The Snow White Bride (25 page)

* * * * *

E
leanor had little chance
to consider the matter further, for Anthony met them at the portal to the hall. The cook stood beside him and between the two men was the last woman Eleanor had ever expected to see again.

And worse, the maid looked frightened.

“Moira!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing at Kinfairlie?”

Moira bowed and the two men exchanged a glance. “I followed you, my lady, for I was certain that you had not meant to leave me behind at Tivotdale and I could not break my pledge to your own mother, made as it was upon her deathbed.”

Typically, words fell with haste from Moira’s lips. The maid had never been valued for her discretion, but for her loyalty. In this moment, Eleanor wished the maid would fall silent.

“I did not wish to endanger you, Moira. I knew not where I would find sanctuary or even if I would find it.” Eleanor smiled. “Such an uncertain fate seemed a poor reward for your years of service.
I
had thought that you might find a place at Tivotdale.”

Moira snorted. “I would not linger willingly in that hall! The foul words they utter about you are beyond belief!” She spared a sidelong glance to Anthony. “Would you linger beneath the authority of any soul who saw fit to defame your laird?”

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again, for he was not averse to criticizing his own laird himself. Eleanor saw Alexander bite back a smile.

“It is improper, and it is wrong,” Moira declared. “No maid should so much as whisper against her lady. I told them,
I
did, that it might look bad for you, my lady, but
that we must have seen onl
y half the tale. My laird Ewen
might well have deserved to have died for the deeds he committed against you, but that is not the same as certainty that you saw him dead with your own hand.” Moira took a deep breath.

“That is sufficient, Moira,” Eleanor inte
r
jected, trying to halt the torrent of the maid’s words.

Her attempt failed utterly.

“Nay, it is far from the same, though that is not to say
that he would not have deserved as much, the drunken
sot.” Moira spat on the g
round. “There is no man worth
his salt who treats a lady so poorly as he treated you—”

“Moira, enough!”

“Taking the gem from your mother on the night of
your nuptials!” Moira shook a finger at the castellan, then at the cook, and both men took a step back in their discomfiture. “A man who would not show honor to his lady on such a night is a knave and a cur and a shameless rogue, to be sure.
I
would n
ot wipe my feet to attend his
funeral!”

“What gem?” Alexander asked softly, and Eleanor
knew he would not cease until he had the full tale.

“It was a sentimental piece, and scarce worthy of
note,” she said hastily, doubting that she could limit his curiosity. The man was cursedly determined in pursuit of a secret! “Moira found his gesture discourteous, no more than that.”

“Yet again, Ewen showed his measure,” Alexander murmured.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but there was much more
than that!” Moira cried. “My lady gives credit where it is
not due, if I may be so bold as to say as much.”

“Would that not be a
criticism
of your lady?” Anthony murmured, but Moira ignored him.

She appealed instead to Alexander. “This was a gem from my lady’s own mother, the sole token that she had remaining of that great lady, a lady I served from the time I was ten summers of age. I was th
ere when Lady Eleanor was born; I
was there when Lady Yolanda breathed her last; I was there when the laird himself rent his hair and wept like a child.”

“Moira,” Eleanor said. Hers was a token protest, for she knew that the full tale would spill now and there was nothing she could do about it.

Moira took a ragged breath and jabbed her thumb into her own chest. “I was there when the great lady Yolanda took the crucifix from her own neck and pressed it into mine own humble hand and bade me swear that I would see to the welfare of her babe, the child whose birthing would claim her own life, and that I would ensure that her newly bo
rn
daughter would have that gem for her own.”

Moira shook that finger at Alexander.
“
And I protected that gem with my life and I secured it for my lady, and my lady Eleanor’s father saw fit to let me—me!—hang it around her neck when she first celebrated the miracle of the Eucharist.” She took a shaking breath and wiped away a tear. “He was a hard man, was your father, my lady Eleanor, but his heart was good.”

“Moira, I believe you have said enough,” Eleanor said so firmly that the maid blushed.

“On the contrary,” Alexander said. “I would hear more of this gem.” Eleanor would have protested, but his grip tightened on her hand. He granted her a piercing look. “If
I am not mistaken, it would be the one you wished you wore at our nuptials.”

Eleanor nodded and averted her gaze.

