Warrior's Moon A Love Story

by Jaclyn Hawkes

  Inside, they looked at each other for a long moment, and then wandered hand in hand toward a refreshment table. The thought of a cool draught of cider was welcome. ‘Twas still warm inside, but not nearly so hot as those impassioned kisses had been.

  As he reached for the cups of cider, he felt her stiffen beside him and glanced up to see Lord Rosskeene move up to stand nearby with a disgustingly confident smile for her. The warrior in Peyton reared up and it was all he could do not to step between them and literally threaten Rosskeene. Gently squeezing her hand, Peyton handed her the cider and then stiffened himself when Rosskeene spoke to her. “Your masquerade is quite complete, I can’t for the life of me detect who you are, although you are somehow familiar. Pray, give a nobleman a hint as to the identity of the most stunning of all the beauties in attendance tonight. Do I know you, fair lady?”

  Placing a hand at the small of her back, Peyton guided her aside as he said to Rosskeene, “‘Tis the object to remain anonymous, yet I’m sure she would be unknown to someone of your generation anyway, m’lord.”

  The reference to the obvious difference in their ages only made Rosskeene narrow his eyes at Peyton as he replied, “Indeed she probably would, Wolfgar. You see, in noble circles, the world narrows remarkably. But then you wouldn’t understand that, coming from your background, would you? Women, on the other hand tend to appreciate the finer things in life. They gravitate toward things like lands and power. But you wouldn’t have any idea of those things either. I recommend you keep a wary guard up where she’s concerned, boy.”

  Wishing he could slug him in his disgusting, noble mouth, Peyton felt Chantaya tighten her grip on his hand. He merely smiled at the older man and said, “I’m sure you’re correct, m’lord. All women think only of wealth.”

  Chantaya gracefully, but obviously turned from Rosskeene and leaned close and whispered, “Moron and dimwit. Odious as well. Ignore him.” Peyton’s smile became genuine and then widened when he realized Prince Laird was moving through the guests not far from them, apparently intent on speaking to them. The prince was exactly what Peyton needed right now to restore both his good humor, and Rosskeene’s perspective on class.

  As the prince approached, and reached to shake Peyton’s hand, Peyton noticed Princess Clarissa at his side, resplendent in flowing crimson velvet and jeweled tiara. Grinning at the prince, Peyton came right out and asked, “You’re not going to get me in trouble with the princess again are you, Your Highness? It’s ever I’m in trouble when you two are together. I’m fair becoming frightened of the two of you.”

  The prince only laughed and inclined his head to Chantaya as he replied to Peyton, “Nothing frightens him. Don’t believe him.” He grinned at his sister and added, “Although Clarissa truly can be scary at times, I’ll admit. You should see her upon rising of a morning. Hair going every which way. It’s pure terrifying.”

  The princess only daintily elbowed her brother and then approached Chantaya and said, “Please forgive my brother for being hopelessly indecorous. Father keeps trying to encourage him to behave more discreetly, but then here he is, telling the world I’m frightening of a morning.” She reached a hand out to take Chantaya’s. “So you are the girl who owns Sir Peyton’s heart? I’m Clarissa. It’s good to finally meet the woman behind the devotion. Sir Peyton is so faithful to you it near disheartens the rest of us girls of the kingdom.”

  Chantaya raised her eyebrows and looked at Peyton in surprise as the prince said airily, “‘Tis true. He’s pure smitten. But upon seeing you, Fair Chantaya The Unsisterly. ‘Tis no surprise. Well, in truth, ’tis surprising that any woman could be so fantastically exquisite, but . . . Pray, would you be willing to dance with a mere prince instead of such a masculine knight?”

  Looking half panicked and half amused, Chantaya glanced at Peyton for reassurance and he chuckled as he turned her hand over to the prince, saying, “Fear not, Chani. He’s a monstrous tease, but he’s given me his word not to try to win you away from me. And his word is good. Just don’t let him step upon your toes. ‘Tis rumored he’s a pitiful dancer.”

