The great cathedral was filled with the scent of incense. The bride and groom knelt; once again, monks sang in rich, deep, voices, and the great nave seemed filled with the sanctity of ritual and promise.
At the altar of the cathedral, she bowed her head along with her aging count.
The priest began to speak the words that would join them as man and wife. He seemed to speak on and on, caught in a haze, a vision that did not end. And at last he made demands of the couple before him.
He heard her words. Soft, muted. But sure, unfaltering.
The priest held a golden band. He touched it to the bride's fingers, the first, the second, the third. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
And it was then that he left.
He walked out of the cathedral, Eric silently at his heels.
He came to his horse, mounted, and rode.
And he did not look back.
Chapter 12
It was six weeks before Eleanor returned to Clarin with Alain.
News of her homecoming had been sent ahead when they docked, and moved far more swiftly than she did with Alain. He could not ride for long periods of time, and even the rocking motion of a wagon disturbed him. Still, she was surprised and touched by the greeting her cousins had prepared. The road to the castle was lined with the tenants and craftsmen who lived and worked in the village and environs; they were ready with flowers, greetings, and cries of welcome. When they neared the castle, the household servants were outside as well, Alfred on the step, Corbin beside him. Even Corbin's wife, Isobel, petite and dainty and beautiful, had appeared for the occasion.
She wondered how Corbin was managing.
But King Edward, having so recently wed the French king's sister and beginning negotiations to wed his heir to the French king's daughter, was feeling benign toward the French. The king himself might have ordered Isobel to Clarin to greet such a well-regarded Frenchman as Alain de Lacville.
Eleanor was proud of the appearance given by her home. She waved happily to those she passed, and when they came to the entry of the castle, she leaped down, hugging Alfred, and then Corbin, and even Isobel, who seemed to expect such a show of affection. Alfred and Corbin were both acquainted with Alain, since he had been a close friend to her father throughout the years, even when war had broken out between their two countries.
Isobel was quick to greet Alain, making him feel at home as they walked up the steps to what was actually the second level of the castle, and the great hall. "My dear Count de Lacville! It is such a pleasure to have so noble a man for a cousin-in-law, yet it is difficult to understand why you two have chosen to come here! I have been told your estates in France are truly magnificent."
"I am blessed, indeed, madam, but as my eldest son does well enough by what will be his inheritance, it seemed expedient to come here, to my wife's property."
"Which, of course, Alfred handles admirably!'' Eleanor said, rising on tiptoe to kiss Alfred's cheek, and bringing a blush to his face.
"The meal is set, of course," Isobel informed them. "We may dine at any time. If you require some time to rest ..."
"We are exceedingly well," Eleanor assured her, "but perhaps you'd all be willing to wait until we've had some time to repair somewhat from the ride?"
"Of course!" Isobel said. "I've taken the liberty, Eleanor, of moving your belongings to your father's suite. There are the two rooms there ..."
"Thank you so much," she murmured.
"Count de Lacville, I do hope you'll find our north country hospitality worthy, when you are accustomed to the grandeur of Paris," Isobel continued sweetly.
"I'm sure I shall be very comfortable." He smiled. "I have felt welcomed in this home many times before, and I've always been comfortable. And now, of course, wherever Eleanor chooses to be is where I am happiest."
"I can well imagine," Isobel said sweetly.
"I hope you're comfortable," Eleanor told her, "when you're accustomed to the grandeur of London."
Isobel was silent for a moment, then her smile deepened. "Wherever Corbin is, of course, is where I am the happiest."
"Really?" she inquired.
"Of course!"
Eleanor looked at Corbin, who shrugged. She thought that Isobel stepped on his toe then, but she couldn't be certain.
"I'll show you—" Isobel began.
"I know where my father's chambers are, Isobel. Thank you so very much."
Eleanor kept a firm hold on Alain's arm as they walked up the steps to the third level. Clarin was probably cold and drafty compared to the beauty of his estates, and she was sorry to make sad comparisons of her own home. She felt guilty. She loved her home, and though the lands had been ravaged, they were slowly coming back. This winter was hard, exceptionally hard, but they would make their way through it, and all would be well.
There were two rooms, and a large dressing chamber to the suite, and even indoor "necessary" closets, due to her father's love for all things Roman. Though there were two doors to the hall, she made a show of walking together through the first, certain that Isobel was watching her every move. When they were inside, Alain staggered a little.
"I do believe I need to lie down."
"Aye, Alain, you must rest," she said, helping him to the bed. He had traveled with his servant, Jean, and she knew she should call him, but she could help him from his outer winter garments, and bring him water, and get him settled first.
He caught her hand when she adjusted the covers around him.
"You are a good wife," he told her gently, dark eyes warm and kind.
"Don't talk of dying or of leaving me, do you hear?" she demanded. "You'll leave me to that monster!"
"The petite little dark-haired beauty?"
"Aye, that monster!"
Alain laughed. He touched her hair. "I'd never leave you, if it were in my power."