“Rightly so, my lord, for it is a gem that should adorn any bride in my lady Eleanor’s lineage. So, the great lady Yolanda told me and so I saw with mine own eyes, and that more than once.” Moira fell abruptly silent. The maid’s gaze danced between laird and lady, for she finally understood Eleanor’s manner.

“Moira?” Alexander prompted. Eleanor nodded minutely, for the harm was done, and the maid smiled.

“It was a crucifix, my lord, one that had been in Lady Yolanda’s family for generations, or so she told me. The women in her family wore it openly upon their nuptial day and beneath their garb o
therwise, lest it attract avari
cious eyes, and so Lady Eleanor wore it on the day of her nuptials with Laird Ewen, just as she had when she wedded my lord Millard.”

“And what was it like?” Alexander prompted.

“It was wrought of rubies set in gold, my lord, as long and as broad as my hand, as brilliant as the sun in the summer sky. It was a treasure, to be sure, and one that fiendish Laird Ewen stole from my lady fair.”

“A treasure, perhaps, with a value beyond its price,” Alexander mused. Eleanor felt Alexander’s gaze upon her, as well as the attention of both cook and castellan, but she stared at the tips of her shoes. Her entire being roiled at the injustice she had been served at Ewen’s hand, and though a part of her longed to tell Alexander all of it, another part of her feared that he would not take that particular truth well.

“Indeed!” Moira agreed with gusto.

“And you never retrieved it?” Alexander asked Eleanor quietly.

She had been so certain that he would ask another question, one less mild, that she glanced up. There was consideration in his gaze, a consideration that told her that his larger questions would be asked in privacy.

There was much to be said for a man who treated her with courtesy before his household. Eleanor released the breath she did not realize she had been holding and forced a small smile. “It was to be returned to me when I bore him a son, but I never rounded with child in Ewen’s household.” She shrugged as if the matter were of less import than it was.

“Drunken sot,” Moira muttered.

Alexander ignored the comment. “And you did not retrieve it when you left?”

“I could not find it on
the night I departed from Tivot
dale,” Eleanor said with a smoothness that belied her panicked search of Ewen’s chamber. “Though truly I was disappointed to lose so precious a reminder of my mother.”

“As any thinking soul would have been,” Alexander said with resolve. “I welcome you, Moira, to Kinfairlie. Should your lady desire your continued service in her chamber, I have no objection, or if not, there will be a place for you in my hall in gratitude for your loyalty to my lady wife.”

“I thank you, my lord,” Moira said with a deep bow, then looked expectantly at Eleanor. The cook bowed and returned to the kitchens.

“I thank you, my lord, for this courtesy,” Eleanor said. “And I would counsel Moira upon what must be done, with your indulgence.”

“Of course.” Alexander kissed her fingertips in parting. granting her a significant glance that Eleanor did not doubt was a portent of the questions he would ask later. He looked determined, did her spouse, as he had not before in her presence.

He would ask about Ewen and she could only hope for his mercy.

Eleanor urged Moira aside as Alexander progressed into the hall. “I would have you make your way to the stables,” she whispered to the maid. “Without any noting your passage.” The maid nodded vigorously. “And there would have you count the steeds. They are numerous, as many have arrived this very
day
…”

“I saw them! Such marvelous beasts
…”

“Moira!” Eleanor chided in a whisper, wishing there were another soul she might ask to do this errand. “I beg you, let no soul see you enter or leave the stables. Come to me before the evening meal with your tally. The laird’s chamber is two flights up from the hall: I shall ensure that your passage is not impeded.”

“Yes, my lady.” Moira bowed, then gave her mistress a shy smile. “I am gladdened to find you hale, my lady.”

Eleanor smiled in return. “And I, you, Moira.”

“And I offer congratulations, my lady. There is not a foul word to be heard about the laird of Kinfairlie.” Eleanor nodded, hoping rumor proved true in this circumstance.
“But there is something I must confess to you, my lady.”

“I thank you for your tidings, Moira, but they will wait until later.” Eleanor shook her head, knowing the maid would chatter the day away. “Make haste upon my errand!”

* * * * *

A
lexander was jubilant.
Eleanor had confided in him, and better, she had surrendered a truth that could not have been easy to confess.

He was untroubled that she had killed Ewen Douglas. He knew well enough that a woman could strike back in the midst of abuse and see her abuser felled. That Ewen drank with such gusto only lent credence to such a notion.

Alexander did not mourn Ewen’s passing, and he could not blame his lady wife for not so doing. This confession of hers, though, vastly encouraged him. If she could tell him this, then she trusted him, in truth.

