My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  ◊♦◊

  Angus looked tense as he followed Gilead into Elen’s room. “What happened this time?” he asked Una.

  That stalwart matron paled. “Poison, my lord, we think. Janet came for me just as soon as she’d found Brena.”

  Angus turned a thunderous look on Janet. “What happened?”

  The maid cringed and began to tremble so much that Deidre was afraid she’d wet her skirts. “I doona know...I showed her my...my herbs...” she stammered, “and she put some in her wine...”

  “’Twas only a bit of snakeroot,” Elen whispered.

  Brena took the basket from the small table beside the bed and sorted through it. “Aye. There be snakeroot here. But there be also foxglove and henbane.” She shook her head. “Mayhap ye took the wrong one, my lady.”

  Angus looked relieved. “A simple enough mistake. I would suggest that in the future, Elen, ye let Brena be in charge of herbs.” He went to the door and turned around. “Are ye coming, Gil? We’ve a discussion to finish.”

  Gilead shook his head. “I’ll stay with my mother for a while.”

  Brena gathered her supplies and the basket, while Una handed the basin to Janet.

  “I’ll have Meara fix ye some chamomile tea,” Una said as they left.

  Deidre sat down on one side of Elen’s bed and Gilead on the other. Elen grasped both of their hands.

  “It was snakeroot I took,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Gilead turned troubled eyes on Deidre. “Then that would mean someone else tried to poison her with something else.”

  Another wave of guilt washed over Deidre. She should have been there. “It’s my fault,” she said softly. “I didn’t taste the wine this morning.”

  Gilead inhaled sharply. “My father brought it?”

  Deidre started to nod, but Elen shook her head sharply. “Ye canna think yer Da has anything to do with this!”

  Deidre bit her lip. The poor woman was still in love with her husband, even though she must know...or suspect...Deidre wondered if she could have that kind of loyalty. She could if she were married to Gilead. She stifled a sob. That wasn’t about to happen, was it?

  “Tell me, both of you,” Elen said and her voice was suddenly stronger, “that ye doona suspect Angus!”

  She was getting upset and in her condition, that could quite easily bring on a fever. Deidre squeezed her hand. “Of course we don’t, Lady Elen.”

  Gilead nodded. “Doona fash, Mother.”

  Elen calmed somewhat and then looked agitated again. “Did yer da talk with ye, Gilead? About the marriage?”

  Gilead looked down at the floor. “Yes,” he said.

  Deidre stared at him. Surely, he hadn’t agreed to it! Not that easily!

  “And?” Elen asked gently.

  He grew pensive. “I need time to think. I’ve decided to ride north with Turius tomorrow to make sure the Saxons have cleared our shores. I’ll be gone several days.” He stood and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I have some things to do before then, so I’ll take my leave.” Gilead avoided looking at Deidre as he left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Deidre blinked back tears. Time to think? Did that mean he was actually considering this idiotic plan? To marry a perfect stranger? Even though Angus was forceful, she thought Gilead had more backbone than this. Enough to stand up to his father about choosing a wife, anyway.

  As tender as Gilead had been with their lovemaking, surely it must have meant something to him. Even if she wasn’t experienced. Her stomach churned into a knot. Maybe it didn’t. She was the one who had asked him to bed her...had wantonly exposed herself.

  Maybe he had only taken advantage of what she freely offered. Some seductress she was! She couldn’t hold a candle to someone he didn’t even know. The thought of Gilead holding this Dallis person in his arms, bathing her with hot, wet kisses, their naked bodies pressed intimately into each other, was more than she could swallow. The tears began to spill over.

  Elen took her hand. “Do ye love my son, Deidre?”

  Deidre wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Looking up at Elen, she saw only sympathy on her face. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded.

  Elen brushed a wisp of hair out of Deidre’s face. “Have ye told him?”

  “No,” Deidre stammered. Good lord, she’d already made a fool of herself.

