by Joanne Rock
“Marriage is happiest when based on common interest and goals. To indulge tender feelings for one’s bride is a disadvantage.”
She said nothing and knew she should not be surprised. Many people thought as much. But her parents had loved each other deeply. And she’d always assumed she would wed a man who could capture her heart, as well. Even if she hadn’t loved Duncan years ago, she had assumed that loving him would be inevitable. What a hollow feeling to learn he had no such aspiration. Then or now.
“But even so, I saw that you were possessed of a good heart and would make an admirable mother. You shared my dream of uniting Culcanon and Domhnaill. And you championed your sister with the same vigor that I championed the half brother I’d recently discovered.”
And thus, they were back to Donegal again. At least now Duncan had seen his half sibling for the churl that he was. But that didn’t mean her future husband would ever develop feelings for her that would put him at “a disadvantage.”
“Forgive me if I seem impertinent, but why would you embrace him so readily?” She understood that it might be more difficult to discern shortcomings in a loved one, but she’d never comprehended Duncan’s ready defense of Donegal from the first.
Besides, the horses had been ridden hard for many leagues and required the rest until—most likely— Duncan ordered another burst of speed to cover ground before the sun set.
Her only response was the crunch of the horses’ hooves through packed snow for some moments. Finally, he spoke.
“Guilt, I suppose. I was provided every advantage and a thorough education as a legitimate son. Whereas Donegal received little more than rudimentary training as a warrior. I did not think it fair.”
“No wonder you were so quick to give Leah a name.” She remembered how resolute he’d been in that. “But not many would agree with you and defend the rights of a bastard, especially when recognizing additional children is costly.”
“My father was fortunate to arrange the marriage with Edwina since our families were already in negotiations for our nuptials.” Duncan turned away as his horse shook out its snow-filled mane, sending frosty bits of ice in every direction. Then, straightening, Duncan fixed his eyes upon her. “I never understood why your father insisted that you be my bride as opposed to your sister when it is usually the eldest who makes the more substantial match. My father was unsure, as well, saying that your da was insistent on this point.”
“You would have preferred Edwina.” She did not have to ask. Any suitor would have favored the vibrant, older Domhnaill daughter, whose beauty was underscored by the proud tilt of her nose and the challenging light in her forward glances. “My father had grown careful with her as even his old friends noticed her, giving her unseemly looks and whispering about her bold manner. Edwina did not have the temperament to run a large household or play hostess to throngs of visitors. She did not know how to tame her wilder impulses. My father thought I would be better suited to a loftier match, though he would hardly approve Edwina going to a man without much coin. Donegal seemed like a perfect solution.”
It was with a mix of pleasure and pain that Cristiana remembered her sister in those days. Edwina had been happy then, a blazing spirit that captured attention wherever she went.
“I never suggested I preferred her, only that it seemed peculiar to offer the younger daughter to the rightful laird of Culcanon. Even though Donegal was poised to receive half the lands, the laird’s seat has always been destined for me.” He frowned as the whirlwind of snow kicked up at the horses’ hooves. “My father feared there was some sort of trickery afoot that your da was insistent upon my taking you and not Edwina, but we both agreed your disposition would serve you well as a laird’s lady.”
She told herself not to be incensed, but she could not help a twinge of hurt at his simple discussion of her character as if he weighed the merits of one hunting hound over another.
“Edwina never openly defied my father, but I believe he feared she could make a troublesome bride.” Cristiana’s heart hurt to think on it. If only their da had let her marry the man she’d once loved. “He had received another offer for her before Donegal—an offer he considered beneath her. But she cared for the suitor and complained about being denied a chance at love. On the other hand, our father relied upon me to fulfill my duty.”
“Love.” Duncan shook his head as if the notion were as fanciful as a child’s ghost tale. “What earthly reason would she have for thinking love could be her lot?”
Cristiana bristled, her hands tightening on the reins until her horse shook his head in protest.
“We were raised by warmhearted parents who cared deeply for one another.” Edwina had not been any more romantic than Cristiana. Cristiana had simply hidden her hopeful heart better.
“Tender regard can surely grow when a match is wisely made,” he assured her. He turned to the west with sudden stillness and a watchfulness came over him that she had not seen before. “Take Leah.”
His words did not make sense. But the deadly seriousness of his tone and the predatory expression upon his face told her enough.
She reached for the girl as Duncan lifted her. Leah wriggled at being dislodged.
“What’s amiss?” She risked a glance over her shoulder as Leah stirred and awoke.
A white cloud swirled low on the horizon, like a swirling mist in the trees.
“Enemy riders. Take cover. Fast.” He kicked his horse into action, lowering his shoulders as if bracing for great speed.
Fear froze her. Where were his men to protect them?
She peered about wildly, seeing no one. Then her racing mind caught up to the direction he’d given.
“Mother, I’m thirsty,” Leah complained, brushing her matted hair from her eyes as Cristiana eased her off her lap and onto the saddle.
Cristiana slid down and off the horse.
“Come. We must hide.” She held her hands out to her daughter, whose eyes widened with alarm. “Bad men approach. Hurry.”
