Seize The Dawn (41 page)

"We will have to rouse soon, and attend the wedding," he murmured, his lips at her hair.

' 'Aye. And the servants of this new domain you have claimed will come and see the room and see what havoc has been wrought and they will know ..."

He rolled, looking at her. "Did you think that these men would all believe I rode into England to seize you from your tormenters to set you upon a pedestal? My lady, I can't seem to make you happy. You furiously inform me that you'll not marry me, however, you are going to have my child."

He smiled. "Ah, so that is it! Brendan, go away, leave me to my pretense of chastity, but take grave care what you do while I stand on my pedestal."

"No," she murmured. "I want to change what has been."

"Change the fact we met on the seas?"

She shook her head.' 'Change the fact that Alain was killed.'' She suddenly pressed him back to the pillows, her temper rising. "You, sir, will stop. I do not need luxury, and it isn't possessions I worry about. It's not even the fact that I ... that I wanted you in France; I knew what I was doing. And it is not the fact of the child now. I don't hate the Scots—good God, how could I? They have saved me too many times. But I don't despise the English for the acts of a single man, or the deviousness of others. And I want to be with you, and there has never been anything in my life to feel so sweet as having moments to remain idly in your arms ... but ..."

"But what?" he demanded, brow furrowed, arm behind his head as he studied her features.

"It's too soon ... and yet, I would marry you. I don't—" Again, she hesitated. "I don't want to live my life like Margot. I want to be a wife, and not—a mistress."

He watched her for a long moment, then reached out, and caressed her cheek. "My lady, the hour, the moment you choose, I will be waiting."

"I would have gladly run with you from Paris," she whispered. "I wasn't afraid of the woods, of life on the run. I was afraid that you'd be killed, and your great dream endangered, if I did not wed. In truth, King Philip warned me it would be so."

"I died when I saw you in that cathedral," he said, "I died a little, and I rode away, but I could never ride far enough."

She rose, pressing against his shoulders as she bent to kiss his lips, a touch that was light, tender... and then more fervent. Beneath her, she felt every subtle change and nuance in his length, and then each change that was not so subtle, and then she felt as if the fire exploded, rose to heights, melding them together. And she would have dearly loved to lie there again, knowing nothing but the comfort of his hold, easing away the moment half awake and half asleep. But Brendan was too quickly up.

"My lady, there will be no marriage for your Bridie if we do not make ourselves present."

Bridie had chosen one of Eleanor's ochre gowns, with long embroidered sleeves. Her hair was dark against it. She had never been more beautiful.

The two would ride off to a small farmhouse on a lot of lane long abandoned by previous tenants; Lars meant to farm, ant still fulfill a feudal duty as a soldier, if—or when—war erupted< again. Bridie's happiness was contagious, and yet she promise< Eleanor, "I'll still be with you. The house is but a short ride from the fortress."

"I'll do well enough; we are both refugees here, Bridie. Be his wife, and don't worry about me. I have managed frequently enough on my own."

Bridie shook her head, smiling. "You made them bring me, my lady. In all the danger you faced, you might have forgotten me. You did not."

They hugged one another, then Lars came over grinning, and claimed his bride. They left the church, Father Duff, a burly, broad-shouldered priest hailing from Eire, along with them. A bonfire glowed. Pipers played, tunes outlawed but retained, and free again in the night with the words of a truce.

Eric found Eleanor watching the festivities, and grabbed her hand. "I'm not the new master of the castle, so I need not stand on ceremony," he told her, his handsome features cast in a rueful grin. "Come, these dances are all miraculously easy."

And so, she faltered, stepped on his feet, but laughed her way through the lively music played on pipes and flute. She saw that Brendan was out among the people, laughing, enjoying the night, and dancing with the people from the fields and the castle, families of some men, lovers of others, workers, and warriors. Then she found herself taken by Liam, Collum, and then de Longueville, who told her, "Strange, my lady, what paths we have both taken to find ourselves here."

"Aye," she agreed. "Most strange."

"I like it well enough."

"I'm glad. You left the high seas for peace in France, and left that peace for the life of a rebel in Scotland, and now ..."

She smiled and looked about. Her stalwart English cousin Corbin was dancing with a beautiful young woman with black hair that swirled around her like a midnight cape as she moved. Brendan was standing with Margot, sharing ale, and the two laughed and talked easily, like very old friends. And so they were.

