One Winter Knight

by Townsend, Lindsay

  Cheryl Pierson

  She only wants to marry her forever love…is that too much to ask?

  Ireland

  Winter, 1385

  “The chieftain has ordered this marriage, Logan. You’ve no choice but to see it through. Not unless you mean to defy—”

  Logan O’Malley turned to face his younger brother. “I know what my duties are, Keiran. I’m always mindful of them.”

  Keiran gave him a wry grimace. “That, you are, brother. But…if I might say—your marriage to Lady Breasal could be a good thing. I’ve heard your—your betrothed is comely and—”

  Logan’s lips twisted, and he went back to brushing the beautiful black stallion. Keiran fell silent at the dismissal. After a few seconds, he tried again.

  “Logan, I know—I understand how you must feel.”

  “No. No, you don’t.” Logan stopped the rhythmic stroke of the brush and Victory whickered softly in protest. “All my life, from the cradle, I’ve been reminded of my responsibilities, my duties. There’s never been a moment I haven’t been aware.” Giving Victory a pat, he turned back to face his brother again.

  Keiran nodded at his words. “I know. The curse of the eldest.” He flashed a rueful grin. “I’ve been ever grateful you came first. What a difference a year makes—for everyone.”

  Logan blew out a steamy breath in the cold of the stable. “’S God’s truth,” he muttered.

  “Still…it’s not as if you’re in love with another…not as if—”

  Logan waved a dismissive hand. “Save your breath. You’re right. It’s not ‘as if’ anything. Except for the fact that I—might have had some plans of my own for my life.”

  Keiran closed the distance between them and put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “It’s sorry I am that this is your destiny, thrust upon you by fate. Something you don’t want. But—you’re stronger than any of us.”

  “Only because—”

  “No. Don’t say ‘only because I have to be.’ Logan, there isna any way a’tall I could ever do—ever be—what you are. You walk into a room and it falls silent. The people respect you.”

  Logan laughed. “They like you, Keir. That’s more important, in some instances.”

  Keiran shook his head. “There’s a reason you were firstborn. You’re a leader. Men would follow you to hell and back. Da wants grandchildren, Logan. You’ve heard him say it a thousand times.”

  “Da wants! And Da, being the High Chieftain of Clan O’Malley, gets what he wants. Always.” He slapped a hand against a sturdy wood stall post. “For once, I would like to follow my own heart, my own wishes—not the old man’s.”

  Keiran nodded, and Logan saw a flash of sorrow in his eyes.

  “Well, brother…one day, you will be able to do just that,” Keiran murmured. “For one day, you shall take his place as ruler of our people—our land. As O’Malley Chieftain.”

  ****

  “I will not marry Logan O’Malley, Mama! I—I do not love him! I’ve never laid eyes on him, and—”

  Lady Siobhan Breasal raised an imperial hand to her daughter, stopping her protests.

  “I have indulged you, Noelle, far too long. You will do as I bid you, now. You are old enough to understand that you sometimes are called upon to do your duty—as the eldest daughter of Clan Breasal, and that includes marriage to Logan O’Malley.”

  “But, Mama—he’s—I—I don’t even know him! How can I marry someone I’ve never even met?”

  Lady Breasal leaned toward her daughter. “You will do it for the clan, Noelle. You are a child no longer. It is time for you to meet your duty—to marry well, and offer us the protection of your husband’s men. Joining with the O’Malley in this alliance will ensure our safety for the foreseeable future. You are the only one who can do this! And you shall do it, Noelle.”

  Noelle moistened her lips and looked down, masking the defiance she felt. Why? Why must the burden always fall on her?

  Since Da had taken ill and passed last spring, Noelle had felt the growing pressure for her to “marry well” as her mother was so fond of saying. But she wasn’t ready to marry anyone!

  Marriage would put an end to her time alone in the woods…the solitude and thoughtful times she craved so much. The restlessness in her soul was not going to disappear simply by taking her marriage vows…with a total stranger. She would never know a peaceful moment again—she was sure of it.

