From This Moment On

by Lynn Kurland

  She was alive.

  And, miracles never ceased, soon to be wooed.

  Assuming Colin survived it, of course. He’d been rather quiet throughout the afternoon and evening of the previous day, so she’d only been able to assume that he was thinking on his strategy. She’d tried not to let the way he seemed to finger the hilt of his sword, or scratch his cheek absently with his dagger, alarm her. The man was used to planning sieges. Perhaps he thought best with a weapon in his hand.

  She sincerely hoped the siege of her heart was accomplished without bloodshed.

  She stared up at the canopy of the bed and wondered if she was already being courted or if he was still considering how to go about it. He’d remained by her side for the whole of that previous day, stretching himself to be polite to her father and brothers, and refraining from banging on the table when he was hungry.

  He was obviously dredging up manners from previously unplumbed depths.

  She rolled out of bed, pulled open the shutters and saw that it was quite late in the morning already. It was the first time in years she had slept as long as she liked and she wouldn’t begrudge herself that pleasure. Besides, sleeping so long had given Colin a respite from what she was certain would be very heavy labors.

  She dressed slowly, and while she did, she wondered if she might have asked too much of Colin. After all, he had waited for her for two years and then some. Was she demanding things from him she didn’t deserve?

  She washed her face and dragged a comb through what was left of her hair. Mayhap Colin wasn’t opposed to wooing because he thought it would give her hair ample time to grow back and leave her looking less like a boy.

  Though, knowing Colin, he likely didn’t consider the condition of her hair. She could hardly see him setting himself to the task of brushing it for hours. He likely would rather have bid her take a knife to it anyway, lest it hamper her efforts in the lists.

  That was another thing that she had to wonder about. Would he ever take her to the lists again once she was wed to him?

  Did she want him to?

  She slipped her dagger into her boot, then realized what she had done. She stared down at herself, garbed as she was in hose, tunic, and leather jerkin, and marveled that she could have done so without thinking. It hardly seemed unnatural anymore, but perhaps that was just as well. Colin likely wouldn’t have recognized her in velvets and silks.

  She looked about her father’s chamber, thanked him silently for the luxury of having enjoyed it for the night, and then opened the door.

  Colin was leaning against the far wall, wearing his customary frown.

  Well, he didn’t look overly annoyed. She smiled faintly. “Tell me you haven’t been waiting for me since dawn.”

  He shook his head. “Ran through the sturdier lads in the garrison earlier. Tried to engage your brothers, but they were unwilling.” He frowned at her. “Not even that braggart François would hoist a sword in my direction. Said the rain would rust his blade.”

  “Unsurprising,” she said. “He’s not one for overexerting himself.”

  Colin grunted. “It makes me wonder how it is your father got himself five such feeble lads yet sired such a fine wench as yourself in the bargain. A wench with qualities I can’t help but admire: courage; stamina; willingness to draw her blade and tramp about in the mud with it.”

  He peered at her closely, as if he searched for some kind of reaction to that statement.

  It took no great skill to realize that her wooing had begun.

  So she put her hand over her heart and inclined her head. “Your compliments leave me weak, my lord.”

  “Feel like having a go in the lists?”

  It wasn’t as if she could say him nay now. So she retrieved her sword with a smile and followed him onto the very muddy field, snatching a stale piece of bread from off the high table as she passed. It was a poor meal, but she would make do. How could she do otherwise when she’d just been praised for her willingness to fight?

  The rain began after only a few moments and continued without abatement until she could scarce see for the volume of it.

  “A light mist,” Colin shouted.

  He was shouting, of course, to make himself heard over the thunderous sound of rain beating against the earth.

  “To be sure,” she shouted back. “Nothing more than an annoyance.”

  He nodded happily and continued with their light morning’s exercise.

  Ali began to wonder who was indulging whom.

  By the time she was soaked to the skin and could see nothing for the rain coming down in sheets, Colin had seemingly resigned himself to the fact that they could no longer be about their sport in the lists. He resheathed his sword with a sigh, then beckoned to her.

  “To the stables,” he announced. “We’ll check on our mounts.”

  Ali put up her sword and followed him, grateful to be out of the wet. She stood shivering beside Colin as he went to each of their horses in turn, speaking quietly to them and giving out fond rubs and pats. He looked over his shoulder at her suddenly.

  “Horses like me,” he said.

  “I can see that.”

  “I treat them well.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  He frowned. “They haven’t my reputation to be afeared of, you see.”

  She was beginning to see quite clearly. “Colin, I am not afraid of you.”

  His frown deepened. “Then I must be doing something wrong.”

  She laughed, then reached over and stroked her gelding’s soft nose. “I am, of course, still properly in awe of your immense reputation. I imagine I will spend the rest of my life treading quite carefully around you. I’ll use Gillian of Blackmour as my example. She seems to live quite happily in terror of her dragon.”

  “Ha,” Colin said with a snort. “If anyone lives in terror, ’Tis poor Chris. Ever having to watch his manners, ever having to watch his tongue lest he wound her tender feelings. A hellish life for the man, no doubt.”

