Finlay accepted her as she was, not as she was supposed to be. But then, she was becoming a woman and she supposed that the games of her childhood were better left behind her.
Indeed, she was excited about the tourney that her father had suggested. In this event, Mhairi would see the measure of Gabriel and Kay and her heart thrilled that they would meet in combat for her favor. She was dancing with impatience when her mother summoned her to her chamber on the morning of the festivities.
“Aye, Maman?” Mhairi hopped from one foot to the other in her desire to rush down to the field and see the knights. She had donned her best kirtle and had let her maid braid her hair in a most intricate fashion.
Eglantine drew a kirtle from the old chest in her chamber and held it up before herself. She smiled at Mhairi across the width of the chamber. “What do you think of this?”
“’Tis beautiful!” Mhairi had never seen the garment before and she crossed the room to examine the rich embroidery upon the hems and cuffs. “You have never worn this,” she said with certainty.
Eglantine smiled. “It seemed a frippery unfitting for me.”
“But you will wear it this day?”
Eglantine winced and held the dress against herself. “Nay. The bearing of three daughters has thickened my waist too much to show the work to advantage.”
Mhairi was not one to be so readily deterred. “Oh, Maman, there are laces at the sides. The chemise matches the kirtle so well that none will guess the truth and the blue will favor you beautifully...”
Her mother bent and kissed her cheek so abruptly that Mhairi was startled to silence. “That is not the real reason that I shall not wear it. ’Twas a gift from your uncle Guillaume, sent after he heard of your birth. He said a new mother needs a luxury to call her own, and though I agreed with him, I chose then to save this garment for you.” She tilted her head and smiled at Mhairi. “I was waiting for a special day. Do you think this to be one?”
“Oh, Maman!” Mhairi was awed by the softness of the wool, and the splendor of its emerald hue. She looked more closely at the golden embroidery studded with gems and knew she had never seen a garment more magnificent. “Is this how you dressed in France?”
“Sometimes.” Her mother flicked a fingertip across Mhairi’s nose. “At court, on days of import.”
“Like this one.”
“Aye. You will choose in these next days the man with whom you will spend most of your life, if indeed one of these men lays claim to your heart.”
“I am certain that one will,” Mhairi declared, thinking of the two French knights.
Her mother studied her. “I will not have you pressed to make a choice when you would rather not.”
“I will not, Maman.” She spoke so firmly that her mother’s fair brow rose.
“Have you a favored suitor?”
“Two, Maman, two whom I am certain I could love with all my heart. The difficulty shall be in the choosing, I know it well.”
Eglantine smiled. “Then I would have you look your best, and this fine garb will show you to advantage.” Her mother laid out a fine chemise and a pair of lacy stockings, then leather slippers dyed a deep green and a golden girdle. She sat on the edge of the bed when she was done, and patted the place next to her. Mhairi sat beside her mother, her gaze trailing to the uncommon finery.
Her mother touched her chin, compelling Mhairi to meet the conviction in her eyes. “You know that I came to this land to grant my daughters the chance to choose their husbands as I could not do for my first nuptials. I also would have you wed for true love, as I did not the second time.”
“You chose Duncan for love.”
“Aye, I did and there is naught with which I can compare this match. Your father has made me more happy than ever I imagined I might be.” She touched Mhairi’s cheek. “And you were wrought of a most happy union.”
Mhairi blushed.
Eglantine smiled thoughtfully, then stroked Mhairi’s hand. “’Twas the strangest thing, for I knew Duncan was different from the first moment we met. My heart seemed to recognize him, though I argued mightily with it in the following weeks and months.”
Mhairi shivered with delight. “As if you were meant to be together, as Esmeraude loves to say.”
Eglantine nodded with affection, then sobered. “There is no guarantee, Mhairi, that whatever regard you feel will be returned, or even that a match wrought of love will be happy to the end of your days. But I think ’tis better to begin thus, and I think you will know the man best for you if you listen to your heart.”
“What of the tourney?”
“’Tis a way for you to see what manner of men have come before you and no more than that. Men and bards place much faith in the outcome of such tests of valor.” Her mother leaned closer and dropped her voice to a fierce whisper as she held Mhairi’s gaze. “But if the winner does not compel your heart to sing, Mhairi, then know that I shall support whatsoever choice you make. I shall even support your choice if ’tis none of these men, and I shall do so until my dying breath.”
Her mother’s determination made Mhairi feel loved as naught else could. “Thank you, Maman!” The two embraced tightly, then Eglantine touched the wondrous kirtle with a fingertip.
“Shall we see whether it fits?”
* * *
It seemed to Mhairi that the entire village hummed with excitement. Duncan escorted her to the tent pitched upon the field while the villagers watched and whispered. The kirtle seemed to make her taller, as if she walked upon air, and she had the heady knowledge that she looked the best that ever she had.
A tent was set up for them to watch the tourneys. ’Twas an old silk striped tent which had seen finer days, and she knew ’twas a relic of her mother’s life in France. ’Twas still uncommonly fine and the fringe around the roof was most splendid to Mhairi’s thinking, even if ’twas not in perfect condition any longer. There were two other smaller tents of the same vintage pitched on either side of it, all three open on the side facing the designated tourney field.
