“Then tell him they can marry after you regain Black Cove. Or, better still, let them both stay in Ireland at Mount Wrath. They could be legally married in Ireland.”
Denys wasn’t entirely sure about using his daughter as a pawn, but the more he thought on it, the more he was willing to bribe Brend in exchange for information on the man’s sister. To keep his army safe, as Cort had argued, was worth the price. His daughter’s hand in marriage for thousands of English soldiers. It wasn’t as if he were condemning his daughter to a life of unhappiness. She loved Brend and would be happy with him.
Still… it was a difficult decision to make.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Find Brend and send him to my solar.”
Cort nodded, already on the move. As Denys headed towards the keep, Cort went to the gatehouse and instructed a sergeant to summon Brend. Cort was afraid that if he personally summoned the man, Brend would ask a lot of questions of the nature of Denys’ business that Cort didn’t want to answer.
Therefore, it was better to send someone else.
As the sergeant went off to locate Brend, Cort retreated to Denys’ solar.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Two days after her spat with Cort, Dera was worse off than she had ever been. Instead of his memory fading as the days passed, thoughts of him had only grown heavier. She was coming to feel a great deal of regret in how they had ended things, with her storming off and leaving him by the lake, because it was all her fault. She’d always had a bit of a temper and that had been evident. Cort was stating his beliefs and loyalties, and she didn’t like his answers.
She felt foolish to realize that she had hoped to sway him on the spot.
But she hadn’t.
Sweet Mary, she’d even sang to the man. Like an idiot, she’d sang to him, thinking that might charm him or soften him… or whatever she’d been trying to accomplish. She was finished trying to accomplish anything with Cort de Russe because every time she tried, something catastrophic happened.
She simply wasn’t going to try anymore.
And the disappointment she felt was overwhelming.
After their argument at the lake, he’d simply disappeared. She knew he was still at Narborough because she’d heard Brend speak of him, but the man didn’t come to supper in the evenings, instead choosing to remain in his chamber in the knights’ quarters. Dera had eaten with her brother and the de Winter family, listening to Lady Alais and Lord Denys bicker over the horse Denys had purchased for Damien, while Dillon tried to mediate.
But Dera didn’t pay much attention to what was going on with the battling de Winters.
She had enough on her mind without their madness.
Dera was with Arabella on this day, sitting in the solar on the second floor that was meant only for the ladies. It was a big chamber, facing the bailey, and it was a place that Lady Alais and Arabella had claimed for their own some time ago.
Arabella had been strangely silent for the past two days also and had Dera not been so wrapped up in her own confusion and sorrow, she would have wondered why Arabella seemed so morose. The woman had been unusually pale, her eyes red-rimmed, as if she’d been weeping.
But Dera couldn’t spare the concern for her.
On this lazy afternoon, they sat in the solar, each lady to her own project. Conversation was virtually nonexistent. Arabella was sewing something that Dera couldn’t quite make out while Dera was drawing with charcoal pencils and parchment she’d brought with her from Ireland.
The items were part of her writing kit, a very treasured possession that was quite expensive, but it had been a gift from her parents in the hopes that she would write to them frequently from England. So far, she’d only written them three times, instead choosing to draw on the parchment. She was quite good at drawing; this particular image happened to be of Vulcan, the horse.
The last time she saw the horse, Cort was riding him.
“That is Damey’s horse,” Arabella commented from her place over near the window where the light was better. “He’s a very pretty horse. You’re doing an excellent job of drawing him.”
Dera looked down at the beast. She was drawing him as she remembered him, fighting Cort every step of the way as they rode to and from the village of Lynn. She had the muscles bulging and the nostrils flaring.
“I am trying,” she said. “He’s quite a unique animal.”
Arabella snorted softly as she stabbed her needle into the cloth. “My mother doesn’t seem to think so,” she said. “She wants him returned to the breeder. She does not want my brother riding the horse.”
“He is a terribly big animal for Damien,” Dera said. “If I was Lady Alais, I would want him returned to the breeder, too.”
Arabella continued to stab at her fabric, flipping it over and inspecting it to reveal that she was sewing an apron of some kind. Satisfied with how it was coming along, she went back to work.
“Brend told me what happened in Lynn,” she said quietly. “He told me that you killed a man. Is that true?”
Dera didn’t look up from her drawing, though she found it ironic that she and Arabella had hardly spoken a word for two days and now this. The first real words out of Arabella’s mouth were a question about her actions in Lynn.
“He was going to kill Cort,” she said simply.
“Then you did kill him?”
Dera thought she heard judgment in Arabella’s tone. She looked up from her drawing.
“In spite of what you’ve been led to believe, life is not sewing and reading and drawing, fine pursuits for fine young woman,” she said. “There is brutality out there that you cannot imagine, for I have seen it. Did I kill the English knight? I did. He was going to kill Cort, so I came up behind him and slit his throat. Does that shock you?”
She was scolding by the time she was finished, causing Arabella to look at her in surprise.
