The Rose Red Bride JK2 (9 page)

Elizabeth nodded. “And if he means to wed Vivienne against her will -”

“Or any of us!” Annelise interjected.

“- Or any of us,” Elizabeth continued, “then we must somehow ensure that the vows are not exchanged. It is time enough that he learned that all he decrees shall not be done.”

The sisters nodded, resolve gleaming in their eyes, then turned to quickly don their best garb for church.

* * *

Chapter Four

In short order, Kinfairlie village faded behind them and Vivienne’s captor pulled the glove from her mouth. At its removal, she spat once, cleared her throat and said nothing. She sat stoic before him, her straight spine telling him more clearly than any words that she was displeased.

Or that she did not wish to touch him overmuch.

He was somewhat disgruntled himself, having wasted a goodly amount of time in trying to persuade her, only to have her insist upon some feminine madness. The three nights of courtship she anticipated was no more than reasonable, but he had expected better of her than a demand for a red red rose wrought of ice.

His pragmatic plan had no margin for a whimsical virgin determined to see romance in all around her. His need to conceive a son of unquestionable paternity required that he find a maiden to claim for his own - though Vivienne’s passion abed had been a surprise. There was a sweetness about her that made him feel a cur to offer her less than the fullness of marriage and security.

But he had no such security to offer to her. He had paid good coin for her, and if her brother had been so willing to sell her, then he was a fool to feel any qualms.

Even if she had not flinched from the sight of him.

“You have nothing more to say, it appears,” he said, feeling her silence too keenly.

“There is little point. I do not know your name, your destination or your intent, and you are disinclined to confess any of them.” She gestured to the open coast. “There is no soul here to hear my cry, if indeed they had not already received instruction to surrender me to my fate, whatever it is.”

“I had no choice,” he said gruffly. “It was time we fled.”

She scoffed. “I cannot discern any reason for haste, given that none intended to aid me.”

There was little he might say to that. It was the anonymity of darkness he had desired, out of habit and the fact that her brother thought him to be someone other than he was.

He was not prepared to discuss that with the lady as yet. He let the horse set its own pace, for none gave chase to them. The morning was clear, the sky slowly turning a milky silver, and the wind was crisp. The steed that the Earl of Sutherland had lent to him was well-rested and moved with characteristic grace.

He was aware of more sensory pleasure than this. Vivienne’s hair was a loosed cloud, for she had not braided it this morn, and a marvel of rich auburn tendrils dancing in the wind around him. He did not protest the soft hair, though it blew against his face and furled against his shoulder. Its assault was unabashedly feminine, a soft luxury such as none he had known in recent years and he admitted to himself how much he enjoyed it.

He could almost forget the discomfort of this southern garb, donned solely to ensure that he could pass with less notice. He sorely disliked the constraints of the chausses.

He was particularly aware of that constraint in this moment that he was besieged by Vivienne’s allure. He could smell the sweetness of her skin, could see the creamy curve of her cheek and throat. He felt the ripe curve of her buttocks against him, and savored the long strength of her. He liked that she was tall, he liked that she was lean yet curvaceous enough to tempt his touch.

It was too easy to think of meeting her abed once more. After all, it would take more than one night to ensure that she conceived a son and there was no opportunity for delay.

He resolved then to savor each night in Vivienne’s embrace until she knew for certain that she bore his son. So lost was he in anticipation of what they might do together that her curt tone surprised him.

“You ride a destrier, as if you are a knight,” she said. “Yet your jerkin is leather, not mail.”

He inclined his head, sufficiently intrigued by her show of intellect to let her make her own conclusions.

“Is it truly your own steed or did you steal it?”

“I steal only women,” he said, surprised to hear a thread of humor in his tone. It had been long since he had made a jest, but the gentle assault of her hair lightened his mood. “And thus far only one, solely because circumstance demanded as much.”

She twisted to meet his gaze, her own green eyes alight with curiosity. He blinked, shocked that she was so unafraid of him, astonished by the clarity of her eyes’ hue. “What circumstance could possibly demand my capture?”

