The Snow White Bride (26 page)

* * * * *

I
n
the end, it was not a buck that was felled.

Uriel, true to his name and Alexander’s recent inattention, was in a fearsome fury as soon as he was led from the stables. The steed scarcely calmed, even when Alexander himself seized the beast’s bridle. The entire household watched, and Alexander had no intent of being bested by a feisty steed.

From the comer of his eye, he saw Eleanor’s maid, Moira, slip from the stables. She made her way to her mistress’s side, then murmured something to Eleanor. Eleanor nodded, her gaze unswerving from Alexander.

Alexander had little time to wonder about this oddity, for Uriel commanded his full attention.

“Calm yourself,” h
e bade the steed, his words stern
and low. He held the reins fast. “I am not so unfamiliar to you as that.” The stallion blew out his lips, his ears quivering, and there was a fearsome light in his eye. “Has any foul deed befallen him, Owen?” he asked the ostler, unable to account for the stallion’s mood.

“Not as I know, my lord. He has been brushed and turned into the fields daily, as is our routine. Perhaps he takes insult that you have not ridden him of late.” Kinfairlie’s ostler smiled. “He is a cursed proud steed.”

Alexander chuckled in his t
urn
. “That is true enough.” He scratched the steed’s ear. “Have you been neglected of late, Your Highness?”

Uriel snorted and tossed his head anew. It was not uncommon for Uriel to make his feelings known, though it was uncommon for him to pursue the matter unduly. The steed oft made a token protest, but always surrendered to Alexander’s command.

This time, he protested at length. Alexander could not fathom why. The stallion exhaled mightily. His eyes flashed even as Alexander spoke soothingly to him. His back hoof stamped the ground in fury.

“I will br
u
sh him before I ride, for that soothes him,” Alexander said.

“He has been groomed, my lord.”

“All the same, a familiar touch can be reassuring.” At Alexander’s word, a groom fetched the brush. Alexander brushed the horse, liking the rhythm of this task. Tynan had always told him to make acquaintance with a horse before riding it, to win its bust each time with attention.

So, oblivious to the watchful household, he spoke to Uriel of nonsensical matters, then took to the saddle with resolve.

Uriel reared.

The stallion fought the bit, he whinnied in a fury such as Alexander had never witnessed in him. The ostler swore and made to seize the reins, but failed, the company backed away.

Uriel kicked, tossed his head, fairly spat in his indignation. He took every effort to throw Alexander from the saddle. It was as if another horse, a demon steed, had been substituted for the beast Alexander knew and loved so well.

He fought to command the horse, but the steed might never have borne a saddle. It was shocking, for Uriel had shown spirit, but he had never fought Alexander as he did in this moment.

Uriel bolted, leaving the astonished company of Kinfairlie far behind. He ran like the wind, desperate to escape some torment that Alexander could not name. Alexander heard the company shout and the hunting party give chase; he heard the familiar bellow of his ostler, but he merely hung on.

He feared that Uriel would run clear to London or drop of exhaustion en route, but the beast would not heed any command to halt. Alexander’s choices were few: he could allow himself to be thrown, or he could hang on. He gripped his knees tightly and hunkered low, working with Uriel’s rhythm, hoping the beast would tire himself. He spoke constantly to the horse, hoping the low murmur of his words would reassure him.

Uriel showed no signs of being reassured. Alexander
used his knees to urge t
he steed to curve his course to
ward the sea, thinking that the stallion would halt when the way before him was not flat.

At first, it seemed the horse would defy his command, but his training ran too deep and he could not deny the command in the pressure of Alexander’s knee against his right side. Uriel turned, the coast rose ever closer; Alexander urged the beast down a point that jutted into the sea, just north of Kinfairlie proper.

If the horse did not stop on this point, they would both be sorely injured.

Alexander took the gamble, though feared its import when Uriel did not slow his pace. The crest of rocks on the lip of the point drew closer and closer, and yet closer again. Alexander’s heart leapt in fear that they would soon be in the sea.

Then Uriel stopped cold, planted his hooves against the ground, and ducked his head. Alexander, unprepared for this move, was cast over the steed’s head.