  “Mayhap ye should,” Elen said gently.

  “I can’t.” He’d probably run like a rabbit chased by a fox if she acknowledged that to him. She choked back another sob and turned it into a hiccup. “Besides, would it change things? Your husband seems to get what he wants.”

  Elen sighed and sank back into her pillows. “Aye. Arranged marriages are the way of things. Love seldom matters. And ye are handfasted to Niall, to boot.” She closed her eyes. “Let me think on it, child.”

  Deidre tucked the sheet around her and tiptoed from the room as Elen drifted into sleep. Angus might be used to getting his way, but this was one time he would meet his match. By all that was holy, including the Stone itself, she would not marry Niall.

  ◊♦◊

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Turius said the next afternoon after they had ridden as far as Loch Leven.

  Gilead shifted in the saddle. “I’ve been thinking.”

  Turius grinned. “Nervous about meeting your future wife for the first time?”

  His future wife. Bloody hell. He didn’t even know the woman. Or girl, actually. She was just fifteen, from what his father had told him.

  “Nae. Not nervous. I doona plan to go through with it.”

  Turius raised an eyebrow. “Have you told Angus that?”

  “I tried to. He wouldna listen.”

  “Ah. Well, it would make a solid alliance for your clan and be a safeguard against Fergus.”

  “I know that,” Gilead said miserably. “It’s just that I doona want to marry a perfect stranger.”

  Turius chuckled. “Ye’ll know her well enough once ye’ve bedded her.”

  Gilead gave him a dire look. “Unlike my da, that’s not all I think about.”

  Turius sobered. “No, you don’t. You have a sense of duty and responsibility that few men have. I wish my son would be more like you.”

  Gilead looked at him surprised. Turius rarely mentioned Maximilian, the boy he’d sired by the high priestess of the Iona isle. His mother had told him once that Turius had been deeply in love with the lady and that she was furious when he married Formorian, snapping the child back to her for druidic training. The boy was rebellious and finally was fostered by relatives deep in the South. They were about the same age, Gilead thought.

  “How is Maximilian?” he asked, to change the subject.

  Turius grunted. “What I hear is that he has made friends with both Cerdic and Aelle. That would be all right, if he meant to keep peace, but Max generally stirs up trouble wherever he goes.”

  “Do ye see his mother?”

  Turius slanted a look at him. “Not often.”

  There was a note of wistfulness in his voice that made Gilead ask, “If ye could do it over, would ye marry her instead?”

  Turius took a deep breath. “If all I had to consider was myself, yes. But I am king of northern Britain and I need my Scotti allies as much as they need me. Marrying Formorian was necessary. You will be leader of your clan one day. You must not only think of yourself, but what is good for your people.”

  Gilead clenched his jaw. “But what of love?” Turius signaled his men to stop near the river to water the horses before he answered. Leading his horse away, he paused and turned around. “There is that, I suppose. A sacrifice that I made, and Formorian did, as well.”

  ◊♦◊

  Deidre hauled the digging tools out of the shambles of the crumbling lean-to that had once been attached to the chapel. This was the third day she’d come up here, and today she would finish the job.

  The castle was bustling in preparation for the arrival of Comgall
and Dallis. Bed linens had been washed and sun-dried, and fresh rushes strewn on the floors. Shuttered windows had been opened to freshen the air and Meara was in a tizzy preparing sweetbreads and a variety of puddings and sauces. Men were sent on hunting expeditions daily to gather enough meat for several days of feasting.

  Deidre wanted no part of it. If Gilead were willing to marry this girl, she wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Lugnasad was looming closer and she had no intention of being here for that.

  But she had to finish her project. The feeling that she was close to the Stone had persisted, although she had not had the Sight since the vision—or whatever it was—in the circle of stones. If she turned up nothing today, somehow she would try to visit the circle again and draw on its energy.

