Seize The Dawn (23 page)
Authors: Shannon Drake
The cathedral itself seemed alive. Incense hovered like a fog. Monks chanted in beautiful song, and the Latin prayers seemed to close around her heart.
As she walked, she had a moment of mad hope, thinking that
he
would come, that he would storm down the aisle on a white charger, purer than the day. He would sweep her up and they would ride ...
But there was nowhere to ride, and the vision faded, and she prayed as she walked, not for her marriage, but that he would not come, for if he did protest, he might be killed, and if he didn't protest, and she knew that he was there, her voice would falter, and he would see ...
But Alain had told her that the Scots were probably on the road back to Calais, and their ships, and they would sail back to Scotland.
Thank God. He was on his way back to the wretched dirt and rock he called Scotland, to his insistence on bleeding into the ground he had so hallowed ...
She nearly tripped; she was steadied. She walked forward, blinded by the incense, and the great sacredness of the cathedral, and moisture that blurred her eyes.
If he was there ... one word, one look. She would not go through with this charade.
Aye, but that was truly an empty dream.
They arrived when the ceremony was well under way.
He saw her walking, reaching the altar, on the arm of the king. Saw her given over to the man who awaited her.
Surely, she could not do this!
She could not. . .
If she turned once . . .
Just saw his face . ..
But she did not turn. The priest began speaking the Latin words he had heard before, intoned, rising, falling.
The great cathedral was filled with the scent of incense. The bride and groom knelt; once again, monks sang in rich, deep, voices, and the great nave seemed filled with the sanctity of ritual and promise.
At the altar of the cathedral, she bowed her head along with her aging count.
The priest began to speak the words that would join them as man and wife. He seemed to speak on and on, caught in a haze, a vision that did not end. And at last he made demands of the couple before him.
He heard her words. Soft, muted. But sure, unfaltering.
The priest held a golden band. He touched it to the bride's fingers, the first, the second, the third. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
And it was then that he left.
He walked out of the cathedral, Eric silently at his heels.
He came to his horse, mounted, and rode.
And he did not look back.
Chapter 12
It was six weeks before Eleanor returned to Clarin with Alain.
News of her homecoming had been sent ahead when they docked, and moved far more swiftly than she did with Alain. He could not ride for long periods of time, and even the rocking motion of a wagon disturbed him. Still, she was surprised and touched by the greeting her cousins had prepared. The road to the castle was lined with the tenants and craftsmen who lived and worked in the village and environs; they were ready with flowers, greetings, and cries of welcome. When they neared the castle, the household servants were outside as well, Alfred on the step, Corbin beside him. Even Corbin's wife, Isobel, petite and dainty and beautiful, had appeared for the occasion.
She wondered how Corbin was managing.
But King Edward, having so recently wed the French king's sister and beginning negotiations to wed his heir to the French king's daughter, was feeling benign toward the French. The king himself might have ordered Isobel to Clarin to greet such a well-regarded Frenchman as Alain de Lacville.
Eleanor was proud of the appearance given by her home. She waved happily to those she passed, and when they came to the entry of the castle, she leaped down, hugging Alfred, and then Corbin, and even Isobel, who seemed to expect such a show of affection. Alfred and Corbin were both acquainted with Alain, since he had been a close friend to her father throughout the years, even when war had broken out between their two countries.
Isobel was quick to greet Alain, making him feel at home as they walked up the steps to what was actually the second level of the castle, and the great hall. "My dear Count de Lacville! It is such a pleasure to have so noble a man for a cousin-in-law, yet it is difficult to understand why you two have chosen to come here! I have been told your estates in France are truly magnificent."
"I am blessed, indeed, madam, but as my eldest son does well enough by what will be his inheritance, it seemed expedient to come here, to my wife's property."
"Which, of course, Alfred handles admirably!'' Eleanor said, rising on tiptoe to kiss Alfred's cheek, and bringing a blush to his face.
"The meal is set, of course," Isobel informed them. "We may dine at any time. If you require some time to rest ..."
"We are exceedingly well," Eleanor assured her, "but perhaps you'd all be willing to wait until we've had some time to repair somewhat from the ride?"
"Of course!" Isobel said. "I've taken the liberty, Eleanor, of moving your belongings to your father's suite. There are the two rooms there ..."
"Thank you so much," she murmured.
"Count de Lacville, I do hope you'll find our north country hospitality worthy, when you are accustomed to the grandeur of Paris," Isobel continued sweetly.
"I'm sure I shall be very comfortable." He smiled. "I have felt welcomed in this home many times before, and I've always been comfortable. And now, of course, wherever Eleanor chooses to be is where I am happiest."
"I can well imagine," Isobel said sweetly.
"I hope you're comfortable," Eleanor told her, "when you're accustomed to the grandeur of London."
Isobel was silent for a moment, then her smile deepened. "Wherever Corbin is, of course, is where I am the happiest."
"Really?" she inquired.
"Of course!"
Eleanor looked at Corbin, who shrugged. She thought that Isobel stepped on his toe then, but she couldn't be certain.
"I'll show you—" Isobel began.
"I know where
my
father's chambers are, Isobel. Thank you so very much."
Eleanor kept a firm hold on Alain's arm as they walked up the steps to the third level. Clarin was probably cold and drafty compared to the beauty of his estates, and she was sorry to make sad comparisons of her own home. She felt guilty. She loved her home, and though the lands had been ravaged, they were slowly coming back. This winter was hard, exceptionally hard, but they would make their way through it, and all would be well.