He flew head over heels. He endeavored to land upon his feet, but all happened too quickly.

Instead, Alexander landed upon his buttocks and roared in pain. He then hit his head and both elbows on the rocks, bouncing as if he were no more substantial than a figure wrought of husks.

Finally he fell still. Alexander lay back and groaned. He would be black-and-blue, to be sure. He was not anxious to rise and assess the damage to his person.

At least he was out of Uriel’s saddle and was not quite dead. The horse snorted at close proximity, uninjured. That, he supposed, was the best that could be made of this matter.

Much worse, it would prove, could come of this event.

11

O
wen’s dismay knew no bounds,
for his laird and master had been injured by a steed beneath Owen’s care. He was somehow responsible for Uriel’s foul deed, of that Owen was certain. So it was that Kinfairlie’s ostler reached Laird Alexander first.

Owen fell upon his knees beside his fallen laird and said a prayer when his laird opened his eyes and winked at him.

“It is clear that I have forgotten all that ever I knew of steeds, Owen,” the laird jested, making it clear that he did not blame the ostler for events. He was uncommonly kind in that way, this son of the old laird, and his graciousness only redoubled Owen’s determination to see this mystery solved.

“It was a clever ploy to lead him here, my lord. I feared he would run the length of Christendom and tire himself to death.”

“As did I, Owen.” The laird moved tentatively and winced. He then grinned at the ostler, his charm and good humor clearly unaffected by his fall. “Though I do
not think my concern for his welfare was repaid in kind.”

Owen did not smile. “It is not like Uriel, my lord. I cannot think of what came over him.”

“True enough. It has been decades since I have been tossed from a saddle, and never has Uriel taken such exception to me.” The laird frowned. “Did he flee?”

“He lingers, my lord, stamping his feet and shaking his head. He is in a sweat, to be sure, and trembles mightily. He perhaps is too tired to flee farther.”

“Then go to him, Owen, and see if your touch soothes him. You have a way about you that a restless beast oft welcomes.” The laird’s mischievous smile flashed again. “I believe I will remain here for the moment. The view is most fine.”

How like the laird to tempt the smile of others while he himself clearly felt pain! It was no wonder that men served him with such fervor.

Owen bowed and rose to his feet, then approached the black stallion with caution. Uriel stamped and exhaled noisily, his temper riled as it had not beep, when Owen himself saddled him. What ailed the beast? Owen knew horses and he knew this one and he knew there had to be a reason for Uriel’s manner.

Then he saw the blood. Three streams of ruby red blood stained the stallion’s side.

Owen pivoted in terror, but his laird did not obviously bleed, and such a quantity of blood as this would have stained his garb.

Uriel was injured! How could this be?

The rest of the party arrived noisily, their cries making the stallion dance away from them. Owen shouted for the
Ostler
from Ravensmuir to aid him, as well
as
the three
Stoutest
grooms in his service. They enclosed the stallion in a tightening circle; then Ravensmuir’s ostler seized the reins. He held the reins fast and the boys stilled the horse with their hands as Owen hastily unbuckled the saddle and lifted it away.

Uriel shuddered from head to tail at its removal, and Owen immediately saw why. Three thorns were there, each as long and nigh as broad as the last digit of his thumb. Owen had never seen the like of them.

The blood ran cleanly and the wounds were not as deep as they could have been, but still it was a horror to look upon Uriel’s damaged flesh. The underside of the saddle had been cut to accommodate the base of each thorn, leaving the point exposed.

“When Laird Alexander took the saddle, the points of the thorns were driven
into Uriel’s flesh,” Ravensmuir’
s ostler said, his expression that of a man sickened by what he saw.

Owen lifted his gaze to meet that of his peer. “But I saddled Uriel myself, and I swear by the grace of God that these thorns were not there.” His bile rose at the injury done to the horse. “I would never have committed such wickedness. I would never have seen a steed willfully injured, you must all know as much!”

Uriel bent and nibbled at Owen’s hair, perhaps sensing the ostler’s consternation, perhaps grateful that the ostler had removed the thorns.

Ravensmuir’s ostler smiled, the expression softening the harsh lines of his face. “The horse absolves you, Owen, though that leaves us no closer to knowing who did the deed.”

