Did he think she was stupid? She had listened to enough war strategies at the Frankish court. “I’m not daft. Go on.”
Angus began to pace once more. “Niall’s lands lie between Fergus and me. It’s of much import that he remains allied to me and not turn and serve Fergus. Do ye know?”
Deidre nodded. “That would be good strategy, of course. What does it have to do with me?”
Dark eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “My son told Niall this morn that ye had been orphaned and sought our help because ye thought yerself to be a distant relation.”
Gilead had said that? Bless him. He really was protecting her, like a real knight would. It was a much simpler explanation than trying to manufacture more stories. “I had no idea my father had lost both his lands and his life when I came here.”
Angus’s frown deepened and his eyes turned murky. “Caw ran afoul of the Lothian king and was sent to Gwynedd. He rousted the Scotti there and we accepted most of them. I dinna claim Caw as friend, even though his wife, rest her soul, was a distant cousin to Elen.” He paused. “But there wasna blood shed between us.”
So her stepmother was dead, too, not that Deidre would have expected her help. “Well, then. I have nowhere to go. I will serve your wife well; you’ll be pleased.”
Angus shook his head. “Doona ye see? Niall thinks ye are kin; a marriage would bind him to my clan.”
“No.” Had that answer not penetrated his skull by now?
“’Twould be a grand thing not to worry about Niall when we still have painted barbarians to the north and the bloodthirsty Saxons coming ashore.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “’Twould keep Niall’s father, Lugaid, in Eire as well, and not be raiding our lands. I’m beginning to like the idea of ye as kin.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Ye will.”
“Never.”
Angus stomped over to her, stopping so close, she nearly had to bend backward to avoid being in body contact. A small whimper came from Elen.
He towered over her, fists clenched. “I am laird here. Ye will do as I say or find yerself in the dungeons.” A stifled sob emerged from Elen’s chair and he looked at her in irritation.
“Please, Angus,” she said as she held out pale, shaking hands. “’Tis not the lass’s fault. Let her stay with me.”
His face turned dark and Deidre thought he would lash verbal abuse at his poor wife. She could feel him fighting for control. Deidre sensed this was probably the boldest thing the timid Elen had said to him in ages.
“I’ll not let two women tell me what to do.” He took a ragged breath and unclenched his hands. “A compromise, then. A handfast be an agreement to hold to each other for a year and a day, to act as husband and wife afore marriage. Niall dinna want to wait past Lugnasad to marry ye, three months hence. Said ’twould be enough time to tame ye.” Deidre bristled, but he held up his hand. “I’ll agree to that, but I will tell him there’ll be no bedding ye until the wedding day.”
He looked quite pleased with himself. Deidre opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger to her lips. “It’s settled, lass.” With that, he turned and walked out.
She stared after him. Did he think he’d made some grand concession? What right did he have to control her life, anyhow? If only she could tell him who she really was, but that would throw her mission of finding the Stone into jeopardy.
With a horrible, sinking feeling that felt like a whole load of Welsh coal ore had settled in her stomach, she realized that he did have that right to control her life. Women were chattel. This was definitely not Camelot. A curse on the magician for filling her head with such dreams all these years.
Three months. August’s festival of harvest. One of the ancient power nights of the Goddess. Not as strong as Samhain, when the mists between this world and the next could be parted and the sidhe emerged from their hollow hills to aid those who believed, but still, an energy force would emerge. She might be able to See where the Stone lay hidden. But could she wait that long?
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. One thing was certain: she would not be marrying Niall. No matter what the dominating, forceful laird thought.
Chapter Three
THE LADY ELEN
“Come, child. Sit with me and eat.”
Deidre turned from staring at the closed door and walked over to where Elen sat, wrapped in her plaids. “Are you cold? Do you want the window shut?”
She shook her head. “Angus would nae approve.”
“It’s your room, my lady. I’ll close it, if you like.”
Elen hesitated, and then a small smile appeared as she nodded. “Ye are not afraid of my lord?”
