Claire Delacroix (15 page)

Luc covertly watched the lady Brianna retreat to the kitchens. He had no doubt that she welcomed the opportunity to leave him be, just as he had no doubt she wanted him gone.

He wished he knew why.

Further, Luc knew without doubt that this was the most intriguing woman he had ever met. Her sweet kiss was intoxicating, her determination a delight. As much as Luc enjoyed surprising her, the lady was not without a surprise or two of her own.

Luc had never expected her to accept his impulsive and bold wager. But now that Brianna had, Luc had marked difficulty concentrating on pruning the tree at hand.

He was thinking of honey sweet lips and keeping one eye on the portal to the kitchens. If naught else, waiting for Burke would be more interesting than any had expected.

That thought soured Luc’s temper and he set to pruning with a vengeance. Marriage was for fools, and Brianna was a bride for a knight ready to take an estate like Tullymullagh to hand.

Yet for the first time in eleven years, Luc’s reasons for putting aside his spurs seemed less than compelling. Indeed, he almost questioned his very resolve.

’Twas a woman addling his wits, no more and no less.

And Luc had
pledged
to have no part of that life again. A man who could not keep his word was worth little in this world—and Luc Fitzgavin took great pride in keeping his word. He had that lesson from his sire, as well as a lesson upon the foolhardiness of marriage.

Why, after all, would Luc have need of a bride?

Especially a troublesome one like Brianna of Tullymullagh? Nay, she was not the kind of woman for him. He but enjoyed teasing her.

And kissing her. That realization did markedly little to improve Luc’s mood, no less the growing feeling that the orchard, in the absence of a certain princess, was rather dull.

But Luc would not leave. After all, ’twas what the lady wanted. And the longer he denied her will, the greater the chance Brianna would return to set Luc straight.

’Twas that prospect alone that finally coaxed a tuneless whistle to his lips. Luc would keep his eyes and ears open, and merely wait for Brianna’s inevitable return.

’Twas but the anticipation of matching wits with the lady
again, Luc told himself, but in his heart, he called the assertion a lie. Aye, the lady Brianna had a way of capturing a man’s attention.

Luc could only hope she never guessed the truth.

U
ther was not a happy man.

His lord Connor had been ousted from the solar—where that man rightfully belonged, to Uther’s mind—in favor of the barbarian Gavin. ’Twas an insult not readily endured.

This might have been onerous enough, if Gavin had not insisted upon prowling constantly while the men labored to complete the move quickly enough for his taste, interfering in every possible way with the process.

’Twas a far cry from the level of organization Uther preferred.

Gavin insisted he wanted to ensure he was not cheated, but the steward was not convinced. Uther guessed that Tullymullagh’s new lord wanted to make it so difficult to move anything from the solar that Connor simply abandoned all he held dear in that room.

Uther was not prepared to let that occur. Connor had treated him well for nigh on twenty years and his sire for thirty before that. The sweet concern of Lady Eva yet burned bright in Uther’s mind, as well. If need be, he would single-handedly ensure that Connor paid no greater price than absolutely necessary to this conquering barbarian.

’Twas the least Uther owed this family.

The arrival of Lady Ismay was a chore that Uther could have done without. And as for her spouse, Dermot was a man who had always made Uther’s flesh creep. He was too pale for a mortal man, and indeed, he had a way of disappearing like a wraith.

As he had already done.

“How dare you not offer suitable accommodations for Dermot and myself?” Lady Ismay demanded shrilly. “In all honesty, Tullymullagh long had a reputation for being an abode of fine manners and decent service.” The lady’s lip curled in scorn while Uther fought back an impolite response. “What has befallen you, Uther? You
used
to have exquisite taste in such matters.”

Uther tried not to glare at this most unwelcome guest. This day had already frayed his patience severely and Ismay pressed him further. He barely restrained himself from observing that the accommodations he had already offered her were far superior to whatever she knew at her home estate.

Tullymullagh, after all, was a wondrous keep. Not long ago, it had been constructed of timber and boasted but a single hall, with the lord’s solar to one side. Though Tullymullagh had the privacy of a wall separating solar and hall even before Connor’s grand vision, Uther well knew that Lady Ismay’s keep, Claremont, sported only a curtain betwixt the two.