  Without Gilead, though, it was hard to ride out. Angus had been adamant that she and Formorian were only to ride with an armed escort. Formorian had seemed amused by that, but she hadn’t defied him.

  As she dug, Deidre wondered if Childebert had given up looking for her or the Stone. Frankish soldiers would not be welcome for long on Briton soil, but she had also heard Turius saying to Angus near midsummer that a boat had put ashore and that Maximilian had provided shelter for them.

  No, she doubted that Childebert had given up the search. Turning the Stone over to the Roman pope would obligate Vigilius to support Childebert’s endeavors to move west and claim more land. Since Clovis’s wife had converted them all to Christianity, the Church already favored them, but now they would have the powerful backing of the Church and its wealth. King Merovee probably rolled over in his grave at the thought of the Bloodline turning traitor to the Mother.

  Deidre’s duty was to find the Stone before her cousin did and to return it to the grotto so the ancient Goddess worship that the Magdalen and her bloodline personified would survive. To that end, Deidre must keep her identity secret, even if it meant that Gilead would marry someone else.

  Or so she told herself, as her tears mingled with the sun-soaked dirt of the earth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE BETROTHAL

  Turius and Gilead returned home only hours before Comgall and Dallis arrived. Deidre carefully avoided Gilead, and pleaded a headache to Elen.

  She stood in her room now, looking down at the scene in the bailey. Gilead stood beside his father and Elen as the carriage came to a stop. The driver jumped down nimbly and opened the door.

  Deidre’s heart sank to the soles of her feet. She had been hoping against logic that the girl would be plain or fat or stupid. Preferably all three. What she saw alighting daintily from the coach was a raven-haired beauty with curves in all the right places.

  She watched as Gilead stepped forward and took her hand to help her down. He bowed—rather stiffly, Deidre thought—and then stepped back. Angus thumped Comgall on the back and Elen hugged Dallis. All in all, it looked like a happy soon-to-be-family reunion.

  Deidre turned away from the window. She didn’t want to see Dallis slipping her hand over Gilead’s arm or see him smile at her. She’d have to put up with that at dinner. To make her misery complete, Niall would be there as well.

  Dinner was worse than she feared. Close up, Dallis was even more beautiful. Her black hair set off startling pearl grey eyes and her skin looked like freshly poured cream. It didn’t help matters that Drustan had taken one look and began composing an ode to her on the spot.

  Dallis graciously accepted it as her due, smiling brightly at him and looking positively radiant beside Gilead. Even her voice sounded silken. Deidre wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

  Miserable, she forced herself to watch as Gilead prepared a plate for Dallis, slicing the most succulent meat from the boar and spooning gravy over it, asking her which puddings and sauces she would like. Beside her, Niall was tearing great chunks of meat off a bone and wiping the grease on the linen tablecloth.

  The girl ate daintily, too, taking small bites and dipping her fingers frequently in the small bowl of water that the laverer had poured. Deidre would have given just about anything to see a piece of meat or vegetable lodged between those small, even white teeth. But no. Her manners were impeccable.

  Deidre nearly overturned her wine as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

  “Careful,” Formorian said from her other side as she righted the glass.

  Deidre bent her head quickly. Of all people to have to sit beside her tonight. Formorian had the innate ability to see through bravado. She wondered sometimes if the woman were fey, after all.

  “Enchanting, isn’t she?” Formorian asked.

  Umph. Formorian probably recognized a kindred spirit. Two of a kind, the one enticing Angus while the other hooked Gilead with every wile any female had ever been born with.

  “I guess she is,” Deidre managed to say, “considering no man here can take his eyes off her.” The only small thing she could be thankful for was that Niall was included in that count and for once, wasn’t trying to grope her under the table.

  Formorian arched an eyebrow. “Retract yer claws, young one. It never pays to let them know ye’re jealous.”

  “I’m not...” Deidre began and then stopped. She was jealous, much as she hated to admit it. And it would do no good to lie to Formorian. And yet...what had she just said? It never pays...did that mean that even Formorian had experienced jealousy? It was almost impossible to believe, considering that Angus hid his adoration so poorly.