He frowned. “It is a long tale.”

A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “You no longer give your steed your spurs. It seems that we have time aplenty.”

He studied her, incapable of tearing his gaze away from this merry maiden. What was remarkable was that she did not assume any tale would show him badly. She assumed the best of him, had been unafraid to demand more of him. For a man oft condemned by his face and equally oft denied the benefit of the doubt, that was potent indeed.

But tender feelings had led him astray before. He dared not care for this woman, who only rode at his side only until - and if - her womb proved potent.

He let his expression turn grim. “I have need of a son, a son whose paternity is beyond doubt. Thus I have need of a woman, a woman who was maiden until meeting me abed, a woman of a family known to be fruitful, a woman who will have no opportunity to lie with another until she bears that son to me.”

“You have need of a wife,” Vivienne said, with a small smile.

“I have a wife,” he said curtly and watched her smile disappear so completely that it might never have been. He knew he should have been pleased to have forced a wedge between them, knew he should have been glad that she turned her back upon him once more and freed him from the spell of those magnificent eyes.

But instead he felt a cur and a knave besides, for he alone had dimmed the sparkle of the lady’s smile. It seemed small advantage to have halted the lady’s questions.

“Though Beatrice is dead,” he added quietly.

Vivienne’s posture did not change, nor did her curiosity apparently re-awaken. As they rode in painful silence, he had a difficult time persuading himself that it was better thus, even less that such silence was his choice.

* * *

Elizabeth noted that the best silver was laid upon the altar at Kinfairlie chapel, and Alexander himself was dressed as regally as a prince. He was wearing his favored tabard, the one of deepest sapphire with gold embroidery, the one which made his eyes more strikingly blue. His boots were polished and the hilt of his sword gleamed. The entire village seemed to be gathered at this unlikely hour, their expressions bright with expectation.

Elizabeth took no encouragement from what she saw when she peered through the portal. She and her sisters retreated as one and exchanged grim glances.

“We have guessed aright,” Isabella said. “I know it well.”

“You cannot know for certain until we have evidence of it,” Annelise said, her manner quite reasonable. “There are no men at the altar save Alexander.”

Elizabeth took a peek and grimaced. “Though his preening can be no good portent for any other than himself.”

“Oh, my lasses,” Vera said, her voice tremulous. “I will pray for all of you, that I will.” She clutched the hands of each other in turn. “Remember, though, that a fine match oft begins poorly. A start does not a finish make.” The maid looked between the three maidens and seemed disappointed to hear no agreement fall from their lips. She patted Elizabeth’s cheek, then turned to enter the church.

“I will never wed a man so foolish as to think he can buy my hand,” Isabella declared. She straightened and flicked the edges of her shimmering green veil. “If Alexander means to see me wed this day, he will have no easy time of it.”

With that, Isabella hauled open the door, her manner striking for its lack of her usual poise, and stalked down the aisle of the church. Annelise and Elizabeth watched as their sister fixed a stern eye upon their elder brother.

Alexander, with exquisite manners, bent low over Isabella’s hand and pressed a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. She glowered at him, but he smiled as innocently as an angel.

“But I am eldest, if Vivienne is gone,” Annelise said, the waver in her voice revealing her fear.

“I will hate Alexander forever if he sees you treated poorly,” Elizabeth said and squeezed Annelise’s hand, wishing she could offer greater encouragement than that.

Annelise squared her shoulders and forced a brave smile to her lips, then entered the church in her turn. Elizabeth held her breath as she watched, but Alexander greeted Annelise as courteously as he had Isabella.

There was no doubting, though, the expectant light in his eyes when he looked back to the portal. Though Elizabeth knew herself to be the most unlikely to be wed next, still her heart fluttered. She felt her cheeks burn as she opened the wooden door to the church and kept her gaze downcast beneath the perusal of every soul in the chapel.

She reached Alexander’s side and was so relieved when he kissed her knuckles then looked again to the portal that her knees nearly gave out.

