My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Your grandfather’s seamstress was highly skilled.”

  She shook her head. “Nae. My grandfather did this himself.”

  “Your grandfather?” Deidre was confused.

  “Aye. He took a nasty wound to his thigh in battle that never did really heal. At first, he was content to spend his days fishing and let my father take charge, but he grew bored. He told my grandmother he wanted to do something with his life that would last.”

  “So she taught him how to stitch lace?” Deidre asked and looked at the design again. “It must have taken years!”

  “It did,” Mac Erca answered. “My mother would closet herself with him for hours. No one was allowed to interrupt them. All we could hear, if we dared to approach that closed door, was the murmur of her voice as if she were telling him stories, and an occasional curse by him. The soldiers took bets that he couldn’t do it, with his scarred and callused warrior hands, but he persevered.” He paused. “I was afraid the men would make him a laughingstock, but he told me—in that mild-mannered voice he always used—that perhaps men had forgotten how to contemplate beauty if it wasn’t lying beneath them in bed.”

  Elen and her mother both gasped at his bluntness and even Gilead looked startled.

  “Your grandfather sounds like a strong man who knew his own mind,” Deidre said quickly to Elen. “How could you bear to leave this behind when you married?”

  Pain flashed across Elen’s face. “I had hoped to come for it one day and then...it seemed better to leave it here, where it can grace a fine room.”

  Suddenly, Deidre knew. Elen wouldn’t tarnish a gift that had been made with so much love by taking it to a marriage that was such a farce. She had hoped to make Angus love her, and if he had, no doubt this lace would be with her in Culross.

  But the story in the design...had Elen’s grandmother told her grandfather the legend of the Bloodline? Was it possible that the Stone itself was here? On Eire? She felt a sudden wave of dizziness. If the “E” stood for Elen, then she was at the end of a long line of Goddess power. Since she had no daughter, Gilead must be destined for something big. But what?

  ◊♦◊

  “So will ye help her?” Gilead asked his grandfather the next morning as the two of them sat off to one corner in the Great Hall breaking their fast.

  Mac Erca spread a still-warm bannock with freshly churned butter before he answered. “Niall is hotheaded, just like his father. He’ll come for her.”

  “But ye are high king here. She would be under yer protection.”

  “She’s nothing to me. Why should I risk an uprising?”

  “Niall is a cruel man. He uses women badly. Once Deidre’s married to him, we canna protect her.”

  Mac Erca gave him a sharp look. “We?”

  “Da and me,” Gilead answered. “When Da drew up the hand-fast pact, it said Niall was not to bed her until the wedding night.”

  Mac Erca snorted. “Surprising, coming from Angus. I dinna know the man had any compassion in him.”

  Gilead shifted uneasily. His grandfather had spies everywhere. How much did he know about the situation at home? “Deidre would earn her keep and she’d be safe here.”

  His grandfather waved a hand at that. “If ye are so concerned for her, why doona ye send her home? Armorica, dinna ye say?”

  Gilead nodded, miserable to mislead his grandfather, but he had promised Deidre to go along with her story. “Her parents are dead. She has nowhere to go.”

  “She claims to be kin to us?”

  “In a way. Through Caw.”

  “Thin blood, there,” his grandfather said, “but apparently enough that Angus is willing to claim it to bind Niall. Ye know blood ties canna be broken.”

  Gilead felt as though one of his grandfather’s prize stallions had just kicked him in the stomach with both back hooves. The Mac Erca was turning him down.

  “I’m sorry,” the old man said as he rose to leave. “I wilna be risking war.”

  Gilead watched him walk away. There must be something he could do. Maybe the idea of sending her home—well, not to Childebert—but perhaps to his grandmother in Brocéliande. He wished he’d thought of it sooner. The Loch was secluded, deep within the forest; Childebert would think twice about looking for Deidre there. To protect her privacy, his grandmother had been careful to spread stories of spirits that haunted the woods and faeries full of mischief. At least he thought they were tales; his grandmother had something of an otherworldly air about her.