Duncan had had his great chair carried out from the hall and led her to it. Those already gathered under the tents stood for her arrival, as if she were the queen herself.
“Queen for the day,” Duncan teased as she was seated, his eyes sparkling when she laughed.
Duncan sat on one side of her and Eglantine on the other. Her half-sister Alienor and her husband, Iain, sat beside Eglantine. A local chieftain, the father of Alasdair, was seated beside Duncan, then a variety of influential villagers and local men clustered behind them all. The perimeter of the field was thick with onlookers to both the left and the right of the tent. All were garbed in their finest and clearly anxious for the festivities to begin.
“’Tis up to you,” Duncan whispered.
Mhairi stood up and all fell silent. She clapped her hands and gestured to the horses and men gathered on the far side of the field. “Let the tourneys begin!” she cried and the crowd cheered.
The cook from their own household—who had a booming voice—stepped forward, his chest puffed with importance. “My lady,” he said to Mhairi, bowing deeply. “May I introduce the competitors?”
Mhairi inclined her head, then exchanged an excited smile with her mother before she looked to the field again. A pair of boys in bright garb had joined the cook, and she saw that they juggled apples for the amusement of all.
“First upon the field is Douglas MacBain of Moray!” bellowed the cook.
Douglas crossed the field on foot, brandishing his sword. He wore a yellow chemise that fell to his knees. A length of patterned wool was wrapped around his waist. His leather jerkin was laced in the front, his hair was loose, and he carried a round shield.
The crowd roared at the sight of him.
“A valiant warrior, Douglas fought on the side of Angus MacSorley in the battle two years past betwixt the two sons of Somerled for supremacy. Not only is he proven in battle, but Douglas offers his bride a cottage near his fami
ly home in Inverness, two goats, and enough wealth to see her in comfort.”
The crowd shouted approval as Douglas strode toward Mhairi.
“Inverness!” Eglantine whispered disapprovingly beneath her breath. “Why so far?”
“Because he is a mercenary and unwelcome in closer quarters,” Duncan retorted at similar volume. The pair looked at each other over her head and Mhairi knew they wished that they had not been so indiscreet in her presence.
“Not that our opinions should affect your choice,” Eglantine said quickly.
Mhairi smiled. “I do not like him, at any rate.”
Douglas, unaware of this conversation, bowed deeply before Mhairi. She smiled but granted him no other token of her favor, and his displeasure was more than clear as he walked away.
“Alasdair MacInnes is next...” The cook managed to say no more before his voice was drowned out by the cheers of the assembly.
’Twas clear that Alasdair was the popular favorite. His father straightened with pride as Alasdair advanced onto the field. He rode a horse, though rather less expertly than Mhairi herself could ride, and was otherwise dressed much as Douglas.
Alasdair looked more somber today, Mhairi noted, and her heart skipped a little when he halted, bowed, then winked at her. Perhaps he did have Duncan’s blend of practicality and mischievousness.
“The son of the chieftain of Clan MacInnes, Alasdair is heir to a powerful ancient legacy, for as we all know, the blood of Celtic kings runs in his veins. His bride will know no labor of her own hands, for she will live in splendor.”
“The splendor of Alasdair’s father’s house,” someone noted wryly in the back of the tent. “Not any luxury gained by his own labors.”
The father pivoted, seeking the speaker. “Who spoke thus? ’Tis a fine matter to leave a legacy for one’s own son!”
“Not if it means that he is never expected to be a man!” ’Twas a loyal comrade of Duncan’s who spoke, a battle-hardened man. “Douglas is a better candidate, for he is proven in matters of war.”
“Aye?” retorted the father. “We shall see who is the better man today, for this is the only proof that counts!”
Duncan intervened then, calming the men with a few quiet words. By the time the men had settled and Mhairi looked back to the field, Alasdair had stepped away to join Douglas to one side. She clasped her hands together in delight as a prancing stallion stepped into view.
“Gabriel de Mornay joins us from Normandy, his credentials most impressive,” the cook announced. “Be warned, other competitors, that he has won at tourney in Champagne and also in Languedoc, and he has pledged his winnings of last season and the next two to purchase the abode of his lady’s choice.”
“If he lives through those seasons,” Eglantine amended dryly. Mhairi ignored her mother, so enthralled was she by the knight before her.
Gabriel was garbed in red and white, the matching caparisons fluttering as his horse cantered across the field. His mail gleamed in the sunlight, as did the blade he held before himself. He doffed his helmet with a flourish and leapt from the saddle before Mhairi, dropping to one knee.
Though the sight was impressive and she smiled, her heart had little to say of the knight’s presence.
Perhaps such recognition took longer than her mother had implied.
“My lady fair, all I do this day is in your honor.”
The crowd sighed as one, necks craning forward as Mhairi stood. Such a romantic gesture deserved an answering one. She had not a sleeve to bestow upon him, but her maid had woven her a circlet of flowers to adorn the silver one on her head. She removed one of the flowers and offered it to him.