  “He does seem quite miserable,” she agreed dryly.

  He turned and looked at her fully, pursing his lips. “Think you that I’ll find myself turning inside out trying to keep from wounding your tender feelings?”

  She felt, quite suddenly, as if he’d just slapped her. She blinked quite rapidly. It had to be the great volumes of dust that found home in the stables. It had nothing to do with feelings the unfeeling oaf had just wounded. In truth, why could she have expected anything more? He was a warrior, after all, a man who passed his time in the business of death—

  She was interrupted by the feel of a hand hesitantly brushing her hair back from her face. She looked up, wishing there weren’t those damned tears standing in her eyes and feeling altogether weak and foolish for having allowed them there in the first place—

  “I have no gift for this,” he said with a sigh of deep resignation. “And of course I won’t wound your tender feelings intentionally, damn you. Must I blurt out every feeling of my heart for you to examine at length? Can you not just look inside that maudlin, womanly bit of me and see for yourself?”

  She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “Of course you needn’t expose your heart continually to me,” she said, putting her shoulders back and sniffing a mighty, cleansing sniff. “I haven’t the time for it either. We’ve important things to do, far more important than indulging in sentiment.”

  Now if he’d just stop looking at her that way and stop tucking the hair behind her ears as if she needed tidying up, she might be able to get on with things more vital to her future than loitering in the stables, fretting over things that didn’t matter.

  “Ah, Aliénore,” he said very softly, “I fear you’ll need more patience than courage to live with the likes of me. I’m powerfully unskilled at this business of comporting myself well with a wench.”

  “You needn’t treat me any differently than you would one of your men,” she said.

  He snorted heartily. “I’ve obviou
sly had you under my sway for far too long. Of course I must treat you differently. Your skill with a blade aside, I can’t look at you that I don’t want to treat you differently. Why, look you here at this fair skin you have. It inspires ... well, I’m not sure what it inspires, but it isn’t a brisk slap to return you to your senses.”

  That was something, she supposed.

  He reached out to touch her cheek, then looked down at his hand. An expression of dismay crossed his features and he quickly put that hand behind his back.

  “I’ll admire your visage from a distance,” he announced. He took her by the arm and pulled her toward the stable door. “Food,” he stated. “We need food. Everything will seem much more manageable after a hearty meal. I’m feeling quite famished; what of you?”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer. But as she trotted along after him, she began to consider his words and actions in a different light. Obviously, he wasn’t comfortable expressing deep emotions. He was a warrior, after all, and likely didn’t allow himself to feel much besides battle lust. How could he, and survive what he was called upon to do?

  And then there was his hesitation at touching her to consider. He’d looked at his hand as if it had been unsatisfactory in some way. Perhaps he was afraid of her, or afraid to hurt her, or afraid to soil her with hands that were quite suited to the work of death.

  Or perhaps standing out in the rain had ruined what few wits she had left.

  She cursed herself thoroughly under her breath, then found herself suddenly with her nose to Colin’s chest, thanks to his sudden turning about.

  “What?” he demanded.

  She looked up at him. “I’m just berating myself for idle thoughts.”

  “A dangerous business, thoughts.”

  “Aye,” she agreed.

  He looked at her for a moment or two more, as if he simply couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him, then grunted and led her into the great hall.

  “Food,” he said, sounding vastly relieved. “We should eat.”

  Ali couldn’t have agreed more. Perhaps something in her belly would restore the good sense in her head. She was unaccountably distressed and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why. She’d slept well. She’d had a goodly bit of exercise that morning in the lists. Colin had treated her no differently than he had the past two months. And he’d certainly made it so she was free of both Sir Etienne and Marie for the moment.

  What else did she want?

  Evening shadows had fallen. Ali sat in her father’s solar in the chair closest to the fire and looked about her. Her father was there, of course, in the chair opposite her. He was surrounded by the various and sundry persons of her brothers, who were all listening with rapt attention to the tales being told.

  Tales of bloodshed, misery, and woe.

  It was Colin, of course, who was regaling them with the best in his repertoire.

  Ali leaned back in her chair and looked at her future husband. The firelight softened his features somehow. He would have tried to change that, no doubt, if he’d known. It would have galled him to know that at least in her eyes, he seemed not quite so fierce, not nearly so terrifying.

  And that, she supposed, was the key to the man.

  She’d given Gillian’s few words to her much thought over the course of the afternoon as she’d watched Colin be about his wooing.

  A gruff exterior, but a soft underbelly? Aye, she’d considered that well after their midday meal, when he’d fetched all her gear for her and proceeded, with great diligence, to sharpen all her implements of death.

  An enormous ego that fully expected all souls in his vicinity to drop in terror when he approached? Aye, she’d seen that surely, as her brothers, one by one, had made an appearance, giving Colin a wide and respectful berth. He’d merely accepted that as his due, then set to making certain they didn’t overtax her with their questions as she sat near the fire he’d commanded be built, that she might dry off and not catch the ague. And when she’d found herself stifling even the merest hint of a yawn, the lads had been summarily excused and she had been instructed to close her eyes and rest while he considered several manly matters that needed his immediate attention.