  The prince gave a feigned look of outrage, “Pitiful! Why you . . . ” To Chantaya he said, “I’ll have you know I’ve endured countless months of practice. Nay, years of dance practice so as not to fall upon my face during a waltz.” Lowering his voice a mere smidgen, he added, “I’ll also have you know that I only gave Sir Peyton my word not to try to lure you away as long as he didn’t ever make you cry. In which case, I should feel sufficiently vindicated in giving it my best effort. You will let me know if he ever breaks your heart, won’t you?”

  Peyton chuckled, “I’ve made her mad a few times, Highness, but I try never to make her cry. I believe you’re sadly out of luck. But do enjoy your dance.” He turned to the princess, “Princess Clarissa would you do me the honor?”

  The prince grimaced teasingly and took Chantaya’s hand to lead her to the floor beside Peyton and Chantaya, then said loud enough that Peyton and the princess could hear, “Blast him. It’s ever been that he bests me at whatever he tries since he’s been here. He’s nigh immortal. Has he always been so?”

  Falling easily into step with the prince who was a heavenly dancer, Chantaya smiled. “Always, Your Highness. I’m so sorry. I shall speak to him and remind him that it’s frightfully disrespectful to best a prince at anything.”

  “On the contrary, my beauty. ‘Tis that Sir Peyton is the only one who has the respect to truly challenge me. I’m certain ‘tis why I enjoy him so. He hasn’t a pandering bone in his body. It gives one the most comforting sense of certainty with him. Although, he has at times left great bruising on parts of my royal self.”

  At that, the princess laughed and said, “Only on your royal ego, brother. I fear you’ll live.” To Peyton she said, “Come, Sir Peyton. Let us dance this way a portion.”

  Chantaya watched Peyton twirl the princess away and wondered at the easy friendship he seemed to have with these two royals. How had this come to be? Especially in such a short time as Peyton had been here? In a way, she was thrilled, and in a way, she was intimidated beyond measure. These were the prince and princess!”

  She glanced up to see the prince looking down at her and was grateful for all the times she and her mother and the boys had danced the evening away in front of the fires. She would have never been able to keep her composure dancing with the prince otherwise.

  He gave her his grin again and then sobered and said, “‘Twas more than my ego he bruised in all reality. A time or two ‘twas all I could do to limp away from our encounters. But that was what made us certain he was capable of becoming one of the King’s First Guard. He’s a good man. We are grateful for him. And for you, fair Chantaya. All joking aside, I thank you for your service in bringing word of insurrection. It has been invaluable. You have our deepest gratitude. Thank you.”

  She could only nod and looked down humbly as he went on, smiling, “In truth, ’tis that I’m amazed a beauty such as you could also be capable of such as you’ve done. You don’t look the least bit like a soldier.”

  “I pray not, Sire. Thank you.”

  The music ended and the prince offered her his arm to take her back to Peyton. As he handed her over, he said with his characteristic teasing grin, “If he ever does make you cry, I live in the big house with the flags and soldiers all around. You can’t miss it.”

  At length, the musicians wound down and the king and queen finally took their places near the archway to bid farewell to their guests. Chantaya had had the time of her life, but her ribs were aching and even the smaller cut on the point of her shoulder had begun to throb from having to reach up to dance with Peyton.

  They wended their way arm in arm toward the archway, and Chantaya was just thinking it had been one of the best nights of her life when she was bumped into from behind. Both she and Peyton turned to see what was happening and they found it was Damian Rosskeene in line directly behind them, positively drunken. Lord Rosskeene w
as attempting to steer him out the archway, but Damian had commenced to be rather happily gregarious as he made his exit.

  Chantaya was surprised because the refreshments hadn’t been of an alcoholic nature, then she was surprised again, when Damian once again bumped into her, looked up and said matter-of-factly, “Oh, so sorry, Chantaya. Good even to you.”

  With that, he waltzed on out the door, infinitely less frightening than he was at home in the manor house and Lord Rosskeene gave her and Peyton an embarrassed glance and said, “I’m sorry, Miss. He’s but a boy. You know how it goes.”

  He went out in Damian’s wake and Chantaya looked up at Peyton in concern and whispered, “No, I’m sure I don’t know how it goes. And he’s no more boy than I am. Just out of control. Did he know who I was, Pey?”