“Alexander!” The cry of the laird’s new lady wife
echoed over the company. She cast herself from the saddle of a palfrey with the ease of one accustomed to riding, flung her reins aside, and ran to her husband.

“I thought she feared horses,” muttered one of the grooms.

“She rides with the ease of one who has ridden all of her life,” said Ravensmuir’s ostler.

“And her maid was in the stables,” said another boy. The other four looked to him in surprise. “I saw her. She said she came to see the fabled horses of Ravensmuir, but she went from one stall to the next with great diligence, as if she sought a particular horse.”

“And the laird showed the lady his own steed before the midday meal,” mused Ravensmuir’s ostler, before meeting Owen’s gaze.

“And I left the laird’s horse alone once he was saddled, cursed fool that I am, for I fetched Uriel an apple.” Owen rubbed the beast’s nose as the five frowned in unison. “Would that you could tell us what you had witnessed, my friend.”

“The laird must know of this,” declared Ravensmuir’s ostler.

Owen watched the lady exclaim over the laird’s wounds and wondere
d if he was the sole one who re
called the charges of Alan Douglas in this moment. What scheme had the lady? What shadow in her heart was eclipsed by her bright beauty?

* * * * *

E
leanor felt the absence
of goodwill in her husband’s household the very moment that it was rescinded.

Alexander, to her relief, was not sorely injured, though she had feared greatly for him.

“I am sufficiently cocky to withstand such a blow to my pride,” he jested as his brother aided him to his feet. Eleanor did not miss how he winced when he put his weight upon his foot, or how he stretched his back with a grimace, but at least none of his bones were broken.

“It is not your cock that I fear for,” she retorted, wanting only to see his smile.

“No? I thought you yearned for a son.”

Eleanor flushed at that and Alexander laughed. Then he sober
ed suddenly, granting her a stern
look. “How did you come to be here so quickly as this? Surely you did not ride?”

And Eleanor realized her error. She had not thought of her earlier lie, she had thought only of pursuing Alexander, of trying to ensure his welfare. She straightened, not knowing what to say, and found suspicion in every face turned toward her.

Alexander alone watched her with a knowing gleam in his eye, as if he were not surprised by these tidings. He stepped closer, unable to stifle a wince, though he raised a hand to ward off her assistance.

Eleanor knew she would have little chance to repair her mistake. “I lied to you,” she admitted softly, and Alexander’s expression hardened.

“I know.” His tone was cold. He arched a brow, his gaze unswerving. “And this after you pledged honesty to me.”

Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. She found only anger in Alexander’s stony expression and knew that she stood before a judge who had no reason to grant her
mercy. She had lied to him; she had deceived him; she had sheltered him from the truth simply because it was ugly. Now her efforts to ensure that this marriage had a chance to find its footing would destroy that marriage.

Unless she could persuade Alexander to grant her a hearing. She recalled belatedly that his most furious response had been to the revelation that he had been the victim of a lie and knew her position to be perilous.

She might well have lost his support forever in this choice, though she knew she could not have done otherwise. She thought again of Blanchefleur and was sickened by the persistent taste of her own dark past.

Kinfairlie’s ostler came to Alexander in that moment, three bloody thorns upon his palm and accusation in his expression. “These were beneath the saddle, my lord. They were not there when I saddled Uriel, but I left him before your arrival to fetch him an apple. Thomas declares that my lady’s maid, the one newly arrived, was in the stables then, and that she checked each stall as if seeking a specific steed.”

Alexander’s expression was grim. “Wh
a
t do you say, Owen? I bid you speak your thoughts clearly.”

“I make no accusation, my lord, for I have no evidence, but it seems that matters add together in a most cunning way. You introduced your lady to your steed before the midday meal, and her maid was found seeking a steed at the time that thorns were placed beneath your steed’s saddle.” The ostler squared his shoulders. “You might have been cast to your death, my lord, for these are massive thorns, and thus I cannot help but recall the charge made by Alan Douglas on Christmas Day in our own chapel.”