And that could only be a good omen for their future together.

To Alexander’s further delight, the cook had no need of his counsel. Eleanor had already resolved the questions about the menu for the midday meal. He could well become accustomed to such assistance as she so adroitly offered—indeed, it made the weight of responsibility seem less onerous to have it shared.

Alexander turned toward the hall with a lightened step, content to let Eleanor dictate to Moira’s actions as well. He was yet mulling upon the details offered by the garrulous Moira when Anthony cleared his throat portentously.

“Is that not the sum of it, Anthony?”

“I am afraid not, my lord. My lady has made the most excellent suggestion that a party ride to hunt this afternoon, better to provide meat for tomorrow’s board. A hunt would provide entertainment for your guests, as well as see their bellies full.”

Alexander, bold with recent revelations, could not help but tease his stem castellan. “And it is a fine idea, Anthony.” He sighed and frowned, just as Eleanor rejoined them.

“Is there a problem, my lord?” she asked.

He shook his head, as if sorely burdened. “Only that my responsibilities tear me both one way an
d another. I in
tended to spend the better part of this day with my accounts, the better to ensure that they were resolved by year end, but your suggestion that we hunt this day is a good one.”

“You meant to labor again at your accounts?” Anthony demanded, fighting unsuccessfully to hide his delight. “Willingly, my lord?”

“Of course,
willingly,
Anthony. A laird cannot neglect his duties, and I should not have to tell you that balancing the ledgers is a duty of considerable import.”

“Certainly, my lord. You will find no argument from me upon this matter.”

“Ah, but the meat.” Alexander shook his head and let his brow furrow anew. “Is it a greater duty to see one’s guests entertained and well-fed, or to know the status of one’s holding?”

Eleanor came to his side; the way that she fought a smile revealed that she had overheard their words. “Perhaps another could lead the hunt. Your brother, perhaps?”

“But he has ridden already this day and it is not his duty.” Alexander spared his lady a mischievous glance, deciding that it would not hurt to tease her, either. “And I could not ask you to take a hawk upon your fist and lead the party, not given your fear of horses.”

To her credit, Eleanor flushed and looked away. Anthony appeared to be genuinely concerned. “But, my lord, surely the ledgers could wait until the morrow?”

“Anthony! I am shocked to hear you suggest such a course! How many times have you told me that leaving a deed until the morrow only encourages a man to leave it to the morrow again and so on, next to next, until the deed is never done?”

Anthony flushed and averted his gaze in turn.

Alexander placed a hand over his heart. “Ah, my beloved ledgers. Duty calls and I shall have to put them aside for the fickle pleasures of the hunt. Such is but one of the burdens laid upon me.” He began to walk to the board, leaving them both with something to consider.

To his surprise, Eleanor stepped after him. “I could labor upon the accounts in your stead, my lord.”

Alexander pivoted.

Anthony’s eyes had widened in his own surprise. “My lady, such skill is not typi
cally among the talents of a no
blewoman.”

She lifted her chin. “My father taught me to read and to write, as well as how to balance an account, the better to ensure that I not be cheated.”

The men exchanged a glance, but Alexander recalled her earlier assertions about her duties in her father’s hall and, indeed, her sage counsel regarding tithes and fees.

All the same, her offer came in a moment that made him wonder. Why would she wish to see the ledgers of Kinfairlie? Did she mean to have a better assessment of the weight of his purse? Did she not believe his protests of his estate’s poverty?

Or did she merely mean to be of assistance? He looked upon her—her chin held high, her gaze steady—and wanted to trust her.

He looked upon the fullness of her lips, their ruddy
hue, their delicious curve. He recalled her own confession that he easily kindled her ardor, and thought about partaking of another feast than the one being laid in the hall.

But that pleasure would have to wait.

“I could not ask such a deed of you, not when you already do so much,” he said with gallantry. “Come, let us make merry at the midday meal; then I shall take our guests to hunt.” He pulled her close to his side as they stepped toward the high table and lowered his voice so that only she could hear his words. “I warn you, though, that I will have a fancy for a sweet this night, after we retire to our chambers.”

“How sad,” she murmured, “for I have a taste for just such a sweet, though I yearn for it now.” Then she spared him a sparkling glance, one that brought his very blood to a simmer and made him wonder how quickly his party might fell a buck or two.