For this woman to demand a chamber of her own on the second floor, particularly when all were making do with less rather than more, was beyond audacious. Uther would not compel Connor to share quarters with any other, and he had already conceded that the princess must share her chamber with the noblewomen in residence. There was little choice but to let the noblemen occupy the third and last second-floor room, while all others slept in the hall.

Uther did not appreciate such a quick repetition of
Gavin’s insistence that all be ousted for his convenience. Gavin could not be denied.

The lady Ismay was another matter entirely.

Uther dug in his heels.

“Might I remind you, Lady Ismay,” he said coldly, “that Tullymullagh has been conquered. There is much beyond the realm of my influence in these days.”

Lady Ismay sniffed. “Then, what miserable excuse for a hovel do you mean to offer us?”

Uther looked the lady dead in the eye. “You will have to make do in the hall.”

“What?” Lady Ismay sputtered. Uther indulged himself in the guilty pleasure of enjoying her fury before he chided himself at the impropriety. “What travesty is this? How dare you expect
me
to sleep in the hall, like a common serving wench?”

“Is your solar at Claremont not part of the hall?” Uther asked coolly. “Or has there been great construction since last I was there?”

Ismay glared at Uther and inhaled so quickly that her nostrils pinched shut.

Before she could summon a cutting response, the lady Brianna appeared by Uther’s elbow. He barely concealed his sigh of relief. Aye, Brianna was yet young, Uther thought with pride, but already her dame’s natural grace in awkward social moments shone within her.

She would make a fine lady of this keep.

And she would know how to soothe this woman.

“Why, good morning to you, Lady Ismay,” Brianna declared smoothly, her words like balm on an angry wound. “What a delight to find you travelled to Tullymullagh, and this when winter is in the air. How are matters at Claremont?”

Lady Ismay straightened primly. “Not well,” she snapped.

Brianna’s eyes showed her concern. “But what is amiss?”

Lady Ismay swallowed. “ ’Tis lost,” she murmured, her voice low with bitterness. “We have
lost
Claremont and all within its walls.”

“All?” Uther was astonished into speaking when he had no place doing so.

“To whom?” Brianna asked, her quick question hiding Uther’s slip.

Lady Ismay, to her credit, held her chin high. “An English baron, allied with that cursed Strongbow. His forces overran our own and he claimed the holding two months past.”

“But we heard naught of this,” Brianna declared.

Lady Ismay slanted a glance in her direction. “I preferred to have none know my shame and hoped aid would come, especially when the barbarian rode out with most of his troops a month past. But he rode only to Cashel, where he evidently pledged the lands—” her voice trembled with anger “—
my
ancestral estate—to the hand of Henry II.”

Lady Ismay shuddered from head to toe and even Uther felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy for her plight. ’Twas true the woman did not show the grace one normally expected from the nobility, but she was high born, after all.

The lady Brianna laid a hand upon the older woman’s arm. “Did you fight his return?”

“We were sorely outnumbered and Dermot, Dermot is not a strategist, ’tis most clear.” Lady Ismay’s lips twisted, her anger making her look yet older than her years. “Once that invader won the keep anew, he cast Dermot and myself into the night with what was upon our backs alone.”

Lady Ismay swallowed proudly and her tone turned tart. “I believe he meant for us to die in the wind.”

“Surely your villeins took you in?”

Lady Ismay glanced up at Brianna’s anxious question. “The miller alone had the boldness to defy his new lord, but we could not endanger even him overlong. He found us some sorry excuse for steeds and we slowly made our way here upon the wretched beasts.”

Lady Ismay choked back a sob and Uther wished he were anywhere else in Christendom. Saints above, but he could not bear to see a woman weep!

“We have lost
everything
!” Lady Ismay wailed and her tears began to fall.

Brianna patted the noblewoman’s arm and Uther was doubly glad she had been in attendance for this confession. “Surely you have relations to aid you,” she suggested quietly.