There were two rooms, and a large dressing chamber to the suite, and even indoor "necessary" closets, due to her father's love for all things Roman. Though there were two doors to the hall, she made a show of walking together through the first, certain that Isobel was watching her every move. When they were inside, Alain staggered a little.
"I do believe I need to lie down."
"Aye, Alain, you must rest," she said, helping him to the bed. He had traveled with his servant, Jean, and she knew she should call him, but she could help him from his outer winter garments, and bring him water, and get him settled first.
He caught her hand when she adjusted the covers around him.
"You are a good wife," he told her gently, dark eyes warm and kind.
"Don't talk of dying or of leaving me, do you hear?" she demanded. "You'll leave me to that monster!"
"The petite little dark-haired beauty?"
"Aye, that monster!"
Alain laughed. He touched her hair. "I'd never leave you, if it were in my power."
"Don't even talk of it."
She began to fold the clothing she had taken, and smooth the sheets around him.
"Do you think of him often?" he asked softly.
She rose. "No," she lied. "He has gone back to Scotland. I am here, with you."
"That's not the same, is it?"
"Alain—"
"Please, I hold no fault with you."
"And I pray that you live long, and stay with me for years and years."
He smiled and closed his eyes. "I would dearly love some water."
She brought him water. He seemed to want to sleep. She slipped into the smaller of the two chambers that had been her father's. The lady's room was lovelier, she thought. The furniture was old, finely carved—with Gaelic designs. Once upon a time, there had been an era of peace at the borders. Some of the tapestries in here had come from the Flemish living in the Scottish borders. The books had been finely crafted by monks at Melrose Abbey.
She didn't want to think about that. Fresh water and a pitcher and bowl had been left for her; she cooled her face, and quietly left the room, leaving Alain to rest.
She found Corbin alone in the great hall. "Ah, cousin! My poor dear! So you have gone off, married Father Time, and returned." He poured himself a glass of spirits. "You bested a pirate and the Scots once again. Foolish me—I worried sick when I heard of your adventure. I should have worried for poor Wallace!"
He teased her, yet she thought there was self-ridicule in his words.
"I didn't best the pirate or the Scots. The pirate intended to sell me off to the Arabs for a fair price; the Scots knew I'd be worth more to Alain."
He walked over to her, taking her into a gentle hug, and holding her. "Eleanor, I missed you. I was worried sick. The news, as we received it, came first from vague reports by other travelers, then officially from London, as Philip sent word to Edward."
"I'm sorry you were so worried. But you've had company here."
"Isobel. Ah, yes, the arms of my loving wife."
"She's been here since I've gone?"
"Amazingly so."
"You're not pleased."
"I'm still puzzled. Aren't you?"
She had to laugh; he did seem bemused. "Maybe she has changed her ways."
"She wishes to bear an heir—being quite certain you won't do so, and my good brother is too busy actually working and obeying each of King Edward's summons to arms."
"Have you been called to serve with him in another campaign?" she asked worriedly.
"When isn't there a campaign?" he replied vaguely. "I am tempted to send back messages that we have served, that you were on the briny sea, giving the Scots hell once again. You did give them hell, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes."
He shook his head. "Poor cousin ... I do hurt for you."
"Why?"
"Alain is a fine man, but ... ah, well, when am I proper, or discreet, to you, at any rate? To be bluntly honest? You should enjoy your youth, your beauty ..." Despite his words, he hesitated. "The one thing I will say for Isobel, she does enjoy her sport. She is an absolute witch, but... very good at what she does. I wish that I could send her away. I can't quite manage to do it. But there is the point. We are young, and there are benefits to marriage, and you should ... well, you can't, I mean, I can't imagine ... I mean, he is
old."
"Corbin, thank you for worrying about my earthly pleasures."
"He may die, you know."
"We'll all die, one day."
"You do seem ... not happy, but resigned."
"I am—resigned. Tell me, what news of the Scots?"
' 'Wallace is back in Scotland. He has lost his army, but there are still strong factions of renegades about, and they've attacked English outposts, supply wagons, and made a few punitive raids, but not far across the border. The Comyn faction continues to fight, though Robert Bruce, you know, is to be married to an English heiress, and is in Edward's hands at the moment. Tell me about Wallace. Was he painted like an ancient tribal Pict? Does he have horns, and is he seven feet tall?"
"He wasn't painted the times we met, and yes, he is tall, no he is not seven feet, but well over six. He had no horns, but his teeth are in fine shape."
"He bit you?"
"No!" she said, smiling. "No. He was human. And he denied being part of any force that came here."
"He would."
"Why would he need to? I was his prisoner at the time."
"They are all renegades, that is the problem. Outlaws, and thieves."
"They have been attacked and killed, as well. More so," she said, and was amazed that she could be standing here, defending the Scots.
"We burn, slaughter, ravage, and pillage them, and they do the same to us. Ah, well," Corbin said. "It hasn't been forever, you know. Before King Alexander died, and the Maid of Norway after him, we were at peace for years with our northern neighbors. But the Scots cannot be at peace with themselves; if ever they were, they'd be a formidable enemy indeed."
"The Scots," Isobel said, sweeping into the room, "are waiting for King Edward to die. Alas, I believe he will refuse to do so, and that wretched man who seized you from the sea will die a terrible death himself, most assuredly."