At this sign of her favor, Gabriel smiled and the assembly hooted in delight. Applause filled the air, even after he had mounted his horse and ridden to the side to join the other two men.
“And Kay de Pencel has also traveled for this day, for he holds a small manor in Aquitaine.”
Eglantine groaned slightly at this detail, though she said naught about distance this time. Kay wore green and gold, and made a sight every measure as rich as Gabriel had. The crowd clapped with enthusiasm as his steed cantered across the field.
“A man long pledged to the service of the Plantagenets, Kay has served as a guardian to the women of that family, escorting them safely through treacherous lands. ’Tis for this service that he won the reward of his holding. He, too, offers a prosperous life to whichever lady takes his hand and one filled with the favor of kings.”
Kay also dismounted before Mhairi. He removed his helmet and tucked it beneath his left arm, then pulled off his right glove. He stepped forward and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “If ’tis your will, my lady, I shall win you this day.”
Mhairi could not resist his charm, though her heart again had naught to say of the matter. She was prepared to grant it time to decide.
She similarly surrendered a flower to Kay. He smiled warmly, sniffed the bloom, then tucked it carefully into his tabard so that ’twas over his heart. He bowed again and rode away.
Mhairi realized only then that ’twas the same kind of bloom he had brought her just the day before and understood the reason for his warm smile. She sat down again, feeling flustered because she had shown favor to two contestants but knew not how to choose.
Indeed, ’twas irksome that her heart, contrary to her mother’s predication, remained silent about the matter.
“Four competitors you see before you...” The cook’s summation was interrupted by a cry from the far side of the field.
“Five!” a man shouted. “There will be five competitors this day!”
As all turned to look, Finlay dug his heels into the sides of one of Eglantine’s palfreys. His fair hair was wild, his face flushed with the awareness that he held every gaze. He rode at a killing pace, though Mhairi saw that he was fully in command of his steed. She was on her feet before she realized what she did, her heart hammering as she noticed that he wore only a leather jerkin and carried only a small knife.
“Fool! You will be killed!” she cried.
He scowled at her as he leapt from his saddle before her and cast down the reins. “Have you no faith in my abilities? Do you not believe that the will can find the way?”
Mhairi stared at him, only now realizing why he was where he was. “You mean to win me?”
“Aye, I do. I waited for you to be old enough to be courted, and this is my reward, but it matters naught. I shall win your hand, Mhairi MacLaren, or I shall die in the trying of it.” He met her gaze, his own steely with resolve. “Either way, I shall have no regrets.”
Mhairi’s heart clenched hard for she feared that Finlay would pay dearly for his choice. She stared at him, knowing he would not take any protest from her in good will.
“But you know naught of such battle,” she began, nigh consumed with her fear for him.
Finlay’s eyes flashed and he stepped closer. “Do you have so little faith in me as that?”
Mhairi did not know what to say, for the truth was bound to infuriate him. Her heart pounded so hard that she could barely think.
“Do you grant me no token of your favor?” he demanded, his words hot. “Is that how ’twill be? You will favor foreigners and strangers before looking upon the man who loves you wholly and for your own self?”
As he glared at her, furious that she might deny him and that she did not believe he would win, Mhairi knew. Aye, her heart clamored in her breast and she knew with every fiber of her being which man she must choose.
She took off her flower circlet and handed it to him in its entirety, unable to summon a word to her lips. The crowd cheered and shouted and hollered, and Mhairi was vaguely aware of her Aunt Alienor’s laughter.
But she was caught by the fire in Finlay’s gaze.
Terror rose within her with the realization of what he meant to do. He could be killed! How could this happen, that she could lose him just when she understood his import to her?
Finlay showed no similar fear. He stepped forward, a swagger in his step, and bowed that she might slip the flowers around his neck.
“If you mean to fail in this foolishness,” she whispered, her words uneven, “then you had best die upon the field. For if you survive wounded, Finlay MacCormac, I shall kill you with my own hands.”
He chuckled then and she smiled at him. Then he squeezed her hand, his words surprisingly anxious. “Then I have your favor?”
Mhairi leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “My heart is yours, Finlay, for this day and for all time.”
“Then I shall win,” he said fiercely. “Your choice will be my shield.” He looked deeply into her eyes and her mouth went dry. “On that, my Mhairi, you may rely.”
But as he turned away, Mhairi was not as certain of his fate as he. Indeed, she feared the worst and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, terrified that she would lose this treasure that she had never guessed was already within her grasp.
“You could halt the tourney,” her mother suggested quietly, obviously guessing the direction of her thoughts. She laid a hand over Mhairi’s interlaced fingers.
Mhairi shook her head. “He would despise me for such weakness.”
Duncan chuckled at that. “Aye, I suspect he would.” He laid his hand over her own and her mother’s and gave both an encouraging squeeze. “We shall have to pray that love truly can conquer all.”
Mhairi eyed Finlay’s competition and was not nearly certain of that. “How long will this endure?” she whispered.
“Three days,” Duncan supplied. “Three days, or until there is only one man upon the field, whichever comes first.”
Mhairi closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering how she would survive this contest. Curse Finlay! He should have confessed the contents of his heart sooner!
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 90