"Don't even talk of it."
She began to fold the clothing she had taken, and smooth the sheets around him.
"Do you think of him often?" he asked softly.
She rose. "No," she lied. "He has gone back to Scotland. I am here, with you."
"That's not the same, is it?"
"Alain—"
"Please, I hold no fault with you."
"And I pray that you live long, and stay with me for years and years."
He smiled and closed his eyes. "I would dearly love some water."
She brought him water. He seemed to want to sleep. She slipped into the smaller of the two chambers that had been her father's. The lady's room was lovelier, she thought. The furniture was old, finely carved—with Gaelic designs. Once upon a time, there had been an era of peace at the borders. Some of the tapestries in here had come from the Flemish living in the Scottish borders. The books had been finely crafted by monks at Melrose Abbey.
She didn't want to think about that. Fresh water and a pitcher and bowl had been left for her; she cooled her face, and quietly left the room, leaving Alain to rest.
She found Corbin alone in the great hall. "Ah, cousin! My poor dear! So you have gone off, married Father Time, and returned." He poured himself a glass of spirits. "You bested a pirate and the Scots once again. Foolish me—I worried sick when I heard of your adventure. I should have worried for poor Wallace!"
He teased her, yet she thought there was self-ridicule in his words.
"I didn't best the pirate or the Scots. The pirate intended to sell me off to the Arabs for a fair price; the Scots knew I'd be worth more to Alain."
He walked over to her, taking her into a gentle hug, and holding her. "Eleanor, I missed you. I was worried sick. The news, as we received it, came first from vague reports by other travelers, then officially from London, as Philip sent word to Edward."
"I'm sorry you were so worried. But you've had company here."
"Isobel. Ah, yes, the arms of my loving wife."
"She's been here since I've gone?"
"Amazingly so."
"
You're not pleased."
"I'm still puzzled. Aren't you?"
She had to laugh; he did seem bemused. "Maybe she has changed her ways."
"She wishes to bear an heir—being quite certain you won't do so, and my good brother is too busy actually working and obeying each of King Edward's summons to arms."
"Have you been called to serve with him in another campaign?" she asked worriedly.
"When isn't there a campaign?" he replied vaguely. "I am tempted to send back messages that we have served, that you were on the briny sea, giving the Scots hell once again. You did give them hell, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes."
He shook his head. "Poor cousin ... I do hurt for you."
"Why?"
"Alain is a fine man, but ... ah, well, when am I proper, or discreet, to you, at any rate? To be bluntly honest? You should enjoy your youth, your beauty ..." Despite his words, he hesitated. "The one thing I will say for Isobel, she does enjoy her sport. She is an absolute witch, but... very good at what she does. I wish that I could send her away. I can't quite manage to do it. But there is the point. We are young, and there are benefits to marriage, and you should ... well, you can't, I mean, I can't imagine ... I mean, he is old."
"Corbin, thank you for worrying about my earthly pleasures."
"He may die, you know."
"We'll all die, one day."
"You do seem ... not happy, but resigned."
"I am—resigned. Tell me, what news of the Scots?"
' 'Wallace is back in Scotland. He has lost his army, but there are still strong factions of renegades about, and they've attacked English outposts, supply wagons, and made a few punitive raids, but not far across the border. The Comyn faction continues to fight, though Robert Bruce, you know, is to be married to an English heiress, and is in Edward's hands at the moment. Tell me about Wallace. Was he painted like an ancient tribal Pict? Does he have horns, and is he seven feet tall?"
"He wasn't painted the times we met, and yes, he is tall, no he is not seven feet, but well over six. He had no horns, but his teeth are in fine shape."
"He bit you?"
"No!" she said, smiling. "No. He was human. And he denied being part of any force that came here."
"He would."
"Why would he need to? I was his prisoner at the time."
"They are all renegades, that is the problem. Outlaws, and thieves."
"They have been attacked and killed, as well. More so," she said, and was amazed that she could be standing here, defending the Scots.
"We burn, slaughter, ravage, and pillage them, and they do the same to us. Ah, well," Corbin said. "It hasn't been forever, you know. Before King Alexander died, and the Maid of Norway after him, we were at peace for years with our northern neighbors. But the Scots cannot be at peace with themselves; if ever they were, they'd be a formidable enemy indeed."
"The Scots," Isobel said, sweeping into the room, "are waiting for King Edward to die. Alas, I believe he will refuse to do so, and that wretched man who seized you from the sea will die a terrible death himself, most assuredly."
"Wallace didn't seize me—a pirate did. And he had the most fantastic story, Isobel. He said that he was paid to accost my ship."
"What?" Isobel responded with unfeigned surprise. "Ah— and there you go defending the Scots! Some wealthy baron who decried your position at Falkirk surely must be guilty— if there is a guilty party. Pirates are liars, you know."
"I'm afraid I can't generalize about pirates, Isobel. I have only met the one pirate leader myself."
Isobel laughed. "Dear Eleanor! What does it matter, you are back safe and sound."