“I… I do not know,” she said. “I haven’t thought about it that way. I was simply fascinated that you found the courage to do it.”
“I have the courage to do a lot of things.”
Arabella eyed her friend. “I did not mean to insult you with my question, Dera. I am sorry if I did.”
Dera was geared up for an argument but Arabella wasn’t. She was backing down and Dera suddenly felt foolish for snapping. Letting out a heavy sigh, she folded her arms on the table next to her drawing and laid her head down.
“I am sorry, Bella,” she said quietly. “It’s simply that I’ve been scolded and badgered by Brend and Cort about this, so the subject naturally has me on edge. Please… forgive me.”
Arabella smiled wanly. “Do not trouble yourself,” she said. “You were forgiven the moment you spoke.”
Dera smiled in return. “You are very sweet and gracious,” she said. “I am glad we have had the opportunity to become friends since I came to Narborough. You have changed my mind about stuffy English lasses.”
Arabella laughed softly, but there was no real joy in it. “You did not like us much before, is that it?”
“I only knew what I had heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“That they were arrogant and stuffy.”
Arabella shrugged. “No more arrogant and stuffy than Irish ladies, I suppose.”
“That is probably true. Still… I am glad. I hope we are friends forever, no matter what happens.”
There was a greater implication in that given that their two countries were adversaries. It was something that had been unspoken between them since the beginning of their association, something they’d never mentioned to one another. But now, that very reality was piercing the veil of their pleasant, warm friendship. It was unwelcome, but Arabella forced a smile.
“I hope we are, too,” she said, her smile fading. “I was hoping we would be more than that, but it looks as if that is not to be.”
Her face suddenly crumpled with the last few words and she broke down in tears, turning a
way from Dera and trying very hard not to sob. Dera’s head came up from the table.
“Bella?” she asked, concerned. “What do you mean? What is the matter?”
Arabella shook her head, wiping at her face and returning her attention to the apron in her lap. Her movements were sharp, jerky with emotion, as she tried to resume her sewing.
“Nothing is the matter,” she said. “I should not have said that. Forget I did.”
Based on Arabella’s words, Dera guessed there was something wrong between her and Brend. She hadn’t spoken to her brother in two days, but seeing Arabella’s mood and now hearing such devastating words gave her all the clues she needed. It explained Arabella’s unusual silence.
Something was wrong between the doomed lovers.
“Bella,” she said softly. “What has happened with Brend? I know it is not something we ever speak of because you have asked me not to, but something is clearly wrong. What has happened?”
Arabella was focused on her sewing, or at least pretending that she was. “Nothing has happened,” she said briskly. “It is simply that Brend feels more loyalty to his role as the MacRohan legacy knight, and that role does not include me. Better I find out now rather than five years from now when I am past my prime and no man will marry me because I am so old.”
Dera watched her as she continued to sew, sharp movements that were indicative of her emotion. So that’s what has happened, she thought. Truth be told, back when she’d first come to Narborough and realized Arabella and her brother had eyes for one another, she was against it. She didn’t want her brother marrying an English lass, but the more time passed and the more she came to know Arabella, the more she was at peace with their relationship even if the world at large wasn’t.
Dera knew it was illegal for a person of Irish birth to marry a person of English birth, and she further knew that Arabella and Brend had gone to desperate lengths to hide their feelings for one another. But Dera could see that Arabella’s feelings for her brother ran bone deep.
The pain in the woman’s manners was obvious.
“Brend has been told all of his life that the most important thing is the MacRohan legacy,” she said softly. “It is a terrible burden to bear, Bella. He has been told it so much that it is all he knows. He does not know anything else. He was sent to de Winter as a five-year-old lad and raised by Lord Denys and his knights. You know this, Bella. Don’t you remember the first time you saw Brend as a child?”
Arabella’s frantic sewing slowed as she recalled memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to venture into. But they swamped her, and she was forced to remember that blond-haired, pale eyed boy with the gap-toothed smile. She was seven years younger than Brend, so she remembered him as a young boy, a youth, and finally a man.
Slowly, she sighed.
“I have known him my entire life,” she said. “My earliest memories are of Brend and Dillon and how I would follow them around and want to play with them. Dillon would push me down and make me cry, but Brend would pick me up and hold my hand. God’s Bones, Dera, how was I supposed to not fall in love with the man? I have loved him my entire life, but I did not want to admit it until I realized he felt the same way. And now…”
Dera stood up. “And now, I am sure nothing has changed,” she said, trying to be of comfort. “Brend is a dedicated knight, that is true, but I know he loves you. I have seen the way he looks at you.”
Arabella snorted softly. “He does not love me more than his legacy,” she said. “I asked him to run away with me so that we could be married someplace where our marriage would not be illegal. He would not go, Dera. I cannot love a man who would not make me the most important thing in his life, and I cannot expect Brend to give up his legacy for me. In hindsight, it was selfish of me to expect him to. I must therefore forget him and try to move on with my life.”