Deidre latched the window and gratefully took the bowl of porridge that Elen handed her, sliding into the chair opposite her. She savored a bite of buttery bannock melting in her mouth before she answered.
“Should I be afraid of your husband, my lady? Does he hurt you?”
Elen’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, nae. I spoke true on that. Nae, he doona hurt me…” She paused, looking wistful. “He doona touch me at all.” She forced a laugh, but it sounded empty. “’Tis because I’m so fragile…I’ve not much strength.”
Deidre looked at the breakfast on the table. Elen hadn’t touched it. Guiltily, she put down her second bannock, covered in jam. “Maybe you need to eat more, my lady.”
“Truth, child, my stomach turns at the sight of food.” She picked up the goblet and sipped the wine. “I care not for this, but Angus insists I have a cup every morning.”
Someone rapped at the door and, as it started to open, Elen glanced fearfully at the shut window. Deidre laid down her wooden spoon. This was ridiculous. If Angus were back to criticize…
She turned, but the frown on her face faded quickly as Gilead approached them.
“Good morn, Mother. How are ye feeling?” he asked as he leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek and then settled between her and Deidre. He glanced at the bowl in front of Deidre and then back to his mother. “Have ye eaten?”
Deidre felt her ears burn. Only one bowl had been on the tray. Did he think she’d kept his mother from eating? She felt her face grow hot and bent her head so her hair would fall forward. Maybe she had. She had been so hungry, she hadn’t noticed that Elen didn’t have anything to eat with. A fine lady-in-waiting she was making. If that giantess of a castellan found out, she would be scouring pots and pans.
Was Gilead angry? She braved a glance through strands of hair to find him watching her. This morning, he wore his hair pulled back by a thong, too, and, like his father, he wore a leather jerkin with no shirt.
Did the men in this family have any idea of the effect they had on women? Dark curls on his bronze chest teased her before they disappeared beneath the vest. How much hair covered him? She’d seen a wounded soldier once, his shirt stripped from his chest before Clotilde whisked her away. Did Gilead’s hair form a neat little trail all the way to his waist and down inside his pants? Deidre forced herself to not look there. Not that it helped, for his hard, sculpted biceps were equally tantalizing.
He wore a leather bracer on his left arm, leaving the strong right forearm naked. How could just looking at a man’s bare arm make her tummy quiver? But as she looked at his hands, the long fingers tapping on the table, she remembered how strong and warm they had felt last night. The quiver vibrated deeper into her belly.
“I wasna hungry, my son,” Elen said and broke into Deidre’s reverie. “And I suspect Una didn’t give the poor lass a chance to break her fast.”
Bless the woman. Already, Deidre felt a kinship for her. She hastily gathered the half-eaten bannock and empty bowl and put them on the tray. “I’ll just take this to the kitchens,” she said as she began to rise.
“Wait.”
Before she realized what he was about, Gilead leaned over and ran a forefinger lightly across the corner of her mouth. The sizzling warmth his touch left made her lips all puffy. Wh
at did he think he was doing?
“Jam,” he said as he held his hand up and licked the jelly off his finger. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Mind if I finish that?”
Deidre hoped she wouldn’t start to drool. It was bad enough that she couldn’t eat without making a mess. But his touch…did she still have jam on her mouth? Was he going to kiss it off? The idea caused a battalion of butterflies to flutter helplessly in her stomach.
“Ye can stay if ye like,” he said as he reached for her half-eaten bannock. “I visit my mother every morn.”
He was going to come in half-dressed like this every morning? Deidre wasn’t sure she could take it. But Goddess, she wasn’t going to miss it, either.
“Is it archery practice this morning?” Elen asked as Deidre settled into her chair.
“Aye,” Gilead answered. “Ye know how Da likes to compete with Turius when he’s here.”
A cloud settled over Elen’s fine features. “I heard that they arrived yesterday. I was sorry to be so ill I could not greet them properly.”
He patted his mother’s hand. “The king understood. Dinna fash.”