It was Vivienne, then. The sisters clutched each other’s hands as Alexander eyed the door with a mix of impatience and pride.

No other shadow touched the door.

Moments passed and no one came.

Alexander frowned, he spared a glance for the priest who shrugged. Elizabeth interpreted this as no good sign.

“If we await Vivienne, you should know that she was gone this morn,” she whispered to him.

Alexander nodded once, and not with surprise. Elizabeth felt her eyes widen that her brother had known that Vivienne would be gone.

Which meant that he probably knew where she had gone.

Alexander beckoned to his castellan and the elderly Anthony came quickly to his side. The villagers shuffled their feet, clearly wondering at the delay, and watched with interest as Anthony departed on swift feet.

The priest lit the candles upon the altar in the interminable moments that followed.

Just when Elizabeth thought she could bear it no longer, Anthony returned. He paused just inside the portal and shook his head minutely.

“Not in the chamber?” Alexander cried.

Anthony shook his head again.

“Not in the bailey?” Alexander demanded, his agitation clear when Anthony shook his head. “Not at the inn?” The young laird began to stride down the aisle of the church. “Not approaching the gates?”

“I am sorry, my lord, but there is no sign of the pair.”

“The cur!” Alexander spun on his heel. He swore, he drove his fist into his palm. The priest cried out in recrimination but Alexander was clearly so furious that he did not care.

He raised his fist in the middle of the chapel, his ringing voice carrying to every ear. The silver ring that bore the seal of Kinfairlie gleamed upon his index finger. “There was to be a wedding celebrated this morn in this chapel, but cur to whom my sister’s hand was pledged has broken his word to me!”

The villagers whispered to each other in consternation, though Elizabeth could not look away from Alexander’s fury. Never had he so resembled their father than he did this day.

“And I pronounce a price upon his head for his treachery. Should any person bring to Kinfairlie one Nicholas Sinclair, be he alive or be he dead, I will pay that person four golden sovereigns!”

The company gasped at the sum and the whispering began immediately. Annelise began to softly recite a prayer, while Isabella glared at Alexander.

Nicholas Sinclair? Elizabeth remembered him well enough, for he had had sufficient sweet words to compliment all the women in Christendom. She had never liked him and had taken enormous pleasure in vexing him while he courted Vivienne years past. That had been before she understood that men had any allure, and Nicholas had endured many practical jokes due to her.

She had not even known that he had returned to Kinfairlie, and could not imagine that he would plea for Vivienne’s hand with any sincerity.

Nor did she imagine that Vivienne would have him.

But Alexander dug in his purse, and held the glittering coins before the gasping company. The villagers craned their necks to see more coin in one man’s hand than most of them would see in sum in all their days and nights.

“My lord, it is inappropriate to make such an offer in the house of God...” the priest began to protest but Alexander silenced him with a scathing glance.

“And any soul who brings word of my sister Vivienne,” Alexander continued, “shall have four sovereigns -” the villagers inhaled as one at the prospect of so much coin “- eight if she is returned to Kinfairlie unscathed.”

He glared at the company, as if willing confessions to fall from their reluctant lips, then turned to his castellan when none were forthcoming. “Anthony, see that my proclamation is sent to all surrounding regions immediately. They cannot have fled far.” The older man nodded and bowed.

With that, Alexander Lammergeier, Laird of Kinfairlie, left the chapel, his brow as dark as thunder, without participating in the mass he had ordered for so early in the day. The sisters did not have to glance to each other to know that their eldest brother was fearful of Vivienne’s fate.

“What has he done?” Isabella whispered, but no one answered her.

“Let us pray for the lady and her safe return!” the priest cried and every voice was raised to join his.

Elizabeth, for her part, prayed that she could find Darg again, for the spriggan might be their best chance of aiding Vivienne.

* * *

Vivienne, too, was thinking of how she might win aid, when she was not wrestling with her disappointment. Each detail her captor confided in her made her circumstance seem more dire. He had chosen her solely that she might bear him a son, though that was not an uncommon desire among men.