"To the delight of finding you here."
Isobel helped herself to wine, paused in the pouring, added more to the glass. "It helps, in the north country."
"If you despise the place so, why do you stay?"
"Alfred was consumed with arms and training and the slightest command spoken by the king; you have now married a rich ancient. Corbin and I are all but obliged to create an heir for the future safety of Clarin."
"How noble. Maybe the ancient and I will yet create an heir," Eleanor informed her, then felt uneasy that she should have spoken so, even to put Isobel in her place. Why fight with her? She was here, for once, with Corbin. And though he truly seemed to have no real love for her, she was his wife, and he was apparently enjoying her sudden maternal urge.
"Of course, Eleanor, I do wish you all the best in that regard. But just in case ... well, the family must live on."
"Incredibly noble, Isobel."
' 'Well, thanks to Count de Lacville and your marriage, Clarin will rise to substance again. We must all look to the future."
Alfred entered the hall then. "I have been over the ledgers, and must set accounts straight tomorrow with you and the count, Eleanor. The north wall is nearly complete, but there has been a call to arms again—"
"The king is waging another battle?" she asked, dismayed by the alarm in her voice.
"The king is always waging another battle. But the Duke of York has sent out summonses, and those we must obey as well. Naturally, from Clarin, we are expected to provide men and arms. We are accustomed to the fight; you must not worry needlessly, nor will we ever allow you to ride again."
"Indeed, even marriage turns into danger when the Lady Eleanor is involved!" Isobel said sweetly. "But, of course, in a few months time, Alfred and Corbin must go, since your poor count cannot!"
' 'Ah, but dear Isobel! How will you bear your husband being torn from your side?"
"We all must suffer in such times," Isobel said sweetly. "I will suffer my husband's absence, and you will suffer the presence of yours!"
"I do not suffer, Isobel. You cannot imagine what age teaches a man," Eleanor told her. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see if he is ready to dine."
She smiled, and left the room, with all of them watching after her.
They were still within the forest; long days and nights of strike-and-run raids made them as wary as any wolf in the woods.
Brendan heard the slightest rustle in the trees, and stepped back, waiting.
Thomas de Longueville, pirate, had changed his ways—just barely. Having received a full pardon from the French king, he had decided that life in Paris would not be to his liking. He had chosen to cast his fate with the Scots, and was proving to be as wily and agile on land as he had been at sea. He was small and slim, capable of great speed, and of climbing a tree with the same expertise he had used on a ship's rigging. He reached Brendan with little more than that slight ruse, but he was somewhat out of breath.
"Tis the wagon coming, just as we were told." He paused, hands on his knees, taking in a deep breath. "There's ale, great barrels of ale, and more trunks than you can imagine. They might well contain the armor Lord Hebert ordered for the men at the fortress they're building on the river. Freshly fashioned by some of the finest masters in Germany! And there might well be some silks as well, ordered by the Lord's lady—what a waste, for they say she is uglier than a mastiff"
"And how do you know all this?"
De Longueville grinned. "One of Lord Hebert's dairy maids. A plump and garrulous little lass, with a tart tongue in many ways. A lovely lass, though, with a fine affinity for all things French."
"Aye, and there he goes, bragging of his prowess again!" Liam MacAllister moaned.
"The Scots are good; the French are better," de Longueville replied, unoffended.
"How far are the wagons?" Brendan demanded.
"No more than five minutes," de Longueville replied.
"How defended?"
"Four guards in the lead, two at the sides, four in the rear."
"In armor?"
"Mail and helms."
"Eric, we'll take the lead?" Brendan said, and his cousin nodded. "They've one chance to surrender; Liam, you and Collum will await their reply, then go for the men riding at the side, and Thomas, you'll take the rear with Ian, Edgar, and Garth, get up in
the tree with me; string one of your sharpest arrows."
"Aye!" came the agreement.
They parted, and melted into the trees, Brendan taking an oak branch that stretched out over the road. In less than a minute, they heard the hoofbeats on the road, and the heavy roll of the wagons.
Brendan waited until he saw the lead riders appearing, then dropped from the tree to the center of the road.
"Whoa, there, my friends, where are you headed?" he called out.
The rider in the lead paused, a look of contempt on his face. "Out of the way, Scotsman. Or we'll slaughter you like a pig."
"And roast him up and send him to the king!" said the fellow at his side.
He surveyed the riders quickly, assessing that he knew none of the men. They wore the colors of Lord Hebert, a man truly despised in the region for his autocratic rule of the lowland land he had been commanded to hold by King Edward. He had forced farmers into hard labor at the rebuilding of the old Roman ruins he meant to turn into a mighty fortification, working some of the older men to death—and preying upon their wives and daughters.
"Ah, and what king would that be?"
"Why, King Edward, you daft savage!" the first man said.
"But Edward is no king in Scotland. Ah, my fine sirs— didn't you notice when you rode this way? This is Scotland— not England."
Seize The Dawn Page 18