The thunder of approaching hooves pounding the earth and rumbling the ground beneath their feet attested to her words. Snow fell harder from the overhead branches, the trees quaking with the deep reverberation of the oncoming riders.
Leah followed her down from the horse and then reached back for the saddlebag before Cristiana could run for a hiding place.
“We need a sword,” she explained, as the bag pounded Cristiana’s back with a thud.
God save them.
She would have laughed at the outrageousness of her daughter’s request if she hadn’t been scared to death. Sprinting through the old orchard trees, she thought hiding was useless, since the snow would show their tracks anyhow. Still, she took cover behind a thick, fallen trunk, using the travel bag as a small barricade to hide Leah on as many sides as possible. The blanket Duncan had wrapped her in was still about her shoulders, so Cristiana spread it over the girl to hide her completely.
Meanwhile, the noise of the approaching horses had slowed and changed into a clank of swords and men’s shouts. Cristiana peeked over the dry, decaying bark to see Duncan circle his horse in a hard turn about an enemy rider. She could not tell how many there were as snow fell from trees and was kicked up from horses’ hooves, shielding the scene in a frosty cloud. But she could see the occasional flash of steel glinting in the dull winter sun and she prayed each time that it was Duncan’s sword on the winning end.
How could one man, no matter how skilled, fight off so many?
“He is a great warrior,” Leah observed beside her, the child’s tiny chin resting upon a smooth notch in the trunk where the bark had been stripped clean. “Is he to be my father?”
Cristiana’s heart clenched at the wonder in the child’s voice while Cristiana shook with fear beside her. Emotion welled up so strong and fast. Love for her daughter. Praise for the miracle of a child who could feel hope in the face of danger. Fear for the man who might never love her but who would risk his life to save her.
“God willing,” she whispered, surprised at the tears burning the backs of her eyes as he drew Leah closer and squeezed. “He wishes to be your father. You see how hard he fights to protect you?”
But Leah was no longer watching. She wriggled in Cristiana’s arms to see behind them.
“Look, Mother!” she whispered excitedly, pointing to the south.
Riders flying the Culcanon standard bore down on them. Her heart dropped as she recalled King Malcolm’s letter that accused Donegal of fighting under Duncan’s standard. Could the half brother’s forces attack them from two sides?
“Get down,” Cristiana ordered, shoving Leah safely back under the blanket as she searched the saddlebag for a weapon.
There was no sword, of course, but there was a small dagger. Cristiana withdrew it, planning to use it on anyone who tread close enough to touch them. Anyone who threatened Leah would have to shed blood before to see it through.
She vowed if they made it out of this alive, she would not yearn for love in her marriage any longer.
But remaining dispassionate about a man who would lay down his life for Leah would not be easy.
Duncan fought the final man to the ground, leaving him with a wound to the thigh that would not permit him to remount.
The mist of snow cleared now that all the horses had run off save his. There had only been four men to stave off, their numbers having been initially decreased by the men-at-arms that had guarded the west flank of the traveling party. Duncan had not recognized them. If Donegal was assembling bands of brigands to thieve the king and harass travelers, he was not using men from Culcanon lands.
Turning, Duncan peered back to the east, to where he’d left Cristiana and the little sprite. He saw Cristiana’s horse rooting about the snow for grass, unconcerned with the turmoil nearby.
Behind the palfrey, however, the scene was not so tame. Riders bearing the Culcanon banner circled the place in the forest where Cristiana should be. But this was not any of Duncan’s men. He knew from the spears they carried—simple weapons that were not the kinds of arms his men had brought on this journey.
The sweat had not begun to dry on his back from the first battle. He could not possibly take on so many and win.
Still, he could not allow them to take the women without a fight. Rage flared in his chest, his anger spurring his heels as he urged his mount toward those menacing riders. Where in Hades were his men? And how big was this group that attacked them?
From the corner of his vision, he spotted movement from the north. Even without turning, he knew these riders were his men. To an ear long trained to distinguish the sounds of war, the cacophony of his knights speeding over the landscape was as unique as a babe’s cry to its mother. There was a snap to Harold’s rich cloak in the wind, a hissing whip of Gerard’s sword as he rode with it already poised for striking, a jangle to John the Fat’s spurs. Duncan raised his own sword to ensure the men recognized him and understood Cristiana was surrounded by traitors.
He lifted a war cry to the heavens, bellowed from the soles of his feet. His men picked up the battle cry as they rode in from the north, their voices magnifying his and filling the glade with an ancient warning. Not even the heathen Vikings had misunderstood it when Duncan’s ancestors unleashed the predatory call on the invading Norsemen.
The throng of enemy riders seemed to take their measure, their helm-covered heads whipping about to see from whence the sound came and—perhaps—attempting to gauge the size of the oncoming threat. At the center of the riders, on the ground, he spied Cristiana.
Defiant and proud, she stood alone.
Where was Leah?
Had they already taken the child? He rechanneled the chill of fear into propelling strength. Coaxing one last burst of speed from his warhorse, Duncan set his course for the south end of the circle, helping his men to pen the enemy in. They could retaliate with a threat to Cristiana, but they were already too late. Duncan’s best crossbow shooter had already felled two of the enemy.