  He could arrange passage as soon as they docked in Dumbarton; there were always trade ships moving wool to Kernow in exchange for tin, and from there on to Armorica. Angus would be furious with him, and he’d probably be flogged for it, but, Deidre would be safe.

  Feeling better, he took himself off to look through the silver that Mac Erca had sent to his room that morning.

  There were three large trunks waiting for him. He opened them and removed several serving platters and wine goblets that Dallis would probably like. He didn’t really care if he drank from wooden tankards or not, but his mother had insisted that he go through this.

  Gilead pulled out several smaller plates and bowls and set them aside. Deidre could take those with her and sell them, if she needed to. He was just about to close the third trunk when something caught his eye at the bottom. He reached down and his hand encountered something hard and smooth.

  It was a marble chalice, streaks of green cutting through the greyish white stone. Etched runes covered the bronze rim and side handles. He turned it over, but no carver had made his mark on the bottom. It was a beautiful piece. Gilead wondered where it had come from. He lifted more pieces of silver, but there was nothing else made of marble in the trunk.

  He would give it to Deidre as a parting gift, something to remember him by. If he ever saw her again, he still wouldn’t be able to kiss her warm lips or touch a soft breast, for he’d be married to someone else and honor-bound to uphold those vows.

  Yes, the cup would be just the thing for Deidre. Maybe they could drink a toast together before she set sail to Armorica.

  ◊♦◊

  Deidre was aware at dinner that night that Gilead was watching her covertly. He seemed edgy. Several times, Elen had to repeat her questions before she got his attention. They would be leaving tomorrow morning on the turn of the tide and Deidre wondered if he really was that excited to get back. Dallis would probably be waiting.

  Deidre tried to conceal her own nervousness, too. Since Gilead had not sought her out, she could only assume that Mac Erca had turned down her request to stay in Eire under his protection. Well, Eire was a big place. Gilead’s grandmother had taken her and Elen for a carriage ride that morning and Deidre had probed both of them about villages and roads and the lay of the land. She felt a little guilty, thinking of how much Elen had enjoyed answering her questions about places she had gone as a child. But now Deidre had a plan.

  She would slip away tonight, on foot. Unlike Angus, Mac Erca did not keep his gates bolted, for Eire was at peace. There was a guard posted, but if Deidre kept to the shadows, she could make her way out. By dawn, she should be near the larger village that Elen had told her held a market every day. There, she would purchase a horse with her coins and make her way south and inland to Tara.

  Elen had told her of a trip she had taken there once to see the fabled Lia Fail—the Stone of Destiny that had been Jacob’s pillow when he’d dreamed of the ladder to heaven that was the symbolic generation of the holy Bloodline. Sadly, it, too, had been stolen, but perhaps another Stone awaited her there. The light-headedness had affected her strongly this afternoon. Deidre knew she had to try.

  But tonight...tonight was the last time she would see Gilead. She tried not to think about that, even as the servants were clearing the dishes.

  Elen had left with her mother, and Deidre was about ready to retire to her chambers when Gilead approached.

  “Would ye care to go for a walk with me?” he asked.


  Deidre nearly overturned her chair, getting up. A corner of his generous mouth quirked up and he offered his arm. She slipped her hand through, thinking how good and warm and strong he felt.

  The night air was balmy and they walked toward the sea. “Your grandfather turned you down, didn’t he?” Deidre asked when they stopped near the snug little boathouse that doubled as quarters for a guard when trouble was brewing. It was empty tonight and only the small glow of a crescent moon hung over the gently lapping water.

  “Aye. My grandfather has no wish to disturb the peace that has settled on Eire since Fergus left.” Gilead turned to her and took her hand. “I’ve another plan, though. One that will save ye from Niall.”

  Deidre was filled with a different kind of dizziness at his touch. Sharp little tingles pulsated all the way up her arm. “A plan?”

  Gilead nodded. “When we dock in Dumbarton, I’ll get ye on a ship heading south. I’ve written a letter to my other grandmother, explaining who ye are. Ye can take it along with ye. She’ll give ye refuge at the Black Loch. Ye’ll be safe.”