  Peyton looked up in concern at the ruckus and said drily, “Remember you were a boy but yesterday. He seemed to know you, but don’t worry. I doubt he’ll know anything in the morning except that his head hurts.”

  He nudged her as they neared the outer doorway. “That’s Mordecai. What the devil?” Peyton’s face became grim and he tried to push ahead, but at that moment, Damian became ill and vomited on the cobblestone walk almost onto Mordecai’s boots.

  Lord Rosskeene rolled his eyes and cursed and Peyton led Chantaya to the side in disgust. Mordecai followed. After glancing at Rosskeene to ensure he was out of hearing, Peyton looked intensely at Mordecai and asked brusquely, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Mordecai shook his hand and then smiled as he took Chantaya’s hand and said, “Nothing is wrong. Can’t an old man come to see a lovely young woman in a ball gown? You are the picture of rare beauty, my girl. You look positively stunning.”

  Peyton let out a sigh of relief as Chantaya reached to hug Mordecai with both arms and said, “Thank you, Sir Mordecai. You are kind. It’s been a wonderful night. You didn’t truly come all this way just to see my dress.”

  “The dress and the young lady in it. Indeed, I did. And worth the trip it is. I haven’t seen such beauty since first I brought my wife Christiana to a royal ball.”

  Chantaya stepped back from him and smiled and said, “I’ll bet she was far prettier than I. What was her dress like? Surely you remember.”

  Mordecai gave her a mellow smile as they continued on up the walk and mused, “A body couldn’t forget that dress. ‘Twas a pure fairy dress of pale yellow satin caught up with rows of lace and tiny ribbons. She was a vision.”

  Wrapping an arm round his waist, Chantaya prodded with a smile, “And did you kiss her in her ball gown, Sir Mordecai? Surely you didn’t pass up the opportunity of a secluded fragrant garden to kiss your wife.”

  For a moment Mordecai was thoughtful and then he smiled again and hedged, “I’m sure I don’t remember. Why? Should a girl be kissed in a secluded fragrant garden?”

  Chantaya laughed and hugged him again. “You. Not remember? I’m sure I don’t know either, Sir Knight. It just seemed like a romantic idea is all.”

  On the walkway behind the three, Lord Rosskeene looked up from where he and Lady Rosskeene were dragging their son back to meet their carriage to see the exchange in front of them. The striking dark haired beauty that had been with that impudent Wolfgar seemed to be surprisingly close to old Sir Mordecai. It made him wonder where she was from.

  The unknown beauty had made him feel twenty-two again when first he’d glimpsed her there in the great hall of the castle. There was something about her that reminded him of Isabella when first he’d seen her those many long years ago. He’d felt an instant bolt of attraction upon first seeing Isabella and it had happened again tonight when he’d seen the way that gown had hugged Wolfgar’s girl’s stunning figure. A man should possess such a woman as that.

  He glanced back over at his wife. She certainly wasn’t seventeen anymore. She’d put on weight in their years together. They both had. And her perpetual grimace had settled into folds in her face that had begun to droop with perspiration and fatigue on this long, warm night. He looked again from her to the svelte and graceful beauty who was smiling up at Sir Mordecai on the cobblestones ahead of them and made a decision to find out what he could about the girl. He’d have to find out where old Sir Mordecai had gotten to and go from there. Once he was king, he would need a more suitable woman for his queen anyway.

  SSSS

  The royal seamstress had been right about the paint on Chantaya’s face. ‘Twas nigh indelible. By the time she had it scrubbed clean enough to keep the Rosskeenes from detecting it, her skin was fair tender. Peyton noticed the pinkness and kissed her brows tenderly when she appeared the next morning. He had a carriage waiting to take her home, with both of their saddle horses tied behind it and his friends and Sir Mordecai sitting their own horses nearby. He handed her into its luxury and she literally sighed as she leaned her sore ribs against the padded seat. This would be so much more restful for this long journey, although she fully intended to talk Peyton into sending it back long before they neared Rosskeene Manor. She would ride the last way as a boy so as not to alert anyone to her tie to Peyton. If it was still light out, she even considered traveling alone to stay inconspicuous.