Deidre thought Gilead looked like he wanted to say more, but did not. She wondered who this king was and why Elen didn’t sound as though she was sorry at all.
The door opened and Sheila and Janet entered, giggling. They stopped when they saw Deidre and Gilead seated at the table and Janet narrowed her eyes. Deidre didn’t need any interpretation of what that meant.
Janet ignored her completely as she approached the table, a small, sly smile playing on her lips. Sweet Mary. Was she one of Gilead’s wenches? The lover from last night, perhaps? Sheila had openly flirted with Angus earlier; did the father and son tumble sisters? A very green-eyed cat arched its back and hissed inside Deidre’s mind.
“I’ll just take the tray,” Janet said as she leaned in front of Gilead, bountiful cleavage just inches away from his face. And then she slipped and fell, smashing her breasts against his hard chest.
Right where Deidre wanted to be. She’d never seen such bad acting in her life, even with what passed for entertainment in Childebert’s court.
“Oh, my lord. How clumsy of me.” Janet made a pretense of trying to right herself which only resulted in her clearly rubbing herself against him.
His father had been right. Women did literally throw themselves at Gilead.
Gilead took hold of her shoulders and set her on her feet. With a polite smile, he handed her the tray. “Una will be waiting for this. Tell her my mother…” His dark blue eyes met Deidre’s as he paused. “Tell her my mother enjoyed breaking her fast this morn. Verra much.”
For absolutely no logical reason, giddiness swept through Deidre. He was giving her a compliment… And he didn’t appear taken with Janet’s tactics.
“I’ll leave ye to yer bath now, Mother,” Gilead said as he stood to leave.
“A moment,” Elen said. “There will be a feast tonight? In their honor?”
He hesitated. “Aye. Da has ordered it.”
She sighed and lifted her head. “Tell him I will be there. In my rightful place beside him.”
He nodded and Deidre wondered why he looked so troubled. He reached out and picked up his mother’s hand.
“Doona fash. I’ll sit beside Formorian myself tonight.” He kissed her forehead then and turned to Deidre. “See that ye attend my mother this eve.”
“I’ll be glad to, if she wishes it.”
For a moment, she thought she saw the same spark of dominance that showed so clearly in his father’s face, but he merely nodded curtly and left.
Deidre frowned. Who was Formorian?
◊♦◊
The rest of the morning was taken up with new chores. Servants carried pails of hot water up to Elen’s room, where a large wooden tub sat behind a fine mesh screen. Sheila scented the water with dried rose petals and Una brought a cake of perfumed soap that delighted Elen.
“A new batch!” she said, sniffing it.
“The chandler pressed more heather than he needed for this eve’s candles, so I thought the oil would make yer skin softer,” Una said with a pleased expression on her otherwise grim face. She glared at Deidre and Janet. “I’ll not want to find ye using it. ’Tis for the lady, only.”
Of course. Lye soap for the servants, no doubt. She’d have to keep hidden the bar that Anna had brought her last night.
After Elen had bathed and dressed, she dismissed all of them. “I believe I’ll stay in my rooms and work on my stitching for an hour or two,” she said as she sank into a chair by the window where she picked up a delicate pale silk.
“Our lady does the daintiest embroidery in all the Isles,” Anna said proudly to Deidre as they left. “Ye’ll see tonight on the fine gown she’ll be wearing.’’
And what will she be wearing if she were to attend Lady Elen? Deidre smoothed the plain wool dress. It was simple, with no ornamentation. Well, it was the least of her worries. She’d keep her ears open tonight and listen for any news from the guests of what might have happened to her escort.
Since she had some time, she decided to find the kitchens. Not only would she want to break her fast in the morning, but she might as well get to know the staff. She hoped the chief cook would be friendlier than Una was.
She was not.
“Get out! One of Lady Elen’s maids has already been in here! I’ve not time to be waitin’ on the likes of ye.” The woman, well past middle age, glared at Deidre as she waved an apron at one of the scullery maids. Two kitchen maids began chopping vegetables vigorously while another scurried around the irate woman.