She excused herself to de Longueville, and walked quickly over to Brendan and Margot. Though Margot had come to the castle when Eric rode south to England, and with absolute faith in their return had prepared for them to arrive, it was the first time Eleanor had seen her since France. Margot looked very pleased when she approached, and Eleanor embraced her warmly. "You're safe, and well," Margot said, holding her hands, stepping back to survey her. ' 'A beautiful exile in our presence, though I am sorry for the loss that brings you here. The Count de Lacville was a very fine man."

"You knew him well?"

"Well enough. That wasn't, of course, our first journey to France through the years. We have cultivated Philip's favor, you know, and what better way than for our men to fight for him?" She had a lovely smile. Eleanor wondered how Eric could ever risk losing her. Her hair was as fine as silk, her eyes bluer than any ocean. Her words were always gentle, and there always seemed to be a great calm about her. "William Wallace carries papers on him right, Brendan? from the King of France, asking that his 'good friend' always be given safe conduct through his lands."

"It seems that Philip himself has proven to be a good friend," Brendan said. "But he is at peace now; the truce he has maneuvered will benefit everyone including him. But Edward will not be done with Scotland."

Brendan's arms slipped around her. He did not mind showing his affection before his people; she should not mind that he did. She still could not help worry about what was said about her, and hope that people would not believe she could have killed a man to be with Brendan.

"He is my cousin, and a free man, and he fights a battle because of Scottish blood that is a battle he doesn't need to fight. He is not bound to me by any ties, either than that of his choice to win freedom here. I don't ever presume to tell Eric what to do."

The days that followed were filled with joy. Eleanor came to know his men well, and the fortress changed from being a battered tower filled with men who had no function except for war to the center of a community alive with spring planting and a new desire for life. Land was divided; ruined houses were reclaimed; men fell into the work that had been theirs before they had taken to the forests, and the stone tower that was the last defense in war became more and more of a home.

There were nights when she lay with Brendan and they talked, and he told her that he had written to Robert Bruce, who was currently on excellent terms with King Edward, and asked him to intercede in the trouble at Clarin.

"But what can he do?" Eleanor asked.

Brendan hesitated a minute. "An agreement with Robert Bruce is important to King Edward. He has tremendous holdings in the southwest, and if he had ever set his mind to joining in rebellion, he might have created major changes in how many a battle came out. After Falkirk, when Edward launched his marches, Robert Bruce did hold out on his own lands. He and John Comyn were both guardians of the realm at the time, but the feud between them is too bitter after John Balliol, one of them would be closest to the crown."

"But I thought that Bruce had betrayed the rebellion time and time again."

"Many a good man has signed a submission to Edward over the years. Comyn holds out with vigor and anger when many a man succumbs, but there are those who say as well that John Comyn took his forces from the field at Falkirk with intent to do so, fearing the battle lost, and his own capture. I haven't trusted Robert Bruce often, but William, who has been the one to suffer the brunt of the barons' deeds, still claims that there is a true hero and king in the way, waiting to come out."

"But Wallace has ridden with Comyn again."

"Aye, William will fight the battles he finds to save Scotland. But Comyn has a terrible temper, and he has his bending point as well. That is why it is not beneficial for a man to grow too possessive of his holdings; they compromise his beliefs."

"And now you are a landholder."

He hesitated. "It's good to have the land, to be master here, to build, to reap, to sow; I've known too little of such practices.''

He took no offense, but cast her a smile. "Aye. The first of the Grahams came in with King David, when he arrived having grown at the English court. But the king was quick to make Scotland his own, many years ago now. His wife had the blood of Vikings and ancient tribal Scots, and they had sixteen children, so the family legend goes. They dispersed throughout Scotland, and like many other families, they have taken widely different paths throughout the years. I had a cousin who died at Falkirk, and one who set out a cry that everything of Wallace's should be seized when he left Scotland to pursue aid from France, and make plea to the pope in Rome. My father died when I very young, and I grew up in the household of another cousin whose home was ravaged and wife was killed by English invaders. Aye, a man becomes fiercely proud of his name. And I like the idea of a place of my own ... belonging."

"I can't believe being here with you. In a place where we don't hide, at a time when being together is not ... wrong. I touch you, I wake and you're beside me, and I look at you, and shake because you are so perfect, and you lie beside me.

"Perfect!" He said, laughing, but pleased. "Hardly. I am riddled with scars, capable of a horrible temper and still an outlaw and upstart, I do assure you."

"Perfect to be with," she told him. "And I'm afraid that the time will come when it will be a dream, that I will not wake in the night, and be assured, because you are there."