  He did let her talk him into sending it back at the last inn they passed. But even though it was a sunny late afternoon, both he and Mordecai insisted they and the others ride along beside her in her stable boy clothing, with the duffle bag tied on behind carrying her dresses. When they passed the Rosskeene entourage not far beyond the inn, she was infinitely grateful for her boy’s clothing and horse. Hopefully the Rosskeenes were all dozing inside their carriage and wouldn’t even recognize Peyton.

  When they arrived, Mordecai, Matthew, Shaun and the others waited in the wood behind the Rosskeene stables as Peyton went a little further with her before leaving her to ride the last bit in alone. Deep in the wood, they paused and got off to tell each other goodbye and it was difficult as usual to say farewell. They were officially betrothed now, and closer than ever and she could see the struggle in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her one last time.

  For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and then finally, he said almost heatedly, “I’m never doing this again, Chani. Never! I don’t care if Rosskeene is coming after the crown with gigantic flying ships and sea monsters. This is the last time. I’m going to go back to Valais and finish this whole mess, then come and get you once and for all. And we’ll be married. We’re not even going to say goodbye at the end of the day. We’re going to say goodnight. I can’t leave you here like this. It makes me feel less than a man. I feel I’ve failed you every single time even though you’ve helped the king.”

  Stepping back, she looked into his eyes for a long moment, wondering what to say and finally said simply, “As you wish, Sir Peyton.” She reached inside her borrowed boy’s shirt and fingered the medallion he’d given her and searched his eyes, seeing forever there. Once more, she whispered, “As you wish.” She stood on her toes to kiss him and he pulled her to him almost roughly, whispering her name as he kissed her back hungrily.

  Finally, he let go and gently helped her back aboard her horse, then stood beside her, his big hand upon her knee and still holding her captive with his liquid brown eyes. Knowing she was going to cry if she didn’t leave, she leaned down and quickly kissed him, smiled and said, “I love you, Sir Peyton. God bless.” Then she spurred her horse away so he wouldn’t see her tears as she whispered the same words all the way back into the stable.

  Chapter 19

  After the ball, more rainy weather brought the first colored leaves of fall to Rosskeene Manor. With them came the heightened urgency to finish preparations for the coming winter, including the cutting of the huge stacks of firewood and peat bricks the manor would require. This was a gargantuan task for the men and it had Conrad, as well as the other young grooms out assisting, as they cut and hauled peat and whole trees into the yards to split and stack against the winter’s cold.

  At the same time, Chantaya and
Isabella were also working near round the clock to gather in the herbs and mushrooms the manor would need when the snow was too deep to find them in the coming months.

  For the first time since their arrival, the Kincraigs were left relatively unguarded by the servants. This brought a horrible feeling of vulnerability that was only slightly lessened by the marked focus Lord Rosskeene gave to the unsavory visitors to his study who Chantaya listened in to as she worked to keep the silver sparkling. There was something terribly important to Lord Rosskeene in the wind. She knew this was the biggest thing that had been planned thus far, but Chantaya hadn’t as yet been able to pin down what it was that was so vital to him and his unsavory henchmen.

  Even the visitors themselves made the women feel unsafe as the Kincraigs worked in and around the manor while the male servants were gone. Chantaya took to keeping the dagger Mordecai had given her in her boot all of the time.

  All of it made that time in the evening when the day’s work was done and Chantaya and Isabella could return to the safety of the stable and the reassurance of Conrad’s presence that much more precious. Still, there was no word from the magistrate.

  Conrad had become a surprisingly good reader in the weeks Isabella had been teaching him and it brought a sweet emotion when Chantaya saw the two of them with their heads together over one of Isabella’s carefully hoarded books of an evening. That their friendship was deepening was clearly apparent and it brought a measure of peace to Chantaya that was almost puzzling. It lessened a sense of worry for her mother that, until now, she hadn’t even realized she was feeling. ‘Twould indeed be a wonderful thing if Isabella and Conrad could ease each other’s loneliness in the old age that would come to them. Conrad had been a true and wonderful guardian to them these weeks they’d been here.