  Deidre drew in a sharp breath of salt air. To actually live in that forest... Even her mother’s people held that it was magical, that people went in and never came out. Deidre had even heard about a lady who lived at the Black Loch. People said—not that anyone had actually seen her—that she was ageless. But if Deidre couldn’t find the Stone, it would be a perfect place to hide forever. Then another thought struck her.

  “What about your father? Won’t he be angry if you thwart his plans?”

  Gilead shrugged. “Probably.”

  “What will he do to you?”

  “Doona worry about it. He won’t kill me.”

  The sounds of men screaming while being flogged at the whipping post seared Deidre’s mind. Angus could easily be ruthless. “He’ll beat you, won’t he?”

  “Doona fash, Deidre. Ye’ll be safe. That’s what counts. Wounds heal.”

  She looked into his midnight-blue eyes. He was willing to make this sacrifice. For her. She must mean something to him after all...or maybe he didn’t want her death by Niall’s hand on his conscience. Either way, she couldn’t accept his offer. Her way was better. He couldn’t be blamed if she ran off on her own.

  Besides, she had to get to Tara. Her own Stone was somewhere near. She could sense it. But better that Gilead didn’t know.

  “Thank you,” she said. “If you’re sure your grandmother is willing to defy your father, I accept.”

  Gilead grinned. “Da won’t risk being enchanted by the Gwragedd Annwn.”

  “The who?”

  “Faerie maidens who once dwelt beneath the Lochs in the dark mountains of Gwynedd, but were banished by St. Patrick because they’d insulted him. So they crossed the sea to Brocéliande.” He paused. “According to my grandmother, they are most beautiful and either drive men mad or take them down to the depths of the Loch, never to be heard from again.”

  “You jest!”

  “Nae! ’Tis the story I grew up with.” Gilead answered. “Whether or not it be true, Da won’t risk losing Formorian.” His eyes darkened for a moment and he turned away. “We’d better start back.”

  Deidre put her hand on his arm and stopped him. “Make love to me?”

  Gilead looked startled. “Dee—”

  She shushed him with her fingertips. “This is going to be our last night together.”

  He hesitated and then took a deep breath and she thought she heard him mutter something about not being married yet. “Please,” she said.

  She could see desire warring with propriety on his face. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he grimaced. His damnable gallantry was winning. She sighed in defeat and took a step toward the path that led to the castle.

  Then she felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned to look up at him.

  “This way,” he whispered hoarsely and led her to the boat-house.

  He bolted the door and Deidre had just a glimpse of a snugly furnished room and a cot in the corner covered by a plaid before Gilead claimed her mouth.

  His kiss seared her mouth as his hands deftly divested her of her clothing. The feel of his warm hands caressing her bare skin made her shiver.

  “Are ye cold? I can light the fire in the brazier,” he said as his lips nibbled her earlobe and then pressed down to her nape.

  Deidre twined her fingers through his hair and drew him closer, “You’ve already done a good job of lighting my fire—” She broke off as Gilead tongued her breast and teased the nipple of the other with the pad of this thumb. Blood surged to the tips, making them heavy and achy for more of him. She moaned softly.

  Gilead lifted her and carried her to the bed. He stripped quickly and slipped beneath the plaid, pulling her to him.

  It felt good, having their bodies pressed together as they lay on their sides facing each other. Deidre felt his member harden and thicken as she pressed her abdomen to his flat stomach. A very interesting sensation there...the energy center that from ancient ages had spurred desire between a man and a woman. She rotated her hips against his to increase the pleasant yearning deep within her belly.

  Gilead groaned and brought her thigh over his, his shaft probing the wet heat at her center. He inserted the head slowly, stretching her and allowing her swollen folds to claim him.

  “I want you inside of me,” she whispered.

  He nudged another inch inside and then paused.

  “All of you. Now.”

  He withdrew to her entry, the tip of him lingering there.

  Deidre took a ragged breath. “Gilead. Please.”

  He obligingly filled her halfway.