  First would come the demands of her new husband. The rigors of the daily running of her new home—meals for all, seeing everyone had a bed and shelter, overseeing the cleanliness…the list seemed endless.

  Then, would come a babe, then another—

  She was still seeking to know herself, and now, she would be bartered away like a prize ox. Noelle Shaleen Siobhan Breasal would be lost…consumed by the wants and needs of everyone else.

  “Maybe—maybe the O’Malley would be just as satisfied with Isabel, Mama. And she is ready to wed. Why, just yesterday, she was saying—”

  Lady Breasal wagged a finger at her daughter. “Don’t be offering up your younger sister to the O’Malley, Noelle. She will marry in her own good time.” A smile curved the older woman’s lips. “I believe Logan O’Malley does have at least one younger brother…”

  “Mama—”

  “Enough! The wedding will take place in seven days’ time. Your groom will travel here to take part in the ceremony and take stock of our holdings—and…he will arrive soon.” She waved a dismissive hand. “This is why I have not spoken of it until now, Noelle. You are too determined to have your way. I despise these arguments. Now, leave me.”

  Noelle flinched, though she should have been used to her mother’s uncharacteristic harshness by now. Since Da had passed, her mother had become someone she barely knew. There was no chance of her being able to confide in Lady Siobhan Breasal as she might have done in the past.

  Noelle inclined her head and curtsied. It was best to acquiesce—at least, on the surface. She would thus barter for time to retreat…and decide what to do next.

  She hurried out of her mother’s private chamber, relieved there had been no witness to the conversation other than Moira, Lady Breasal’s maid. Noelle knew better than to return to her own chamber for any length of time. She wouldn’t put it past her mother to lock her inside until the ceremony—Mama’s state of mind had not been stable since Da’s death.

  As much as she didn’t trust the idea of returning to her chamber, she needed to change her clothing. She would take Dancer out for a ride—and she would do it astride. But not in this loathsome dress!

  She paused just outside her door as a female voice came to her from inside her chamber. The door was open a crack, and though Rosaleen’s voice was soft, Noelle could hear her maid perfectly.

  “Christopher says Lord O’Malley is harsh, but fair. I worry for my Lady Noelle, though. Headstrong, she is, and used to doin’ things her own way. O’Malley will have the very devil of a time bending her to his will.”

  “Ach, a man of war, he is,” Noreen, one of the other maids, replied. “Handsome as Original Sin, they say—though I’ve never seen him myself, you understand—and stubborn as the day is long. A family trait of the O’Malley clan, or so I’ve heard tell.”

  Rosaleen gave a smothered chuckle. “Handsome, stubborn, and a brave warrior…our Lady Noelle may be luckier than she can imagine, what say ye, Noreen?”

  Noreen laughed softly. “I’m sure he’ll be a proud warrior between the sheets as well. He’ll conquer Lady Noelle in the end, no matter how she fights him—and this marriage. Aye, I’d say this time next year, we’ll all be welcomin’ the newest O’Malley into the world, doona ye think, Rosie?”

  Noelle’s heart pounded in furious response to the thought of these two maids discussing her future as calmly as they might the weather. A future she’d been oblivious to up until earlier today. Ye gods, had the entire castle known? How had she been kept so blind?

  But, she was not ready to sacrifi
ce herself for her mother—or for the clan. There was no imminent threat of battle. Things could rock along a while longer, couldn’t they—without her having to wed a total stranger to avoid disaster? Especially when disaster seemed so far away…

  She coughed and then pushed the door open noisily to be certain the maids had a chance to recover themselves before she entered the room.

  “Lady Noelle.” Rosaleen curtsied, as did Noreen. They finished fluffing the pillows on Noelle’s bed, then turned for the door.

  “Will ye be needin’ me, m’lady?” Rosaleen asked.

  “No, Rosie. Go on ahead. I’ll see you at supper.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Noelle followed them to the door, watching as they walked down the long hallway, then disappeared when they turned for the staircase.

  There was no one else in sight, but still, her stomach churned with apprehension.

  She had to get away.