  She’d suspected then that after seeing to her gear, he found himself fresh out of wooing ideas.

  So she’d closed her eyes and considered Gillian’s last words about Colin, that he was a man in whom the right woman could inspire great loyalty and devotion.

  And she wondered if she might ever be that woman.

  All of which had left her, after her apparently quite lengthy nap in front of the fire in the great hall, finding herself in her father’s solar with Colin holding court. That all her brothers should have gathered together, as well as her sire, with her in attendance as well, said much about the immensity of Colin’s reputation. Ali couldn’t remember a time when her entire family had been together thusly. Not since her mother had died.

  She turned away from that thought and concentrated on watching her betrothed. He spoke with absolutely no boast-fulness, merely as if what he stated was simple fact. Her brothers, however, had to have flattered his ego. Their cries of dismay, disbelief, and admiration could be nothing but sweet music to Colin’s ears.

  For herself, she could only lean back in her chair and smother her smile with her hand. By the saints, the man was absolutely terrifying. What soul with any sense would possibly hoist a sword against him and think he would survive it?

  The longer she watched his face, the more she realized that while it did possess no handsomeness whatsoever, it was made up of quite pleasing planes and angles. Manly ones. Ones that inspired something in her she didn’t quite recognize at first.

  Admiration.

  Loyalty.

  An intense desire to linger nearby and know that the man wearing that visage counted her as standing staunchly at his side, supporting him.

  There was something to be said for earning the love of a man like that.

  So he might bruise her feelings at times. He might trample heedlessly over her heart in his haste to be about some pressing business or other. She was beginning to see that none of that really mattered, in the end. Why would it, when she knew that this was a man who would, if he loved her truly, spare nothing to defend her? Hold nothing back to protect her? Keep nothing of himself when giving all of it would be what kept her from harm?

  By the saints, this was the kind of man for her.

  She watched him turn to look at her, then saw his words falter. He stared at her in surprise, which made her wonder at the expression she was wearing. She smiled at him, wondering if he could possibly know what she was thinking, or if she could ever tell him without sending him fleeing the other way.

  He looked slightly perplexed, then turned back to his audience.

  “Where was I?” he asked, scratching his head.

  “Decapitating several men with one swing of the sword,” her youngest brother, Pierre, said breathlessly.

  “Of course,” Colin said. He shot her another look of consternation, then turned back to the lads, gave himself a good shake, and plunged back into his tale. “It takes a great amount of strength, you know, to manage such a swing. And the angle must be exactly so, lest you notch your blade.”

  Her brothers nodded in appreciation.

  Ali merely leaned back in her chair and smiled to herself. Aye, the day had been a good one, full of revelations she hadn’t expected, full of realizations that would likely serve her quite well in the future.

  “One more tale,” Colin announced suddenly. “I’ve no more time this eve for this kind of thing. I’ve important plans to make.”

  “Another siege to lay?” her brother Robert asked eagerly.

  Colin looked unsettled. “You might say so. But ‘tis none of anyone’s affair what kind of siege it is. ’Tis my own personal business and I’ve no need of aid.”

  “Of course,” several of the lads murmured appreciatively.

  F
rançois huffed. “Wooing my sister, more than likely, is what you’re contemplating.”

  Colin shot him a dark look.

  François shut his mouth abruptly.

  Colin turned back to the rest of his audience. “Manly business is what I’m about. Now, one last tale to prove that such business is what I do best, then you can take yourselves off and ponder what I’ve told you. Anyone who cares for a demonstration of what I’ve described—” and here he gave François a pointed look—“can meet me in the lists tomorrow morning, early.”

  Ali closed her eyes. The man was nothing short of terrifying, and his tales were ones made to upset all but the strongest of stomachs. Fortunately for her, her stomach had seemingly been strengthened over the past pair of months, for she could listen and do nothing but look forward to the business he had to attend to the next day.

  With any luck at all, that business included her.

  Lists, stables, repairing her gear—it didn’t matter. It would be with Colin nearby and that was enough for her.

  Chapter 34

  Colin sat on a very hard chair at the edge of the great hall and watched the goings-on. ’Twas a certainty he had no intention of participating in all that capering about, the swishing of skirts, and the extending of the leg in ridiculous bows. It was simply beneath his dignity.

  That aside, he had no trouble watching Aliénore at it. He had to admit that she danced rather well, and it was pleasing to gaze on her and watch as she smiled and laughed with pleasure. It was less than pleasing to think she might be smiling and laughing with someone else, but Colin had his reputation to maintain. Let the other lads make themselves into cavorting arses. He would remain safely planted upon his chair.

  Besides, such a firm and steady seat gave him ample time to watch his future wife and admire her skill.

  He sat back, sipped his ale, and gave thought to the events of the day. It had passed rather pleasantly, all things considered. He’d begun his day with brisk exercise in the lists, finally having managed to lure several of Aliénore’s brothers there. Instilling in François the proper amount of respect for his skill had taken no longer than he had anticipated. After that, he’d immediately embarked on the task he’d set himself the night before, that of repairing what damage he’d done the day before, damn his own foolish tongue.