  Dear Lord, why was he torturing her? She wrapped her raised leg around his buttocks and pressed herself onto him.

  He pulled back, teasing her.

  “Gilead...”

  “Shhh,” he said as he slanted his mouth over hers. “We’ve all night ahead of us.”

  His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth in a tantalizing imitation of what she wanted his penis to do. She caught his tongue between her teeth and sucked on it. She felt him quiver and then whimpered when she felt him leave her. In the next instant, she was gasping in ecstasy.

  Gilead slid the tip of his iron-hard rod between her folds and along the sensitive hood that protected her nub, which pulsated wildly in anticipation. He dipped his cock inside her again and began lubricating the whole area in slow, deliberate strokes, sending Deidre to the near edge time and again as he tormented her bud. Frenzied passion built with every stroke, stoking her very core with a fervor she didn’t know she could possess. The drawn-out bedevilment inflamed her whole body, making every nerve ending tingle. She began to shudder and then Gilead impaled her, filling her fully and completely, the thickness of him a welcome relief for internal muscles to grasp, his thrusts hard and deep. She felt her body rack as he pressed against her womb and with a cry, she felt the welcome relief of her body exploding.

  ◊♦◊

  Lazily, Gilead’s hand slid across the pillow the next morning as dawn began to break in the eastern sky, sending soft shades of pale coral through the open window. Deidre had felt so good in his arms, her satiny skin soft and smooth... His hand rumbled for her silky hair and felt only the pillow.

  He opened his eyes to an empty bed and swung his legs over the edge to sit up. Where had she gone? To attend to private needs? He wanted her beside him, all warm and desirable, one last time before they sailed.

  He frowned when he saw the note on the table. He quickly pulled on his trews and boots and went to pick it up. With a curse, he crushed the note, grabbed his shirt, and raced up the path toward the castle.

  His foolish little Sassenach had gone to ground in a wild country that she knew nothing of. She wanted to spare him a flogging, she’d said. As if he cared whether he got beaten for helping her against his father’s will. After last night, he knew beyond any doubt that he loved her. He had been sure that day in the circle, but last night
had proved it had nothing to do with the herbs she’d used.

  He loved Dee and she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  SHIP OF THE FOOL

  “What do ye mean, she’s gone?” Mac Erca glowered at Gilead as he stood by the table where his grandfather had been breaking his fast.

  “She left a note,” Gilead said glumly and turned to his mother who was still seated. “This is Da’s fault. Deidre wilna marry Niall.”

  Mac Erca took in Gilead’s disheveled appearance and wrinkled clothes. “Would ye have anything to do with that?”

  “Nae. Aye.” Gilead swallowed hard. “Regardless of me, the lass dinna want to marry Niall.”

  “Since when did coinless lassies with nae land holdings have a say in the matter? She ought to be grateful to Niall—and yer father—for making her future solid.”

  Gilead squared his shoulders. “I’ve seen the bruises he’s left on her. What kind of a future do ye think she’ll have?”

  Elen gasped. “Bruises? Again? I knew her wrist was swollen once, but she has said naught more. If Niall has hurt her, once more, even Angus must agree—”

  Mac Erca snorted. “Yer husband should have thought of that before he agreed to handfast her. As far as the law’s concerned, she’s all but the man’s property already. And I’ll not have Niall and his hotheaded father come raiding my lands in retaliation for harboring her.” He turned to a waiting servant. “Summon Colin. Have him bring the hounds. Then find Duncan. Have him bring that wolf of his.” He turned back to Gilead. “She must be found and sent back, one way or another.”

  Gilead stared at his grandfather. He didn’t know about the wolfman, but hounds, in a pack, could bring Deidre down and tear her to shreds before their keepers would catch up to them. He turned and walked quickly toward the door.

  “Where are ye going?” Mac Erca thundered.

  “To get a horse and go look for her,” Gilead answered. “Ye see, I love her.”

  He barely heard his mother’s whimper of despair and he ignored his grandfather’s order to stop. He only prayed that Deidre had enough sense to have stolen a horse.