In a desperate retreat, the remaining riders fled to the east, their horses kicking up snow and dirt. Cristiana sank to the ground, throwing herself on a pile of blankets.
A heap of wriggling blankets. Reining in his destrier, Duncan reached her first and spied Leah emerging from the dark woolen covering that had hidden her from the enemy.
Never in all his days had he felt relief so strong. The force of it almost knocked him from his mount. Cristiana was safe. Leah remained safe.
In all the ways that counted, the two females clinging to each other and crying in the orchard were his family now.
After a quick gesture to his men to secure the perimeter and account for the fallen, Duncan slid to the ground to pull Cristiana and her daughter into his arms. His child now. He needed to feel them, warm and alive.
“You are unharmed.” He drew Cristiana close and kissed the top of her head.
Stiffening, she straightened and clutched Leah tighter. Her icy glare was unmistakable.
Apparently, she did not share his gratitude at finding her betrothed alive.
“This is a fool’s errand and I will attend you no longer.” She kept her voice low so Leah would not hear. “Those men were armed to the teeth and they sought something they could not find. Whether they have heard rumors about Leah or not, I cannot say. But I insist we return to Domhnaill at once.”
Chapter Eleven
S he had not won her way.
Cristiana paced outside the Culcanon great hall, where Duncan had been shut in with his men every since they’d arrived at his family’s stronghold. She had never visited this keep before, but even she could tell the fortress had been recently picked clean of its treasures. There were shadows on the walls showing the outlines of where tapestries had recently hung and fresh gouges in the heavy timber fortifications where iron torch holders had been pried loose from their settings. Metalwork of some sort had been torn off the dais table in the hall—something she’d seen in the brief moments she’d had a glimpse of that space before a maid showed her to a small quarter for Leah.
Her daughter had been happy to meet other children. The Culcanon keep was home to several boys and girls close to her in age. Leah had quickly joined a group of young girls who’d been sharing a doll and cakes by a warm hearth.
And while Cristiana had been pleased that her daughter could adjust so easily to new surroundings, Cristiana had been reluctant to follow the maid to the laird’s chamber, where her things were already being unpacked.
Apparently, no one thought twice about installing Cristiana in the laird’s bed even though she’d exchanged no wedding vows with Duncan. Instead, she’d watched over the corridor outside the great hall, waiting to give him a piece of her mind.
She must have fallen asleep in the chair where she sat near a family of cats prowling the hall in search of dinner. The small candle she’d set beside her on a table in the corridor burned low by the time Duncan emerged. It had to be past midnight. All her feline companions snoozed contentedly near her feet.
“You must be exhausted,” Duncan announced, his eyes raking over her as she stood.
Oddly, her skin warmed as if he’d touched her. How could her body respond to him so immediately, even when her brain had warned her how dangerous entangling her heart would be?
“I am not too tired to force you to hold up your end of our bargain.” She scooped her small candle off the table and blew it out, unwilling to part with precious beeswax in a keep where torches were few and far between. “You promised you would keep Leah safe, and given how unstable your relations are with Donegal, that means allowing her to return to Domhnaill.”
She pressed the candle into her palm, careful to keep the melted wax in its well until it cooled and hardened.
“Did I not prove today that she is better off close to me? And I must be here.”
“Donegal will not attack Domhnaill.” She and Leah would be safest there.
For that matter, Cristia
na’s heart would be safest there, as well. She could not fall prey to Duncan’s appeal if she was many leagues apart from him. Perhaps the time away would help her to shore up her defenses against him. She might have allowed him into her keep, but she still had the option of barring her heart from his disarming smile.
“Donegal will raid wherever I am not.” He gestured expansively to the defaced walls all around them, the torch he carried flaring as he drew it through the air. “He is not afraid to accost the king’s men. What makes you think he will quail at the sight of Domhnaill walls, especially when he has every reason to bear your father a grudge.”
“My father?” The notion surprised her more than anything, but she could understand his reasons immediately.
“He withheld Donegal’s betrothed. No matter how you view it or how your father viewed their early consummation, the vast majority of overlords in the land would have enforced the bridal contract. Can we agree on that much at least?”
Unsure of herself, she recalled the feeling of helplessness today in the orchard and knew she must listen to Duncan’s counsel. Whether she willed it or nay, Duncan’s sword arm and battle strategy were her best defense for Leah.
She shook her head mutely.
“Come.” He enveloped her in one thick arm and guided her toward the stairs. “You must rest.”
Foreboding forced her feet to be still on the cold stone floor.
“I cannot take up residence in your chamber with out having submitted to a priest’s blessing.”
“By the saints, you are stubborn.” Duncan handed her the torch and, thinking he meant to send her off to another chamber on her own, she took it. Of course, he proceeded to sweep her off her feet and carry her in the direction she’d refused to walk. “I claimed you and Leah as my own in front of every noble of note at Domhnaill before your guests departed for their homes. We are already wed in the ways that count.”
Knowing she was too tired to think straight, Cristiana argued no more. Her head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder in spite of herself.