroad to find his uncle, godfather and namesake - Sir William Douglas, the Knight of Liddesdale, a legendary wicked knight - the sole obstacle to the claiming of his inheritance.

It had been in 1358 that nephew had assaulted uncle in the Forest of Ettrick. Only this younger William had ever left those woods alive. The charter of Liddesdale had become his own, by grant of a now-deceased king. William had built his stronghold just north of Ravensmuir to show his power, not only over his holding but beyond it.

Mavella had never heeded the details of noble doings. I shared our mother’s fascination with their bickering. For me, their squabbles showed them as common as we villagers. When our mother passed, I continued to ferret out details of our so-called betters. I shared a morsel of recent news with my sister now.

“There was gossip in Kinfairlie market that he challenged the claim of Robert the Steward to Scotland’s crown this very year.”

“How so?” Mavella asked, though I saw that her thoughts were with Alasdair, now back in Kinfairlie’s mill.

Probably he whistled as merrily as Mavella’s eyes shone.

At least one matter resolved itself aright.

“William was made royal justiciar of all territories south of the Firth by the new king, after William withdrew his protest of Robert’s ascent to the throne. There are those who called it a wager to win his support. There are others who suggest he challenged King Robert purely to gain such a prize. He had little influence with the old king and had fallen far out of favor.”

Mavella turned to face me, her expression perplexed. “I thought Robert Erskine was the royal justiciar. He was favored by the king, and was said to hold Stirling’s revenues as well.”

“Favored by the king who died, Mavella. Even royal favor has no influence from beyond the grave, and royal grants do not oft outlive those who make the endowment.”

Mavella pursed her lips. “So, this one has the weight of the king’s hand behind him. Tread carefully, sister mine.”

I nodded, for there was nothing to be said to that. Sir William was a powerful man and one who had used force to achieve his ends before. And we were far from the king’s court. I had no illusions that any king was more concerned with justice than influence and wealth.

I had best think quickly if I meant to secure the advantage of Ravensmuir as Tynan’s legacy. I rolled Merlyn’s ring around my finger, feeling woefully unprepared for this confrontation.

The earl himself rode alone, with sufficient space before and behind him that his identity could not be mistaken. He had doffed his helmet and the white of his hair shone in the morning light. When he passed through the gap left for his arrival, the knights closed ranks behind him. A bevy of squires and servants took up the rear of his party, and they spread behind the knights until the circle was at least three deep.

I had no idea what foodstuffs were piled in the storage rooms of Ravensmuir, but I dearly hoped that they were plentiful. This was a man I was not anxious to offend with meager hospitality.

* * *

William rode directly to me, the reins gathered in his gloved grip. He was a handsome man even for his age, his eyes a cold and calculating blue, his expression uncompromising. Though he halted his steed, he did not dismount to greet me.

I understood the implied slight, but lifted my chin in disapproval and met his gaze steadily.

“My lady Ysabella.” He inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” There was a hint of accusation in his tone, but I did not rise to it.

“Indeed, sir.” I replied with just as much formality. “How kind of you to make the journey to my abode.”

He looked at me again, assessing my tone, no doubt wondering whether my emphasis had been deliberate. Then he spoke with greater care. “It is only fitting that I offer my condolences to the widow of the Laird of Ravensmuir.”

He did not address me by my title.

I inclined my head in turn. “And those condolences are gratefully received by the Lady of Ravensmuir.”

Did I dare believe that he came in peace? Or would he seize Ravensmuir willfully from my grip once his men had infested my hall? Did I have a choice as to whether to admit him? William’s face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. But the other earl had to be fast upon this earl’s heels.

Perhaps I could play these competitive men against each other.

William cleared his throat. “I was shocked to hear the news of Merlyn’s demise, of course. It is a sorry day that a nobleman cannot ride abroad in certainty of his own safety.”

“It is indeed.”

His gaze fixed upon me. “Did your lord Merlyn ride alone?”

It was a curious detail to request. “I do not find it tasteful to discuss such sordid details in my bereavement.” I let my voice rise, as if I were upset. “Of what matter is it? My lord husband is just as dead, whether he rode alone or with another!”

William dismounted, and bowed low before me. “I apologize most sincerely, my lady. It is the nature of a man of war to forget the fragility of women. I wondered only how Merlyn was found, how he was retrieved, when he was buried.” Again his gaze sought some answer in mine and I found myself bristling.

What troubled him was that he had not seen Merlyn’s corpse. Perhaps he did not believe Merlyn dead. Perhaps he called me a liar.

Perhaps I did not care for his inference, either way.

“How charitable of you to fret for my husband’s immortal soul,” I said in a tone that implied otherwise. “But you need not fear, Sir William. Merlyn is safely interred and his passing was blessed, though I prefer to not discuss such grim details.” I held his gaze as I lied, recalling all that Merlyn had told me of the ways of ensuring a lie was believed.