  Leaving the door open in order to hear a chance footfall, she hurried to her armoire and took out the clothing she’d need for her escape—dark leggings and a snug-fitting men’s undershirt. A heavy woolen tunic and cape. Tall riding boots—a little large, but the smallest men’s size she could procure.

  She would not waste the space in her travel bag the extra clothes and boots would occupy. She’d be wearing them soon enough—as quickly as she could make her way to the stables.

  No…her bag would contain the things dear to her heart and soul—objects she might never see again, precious keepsakes—her coveted paper, ink, and special quills. The ruby brooch her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday—the last gift he’d bestowed on her before his death last spring. A cherished book her brother Cormac had brought back for her from his travels…before he’d left again.

  That had been just before Da had died. Tears welled in her eyes as she packed her small cloth bag. Her brother didn’t even know Da had passed away. He had not been here to witness the spiraling downward changes in Mama. Nor the lack of discipline Jory and Paddy, their youngest siblings, exhibited now that Da was gone.

  Noelle would have liked to say goodbye to her younger sister, Isabel, but she dared not seek her out. There was not time, and she wasn’t sure Isabel could keep a secret from Mama—not when Mama determined to find out what Isabel might know.

  Noelle sighed, and turned to give the chamber a quick once-over for anything else she might need to take with her.

  The medicine pack! If Dancer’s leg became sore, she’d need the liniment. And if she herself fell ill, or was hurt somehow—she swallowed hard at the thought. She’d have to see to herself. She carefully placed the medicine pack on top of everything else, making sure her spare unmentionables and leggings were in the bottom of the bag.

  Time was short. She grabbed the bag, her boots, and the change of clothing, then pushed slightly on the side of the armoire. Holding her breath, she wondered if Mama had already taken precautions to set guards in the secret passageway from her room, or blocked its use, somehow. But it turned easily, allowing her entrance into the elaborate labyrinth of hidden rooms and tunnels she’d played in since she’d been a young child.

  Quickly, she stripped off the dress, wishing she’d had the foresight to ask Rosaleen to help her with the rows of buttons before she’d left. Impatient, she yanked, sending the small circlets flying. She pushed on the armoire again, closing the entrance. By the feel of her clothing in the darkness, she dressed in the men’s garments, leaving her fine gown in a heap where she’d stepped out of it.

  She sat on the top step of the stone stairway and pulled on thick stockings and the boots. Quickly pinning up her long, dark hair, she grabbed her bag and cloak, and hurried down the stairs.

  At the base of the stairway, there were two doors. One led to the kitchen pantry. The other opened directly outside. This was the one she chose, thanking God her ancestors had had the foresight to include the secret passageways and multiple openings as they had done. And that Mama was not herself, and had not thought to post a guard to halt her escape.

  It wasn’t a far distance to the main stable, and the afternoon shadows were lengthening. Even a shorter run to the forest nearby, Noelle thought, planning to circle back behind the stable to avoid prying eyes and questions.

  Though there would be plenty of questions from the stableman, Old Harmon, who’d held his position since long before Noelle had been born.

  She had a travel bag with her. He was no fool. She had no choice but to be honest with him, and hope he’d not say anything to anyone about her leaving.

  She broke and ran for the woods, not looking back until she stood inside the bracken-strewn floor of her forest cathedral. No one was watching. It was coming up on the dinner hour, and most of the men had gone inside to prepare for the evening meal.

  She shook her head. She’d struck out with no plans—not even provisions. She had a change of clothes and her medicinal pack, but no bread or cheese. She could bind up a wound, but might starve to death in the process. The only weapon she carried was a dagger.

  No matter. She was determined, just as Mama had accused her of being. The thought of being bartered into a loveless marriage to be endured until death was not something she was going to even contemplate—not when there was another choice. Not for Mama…not even for the clan.

  Traitor. Noelle Breasal is a traitor. Many women through the ages had been expected to do that very thing. And they had done so.

  But was it so very wrong of her to want happiness in her life? There had been so little of it, so far. And it was clear that Mama was willing to sacrifice her daughters to form secure alliances with any other clan who might ask for their hands.

  Her brothers would, at least, be able to have some say in their eventual betrothals. She was the first of the sacrifices—but she wouldn’t do it!