Deidre stayed where she was, just inside the door. She was determined to be pleasant. “I’m new here. I just wanted to introduce myself…”
“Bah!” The woman’s double chin shook as she whipped around to grab the scullion lad who was trying to get past her broad form. “See what’s keeping the dairy girl; I’ve butter to be churned and cream to be whipped.” She turned and shouted more instructions at the hapless servants, who were clearly terrified of her. She seemed surprised to find Deidre still there.
“If ye don’t want to be spoilin’ that fine dress by working in here,” she said, “ye’d best stay out of my kitchen. We’ve a feast to prepare and it’ll take all day to do it. Laird Angus will be most wroth with me if things aren’t just so for the king, and especially that wife of his.”
Formorian again. Who was she?
When the cook picked up a wicked-looking knife, Deidre decided it was time to depart. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what the cook’s intentions were.
Stepping outside from the kitchen’s back door, her attention turned to shouting and whistling. She followed the sound around the corner of the Great Hall and saw a group of men, Gilead among them. As she approached the handful of spectators, she saw that the men were competing in archery. Her sport! Her mother had insisted that, to protect the Stone, the priestesses first had to know how to protect themselves. If a man didn’t respect the wisdom of the Goddess encoded in the Stone, maybe he would understand real weapons used in Her defense.
Niall also stood with the archers. He looked surprised to see her, then he winked and grinned. Deidre lifted her chin and looked away, hoping he’d recognize the insult.
She watched as Angus nocked his arrow, drew and released. There was silence as the arrow took flight and then enthusiastic applause when it hit dead center on the target. He grinned and gestured to the man beside him.
Deidre watched with interest. This must be King Turius. He was almost as tall as Angus, but more wiry. He wore woolen trews over soft leather boots and a simple white tunic belted at the waist. A finely woven, intricately designed, purple cloak was the only clue that he might be a king. He tossed that back with a practiced hand as he calmly took his stance and sighted. Light brown hair fell free to his shoulders and even from where Deidre stood, she could see his clear hazel eyes, steady and focused, a determined look on his face.
A muscle twitched in his square jaw, the only indication that he might not be quite as confident as he looked.
Wrong again. His arrow landed neatly beside Angus’s. The applause was spontaneous, but subsided quickly, as though everyone was holding a collective breath. Then Angus nodded and held out his hand.
“A tie, then. How shall we break it?” Turius asked.
“We’ll each declare a champion,” Angus answered. “Gilead will stand for me. How about Formorian for ye?”
Formorian? The mysterious queen was an archer? Deidre looked around. There were only two other women spectators and neither of them looked queenly.
Turius shook his head. “That green stallion she insisted on riding limped as we neared here yesterday. No doubt, she’s in the stables assuring herself the stud is not lame. You know how she is.”
An odd smile crossed Angus’s face. “Aye. No doubt the horse is enjoying her company.”
Gilead coughed. “Do ye want to declare someone, Lord Turius?”
The Briton king looked over his men. Deidre wondered why he hesitated. Was Gilead that good? A wicked little idea poked at her. Maybe she should find out.
She stepped forward. “Your Lordship. A word, if you please.”
Angus looked at her sharply, as though noticing her for the first time. “What are ye doing out here? Ye should be with my wife.”
Deidre smiled sweetly. She wasn’t about to miss this opportunity to show Niall she was not someone he wanted to take to task. “Lady Elen gave us leave for a short while.” She turned to Turius. “Perhaps I can be of help. Will you let me stand for you?”
Gilead stared at her, nearly dropping the arrow he had been fingering. “I don’t think ye understand, lass. This is not practice. Gold coin rests on the one shot.”
She looked up at him, willing herself not to get lost in those lapis eyes. “I am aware of that. What makes you think I can’t shoot?” She smiled at Turius. “Your queen obviously does…and does it well, if Lord Angus thought her worthy.”
My Noble Knight Page 4