The way she said it sounded decisive but painful. Perhaps there was truth to it, but perhaps not. The hurt of her quarrel with Brend was still fresh. With that in mind, Dera made her way to Arabella, putting a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“It cannot be as bad as all that,” she said. “You must have faith that all will work out as it should.”
Arabella simply shook her head, her eyes beginning to well again. “It already has,” she said. “We are not meant to be together. I must accept that. But let us not speak of it any longer, please. It is not something I want to dwell on.”
“As you wish.”
“I am more concerned for you and what happened in Lynn,” Arabella went on. “I think what you did was very brave, Dera. But it was also very… unexpected.”
Now they were back on the subject that Dera didn’t want to discuss. She turned away from Arabella so the woman wouldn’t see the red cast to her cheeks as she wandered over to one of three big lancet windows that overlooked the bailey.
Down below, Dera could see everything between the keep and the gatehouse, including part of the stables. Everyone was busy below, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It was almost insulting when she had so much on her mind. She could see Vulcan being tended to by a blacksmith over near the stables and she could see men crowded around the horse. It didn’t take her long to figure out that one of those men was Cort.
Her heart leapt against her ribs.
“Unexpected?” she asked, though her gaze was riveted to Cort. “I am not sure how it was unexpected. There was trouble and I tried to help. But do not concern yourself with this, truly. The situation shall pass and everything will return to normal.”
“But I am concerned,” Arabella said. “In England, ladies simply do not go around killing men in a fight like that. That is what I meant by unexpected. Cort could have viewed your interference as a slight upon his abilities as a knight. Did you ever think of that?”
Dera hadn’t. In fact, as she thought on Arabella’s words, she looked to the woman with surprise.
“Do you think that is what he thought?” she said. “Is that why they were so angry?”
Arabella nodded. “It is very possible,” she said. “They have been knights for many years and they probably viewed your actions as an insult. Especially Cort; he’s a de Russe. His father is one of the greatest knights who has ever lived and he has two older brothers who are also great knights, so he has trained with the best. Now it makes sense as to why they were so angry, don’t you think?”
Dera did. Outside, she could see Cort speaking to Denys and Damien, realizing with increasing horror why Cort and Brend had been so enraged by her actions. Now, it was making sense the way Arabella had put it. The thought that they would view her actions as an insult to their manhood hadn’t even occurred to her.
“I never considered that they would think that,” she said after a moment. “I only wanted to help.”
“But they did not need your help.”
Now, Dera was starting to feel stupid. Grunting, she closed her eyes briefly as if to ward off the reality of what she’d done. Had the situation been reversed and any one of them jumped in to help her, she would have felt the exact same way.
Offended.
No wonder Cort had stayed away from her.
She could see him down below, standing with Denys as the two of them stood off to the side, speaking privately. Dera wondered briefly if they were speaking of her, perhaps making plans to keep her permanently locked away at Narborough after her behavior in Lynn.
Looking at it from their perspective, she wouldn’t have blamed them.
But she knew one thing – apologies were in order for Cort. She didn’t at all regret what she did, but she did regret the fact that her actions had embarrassed him. She’d never meant to make him feel less than perfect. In fact, that perfection was what she’d wanted to protect.
He was perfect.
“I see that now,” she said after a moment, turning to look at Arabella. “Truly, Bella, I never meant to insult anyone. But now that you have explained it… I feel foolish.”
&nbs
p; Arabella look up from her sewing. “You do not need to feel foolish,” she said. “We all make mistakes. But now that you know, you will not do it again.”
Dera shook her head firmly. “Most assuredly not,” she said. “But I must apologize to my brother. I do not think I should leave the keep, however. Would you be so kind as to find him and send him to me?”
Arabella’s features tightened “Why can you not find him on your own?”
Dera snorted softly. “Because I have a feeling I am one step away from being punished, so I do not want for your father or brother or even Cort to see me. Better I stay hidden away until their anger cools.”
Arabella’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before she returned to her sewing. “I will not go and summon Brend for you,” she said. “But I will send a servant to find him.”
She was being stubborn about it; Dera could see it. She almost smiled at the rigidity of the woman, refusing the opportunity to see the man she loved. Normally, she would jump at the chance.
“Do not trouble yourself,” Dera said after a moment. “I will see him tonight at sup and can speak with him then.”
After that, Arabella didn’t say another word. She continued sewing, stabbing the fabric in rhythm, focusing on her task to block out the world at hand.
Meanwhile, Dera had an apology to compose for her brother, but he wasn’t the only one. Cort deserved one, too. Somehow, she was much more focused on Cort’s apology than her brother’s. Perhaps because Cort’s forgiveness meant a little more to her than her brother’s did.
She didn’t want to admit that, either.
But it was the truth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Denys’ solar always smelled like cloves and cinnamon.
That was because he was very fond of candies made by the cooks, who made the treats from honey and cinnamon and cloves, boiled and cooled until they were hard and sweet. He sucked on them constantly and his solar smelled of them. As Brend entered the dim and cool solar, with only the windows out onto the bailey as the sole source of light, he inhaled the familiar spicy fragrance.
Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9) Page 14