Lady Ismay fired her a glance filled with loathing. “Nay! Everything is gone! My home, my heritage, every coin within the treasury is stolen from beneath me. I have only what I could secure hastily within my skirts. Every steed, every knight, every heart has been pledged to that usurper, while I—the true blood of Claremont—have been cast out like
chattel
!”

Ismay shook her fist at a somewhat startled Brianna. “I will not be treated like chattel!”

Then her face crumpled as defiance gave way to despair. “I am
not
chattel,” she whimpered and began to cry in earnest.

Brianna stroked Ismay’s dark hair. “I have slept in a miller’s abode!” Ismay blubbered. “I have slept in a field, I have ridden a mare bred to haul ale to market. Never have I been forced to endure such indignity in all of my days!”

“I am sorry, Ismay,” Brianna said softly.

Suddenly, Lady Ismay took a deep, uneven breath, straightened, and fixed Brianna with a glance. “I beg of you, as one noblewoman to another, do not prolong my humiliation. Do not compel me to sleep in the hall amidst laborers and mercenaries, as your steward would insist.”

Brianna met Uther’s horrified gaze with sympathy shining in her own. The sight melted some of the frost around the steward’s old heart.

Aye, she was Lady Eva’s daughter, that much was clear.

“Perhaps we could arrange for the lady Ismay to sleep in my chambers, as well,” she suggested quietly. “Lord Dermot can join the other noblemen or settle his pallet in the hall, as he chooses.”

“I suggested this alternative earlier,” Uther said stiffly, “but it did not meet with the lady’s satisfaction.”

“I must sleep with Dermot!” Lady Ismay cried. She clutched Brianna’s chemise. “I must bed with Dermot. We must have our privacy.” She turned upon Uther. “Can you not see a chamber cleared for us, with all haste?”

Uther had had enough. “As we discussed, if you must slumber together, then you will both have to sleep in the hall,” he retorted crisply. “ ’Twould be entirely inappropriate for any man—be he your spouse or not—to enter my lady Brianna’s chambers at night. And I refuse to be responsible for your own fortune should you choose to slumber in the noblemen’s chamber. Together in the hall or separately in the noble’s quarters. ’Tis your choice.”

Lady Ismay eyed him with dislike in her small eyes, then her tears welled anew. She turned back to Brianna and sniffled most pathetically. “How low we have fallen in so little time,” she moaned.

“Perhaps we should see Ismay settled upstairs quickly, Uther,” Brianna suggested, a silent plea in her eyes. “It
seems she might appreciate a few moments to herself. Perhaps a hot bath might be welcome after Ismay’s journey?”

“I have not had a bath in weeks!” Ismay wailed and began once again to sob with vigor.

Aye, Uther would have guessed as much. “Indeed.” He nodded crisply to the lady Brianna and began to organize a plan within his mind even as he turned away.

’Twas then that he spied the errant Dermot.

The dispossessed lord was seated at a bench among the serving men of Tullymullagh, putting away ale at a ferocious rate. Despite his wife’s concern, Dermot seemed markedly untroubled by the prospect of being separated from her.

Uther frowned as he recalled all too well the tales that had circulated when Lady Ismay, then recently orphaned, insisted to her guardian that she must accept the suit of the mysterious and newly arrived Dermot.

Aye, there had been a rumor that Dermot was not nobly born at all, that he was no more than a man of common but foreign origins, bent on winning himself a fortune. The guardian had not been inclined to entertain the heiress’ whim. There had been whispers that Ismay forced his hand by sacrificing her chastity to Dermot.

’Twas one way for a woman to see her will done. Uther could not help but wonder whether the ploy had been devised by Ismay or by Dermot. ’Twas true enough that in those days, Claremont had been an estate of rare wealth and a prize to be coveted. Uther supposed ’twas still a prize, despite years of poor administration, for some Englishman had seen fit to besiege it.

’Twas curious how a body forgot such matters over the years, like those tales of Dermot, then they were recalled with startling clarity at the oddest moments.

A scullery lad appeared at Uther’s elbow with a question
and practicalities claimed the steward’s attention, leaving him no more time to wonder the relations of neighbors.