  She worked her way through the forest, around to the door at the back of the stable. She walked quickly to the wood and stone structure and slipped inside, glancing around for Old Harmon. Could it be she wasn’t going to have to answer his questions after all?

  She made her way to Dancer’s stall, scratching ears, giving pats of hello and soft words of greeting to the other horses who whickered softly in their stalls.

  “Dancer, me own sweet girl, how are you?” Noelle laid her cheek close to Dancer’s soft, dark fur and the mare nuzzled her hair in greeting. That brought the first smile of this dreadful day to her lips. She turned and gave Dancer a quick kiss on the side of her face.

  “Come along, me beauty. We’re going for a ride, we are.”

  “Feels like snow, lass.”

  Old Harmon’s voice startled Noelle. She jumped and turned to face the aged hostler as he walked up behind her. She smiled at him, trying to hold the bag to her side inconspicuously.

  The stable master’s eyes narrowed. “Where’re ye off to?”

  “Harmon—please. I can’t say.”

  “Can’t…or won’t?”

  “Truly, I can’t—because I don’t even know where I’m headed. I only know I have to get away.”

  His rheumy blue eyes lit with understanding. “Runnin’ away, are ye?” He nodded. “Avoidin’ the marriage. I ken why ye might go. But I’ve heard that the young Lord O’Malley be a good man. Honorable, and fair.”

  Noelle hung her travel bag on a feed hook and released Dancer from her stall. “I—don’t want to marry a man I don’t even know.” She began to saddle the horse.

  Old Harmon scratched his head, then handed her the bridle. “Many women marry men they don’t know, lass. Even those who sometimes believe they’re well-acquainted in other ways, if you take my meanin’. There’s more to a marriage than thinkin’ ye know someone already. That can be trickery, at times.”

  “I hear he’s fierce in battle.”

  Harmon chuckled. “Well, now, I’d rather have a man like that to back me than one who was a coward, wouldn’t you? Eh? If you was to be honest about it?”

  “Fierce in bat
tle…may mean he be cruel in other ways—I am a woman. You can’t understand. No man can. A woman is vulnerable—”

  Harmon shook his head. “Think on this, my lady. O’Malley will make you a better match than that McTierney devil—”

  “McTierney? What do you know of this, Harmon?” Fear slid into Noelle’s stomach like a shot of spirits turned rank. Even the servants gossiped about the cruelty of Lord Dalon McTierney and his clan.

  Harmon swallowed hard. “Nothin’, miss. Only that there was talk that Lord McTierney had also spoken for you. But your mother decided you and the O’Malley would suit better, and…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat.

  Noelle stood in stunned silence. Finally, she managed to say, “How—did I not know any of this?”

  “We wasn’t to ever tell, Miss Noelle. Just downstairs gossip…” He waved a dismissive hand. “Who knows how much of it’s true, anyhoo?” His hollow chuckle let her know every single bit of it was.

  “Yer mother—she told Rosaleen and Noreen and the others—” he gulped “—they’d be turned out if you were told before she got you married off—Sweet Lord…I’m too old to go elsewhere—”

  “Harmon, please don’t fash over this.” Noelle checked the tack to be certain everything was tight and ready for her to ride. “I will never let anyone know what you’ve said here tonight. You have my word. But…please don’t tell anyone you saw me leave.”

  “But—”

  “Just say Dancer was gone when you got up. Tomorrow morning.”

  Harmon nodded reluctantly. “All right, Miss Noelle. But think on what I’ve told you. McTierney is a bad one, but you could do worse than Lord O’Malley—”

  Noelle tied her bag to the pommel of the saddle and swung up on Dancer’s back. She fastened her cloak around her neck, snatching Harmon’s battered hat from a nearby peg. “I’ll buy you a new one,” she said apologetically as she pulled it low onto her head, already wishing for more warmth.

  “Where will you go?” Harmon asked, holding up a staying hand. “Here, lass, take this scarf—” He handed her a tattered woolen scarf that she gratefully wrapped around her neck. “I have another,” he said, in answer to her unasked question.