  She caught Gilead watching her from across the table and she plastered a smile on her face. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that she cared.

  “That’s better,” Formorian whispered, “but ye doona need to bare yer teeth like a she-wolf guarding her den, either.”

  At that moment, Deidre did indeed feel like emitting a feral growl and then imagined the expressions on everyone’s faces if she did. It broke her melancholy mood, anyhow. At least until Drustan reluctantly put his harp away to make room for the pipers.

  Turius came to collect Formorian and Angus led Elen to the floor for the first dance. Deidre noticed that she clung to him with shining eyes, although his own glance slipped away toward Formorian more often than it should have. Poor Elen. Angus was doing nothing more than making a show for Comgall. Still, it was better to watch him than his son.

  Deidre remembered what it felt like to be dancing with Gilead, one of his arms securely around her waist, the other hand holding hers, his thumb caressing her palm... She squinted. She couldn’t see if he was doing that to Dallis or not.

  “Let’s dance,” Niall said, belching and pushing his chair back at the same time.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “I dinna ask ye if ye wanted to,” he snarled and gave her arm a firm yank. “We’ll dance because I want to.”

  There was no one to rescue her this time. Rather than have another sprained wrist, she followed him.

  She didn’t think she’d ever spent a more horrible evening and just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, with Gilead attending to Dallis and her stuck with Niall, it did.

  Angus stopped the festivities to make the betrothal announcement. Deidre gasped involuntarily. Somehow, she had hoped they wouldn’t make it official so soon. She had wanted just some sign... some small moment of hope...

  From where she stood, she could see Gilead go still as a granite statue. Dallis dipped her head demurely as the room broke into thunderous applause. People hurried to retrieve wine cups and the toasts began.

  Deidre listened woodenly, wishing she could make the excuse to attend to Elen. But for once, Elen seemed to be enjoying herself. She had her hand slipped through the crook of Angus’s arm and was being a gracious hostess. And Angus—for Comgall’s benefit no doubt—almost appeared to dote on her. So Deidre was forced to endure round after round of well-wishing and an occasionally more raucous suggestion of the advantages of being married. Gilead’s face was closed, but she could tell he was furious. Dallis only blushed prettily.


  Lost in her own agony, Deidre was totally unprepared for what came next. Niall lurched, half-drunk, across the room, to toast Gilead, pulling Deidre along with him. They stopped only a few feet away and Deidre kept her eyes trained on Gilead’s chin, refusing to look into his eyes.

  Niall raised his goblet. “I think my wife would like to share her wedding day with ye,” he slurred.

  Deidre felt the blood drain from her face. How could that oaf totally humiliate her like this?

  Gilead’s jaw set and Angus stepped forward, an angry frown on his face. “What mean ye by that?”

  Niall spun around to face him and tottered for a moment, getting his balance. “Why, nothing more,” he said slyly, “but to share the day. We could both get married on Lugnasad.” He looked at Deidre. “Didna ye want to have Gilead share yer—”

  “Enough,”Angus said.

  Comgall joined him, apparently unaware of any innuendo. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Don’t ye agree, Dallis?”

  She looked like a startled deer, but she nodded obediently.

  “There. Ye see,” Niall said, as he raised the cup once more. “No need to keep an impatient bridegroom waiting. Especially with such an eager bride.”

  The men around them laughed heartily, although Gilead did not join them. He was watching Deidre.

  Niall followed his gaze. “Och, I almost forgot me own bride. Such a willing lass.” He grabbed her and pulled her against him and smacked her lips with his. “There’ll be plenty more of that on yer wedding night, ye can bet on that.”

  Gilead clenched his fists and Angus stepped between them, put a hand on Niall’s shoulder and pulled him away from Deidre. He spoke low enough for no one else to hear. “We had an agreement, remember?”