Alexander’s features might have been set to stone. He
spoke with quiet heat. “Then surely you recall that he, too, could offer no evidence to support his charge against the lady.”

Eleanor felt her
li
ps part. Did he defend her?

Owen’s expression turned grim. “You are a kind laird, and one who has been good to me, and thus, sir, I would be so bold as to continue to speak my thoughts, though you may not welcome them. I fear for your survival. Your lady wife admits herself to knowing of poisons and there have been two poisonings in our hall since her arrival. She admits herself to having buried two husbands and rumor would have one believe that at least one of them died before his time. And though it is true that there is no proof of this, the lady shows herself a liar by her own deed.” He pointed to the palfrey Eleanor had ridden. “I
heard her tell you this very morn
that she feared horses, yet she rode with uncommon ease just moments past.”

“Perhaps my laird is uncommonly persuasive in easing my fears,” Eleanor dared to suggest.

“Perhaps my lady told a falsehood,” the ost
l
er retorted, his gaze hard and his words sharp. “No one learns to ride as you just did in a matter of hours. You have ridden from the time you could reach the stirrup, upon this I would wager my very soul, and there is not a scrap of fear within you for horses, upon that I would also wager.”

“You overstep yourself, Owen,” Alexander said softly.

“I mean no impertinence, my lord—”

“Yet you are impertinent.”

“I would only see you warned, my lord, if you cannot see the portent yourself. Is it not the duty of a man sworn to a laird’s service to repay that laird’s goodness with tidings, even if they be ill?”

“If it is so, then such tidings should not be surrendered before the entire company,” Alexander said quietly. “I respect your intent, Owen, but it is churlish to speak ill of the lady of a keep before all those who serve her. Had you proof of your charge, that would be another matter, but in this, you repeat only rumor and innuendo.”

“Forgive my so saying, my lord, but it is more than rumor.” With that, Owen placed the three thorns in Alexander’s hand. “With your forgiveness, my lord, I would tend Uriel’s injury.”

Alexander inclined his head and Owen spared Eleanor a cold glance before he turned away. Alexander, she noted, turned the bloody thorns in his hand and his expression became grim.

“Owen,” he said quietly, and the ostler halted, though he turned only after a pause. “Do not imagine that I do not welcome your tidings, even if they be ill. My father taught me simply that no laird or lady should be condemned in his or her own hall. There have been unconventional choices made by my kin and rumors aplenty of their intent, though not a one of them has had a black heart. Matters are not always what they seem, this was my father’s counsel.”

Owen would have spoken, but Alexander held up a finger for silence. “This matter will be resolved, upon that you may rely, and if there are charges and if there is evidence, then we shall hear all of it in Kinfairlie’s court. Until that time, I counsel you and your fellows to speak of my lady with respect.”

Owen seemed to fight his urge to argue the matter. His gaze flicked between laird and lady, then he inclined his head. “As you say, so shall it be, my lord.”

Alexander nodded crisply, then turned to his castellan. “We shall return to Kinfairlie, Anthony, and I shall retire to my chambers for the remainder of the day.”

“Very good. I shall send for a physician, my lord.”

“There is no need, Anthony. I am sufficien
tl
y hale to survive.” Alexander gave Eleanor a look so cold that she was chilled to her very marrow, then turned away.

Her marriage was over, unless she set matters aright. “No!” Eleanor cried when they might have abandoned her there. “No. This matter cannot be left as it stands. It is true that I lied to you about my fear of horses, but I would surrender the truth to all of you. I would do it now.”

The ostlers and squires paused and turned, clearly incredulous. Alexander watched Eleanor, his expression inscrutable, and she knew that all hung in the balance.

The sooner she made her confession, the better. “Surely this can wait, my lady,” Anthony suggested. “I would see my lord made comfortable ”

“And I would see the truth granted its hearing,” Eleanor argued. “It is late for me to confess as much, and I know it, but I would redress the matter now, before you all, before another moment passes.” She took a shuddering breath. “I hope for nothing more than that you all stand witness to the fact that my suspicions are groundless.”

“Suspicions?” Anthony echoed in confusion. “What suspicions have you of us?”

Eleanor squared her shoulders. “Let me tell you of it.”