“I will take responsibility for any child of our union, whether our vows are renewed or not,” Leila echoed.
Fergus smiled at her. “I will defend you and I will be faithful to you, and do my best to ensure our union fares well.”
“I will defend you and I will be faithful to you, and do my best to ensure our union fares well,” Leila said.
Fergus bent then and kissed her sweetly, not in the least surprised at the fire that was awakened by that fleeting touch. When he broke their kiss, Leila’s eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. For one heady moment, she smiled up at him and they might have been alone, then his father came to congratulate them.
Calum presented a pair of rings to them, made of gold. “Your mother and I wore them,” he said. “In the tradition of the Romans.”
“Of course,” Leila said and took the larger one.
“You know of the Romans?” Fergus asked.
“We know much of the descendants of the eastern Roman Empire, the Christians of Constantinople.”
“More Franj?” he teased.
She shook her head. “Franj are from the west. Rūm are from Constantinople.” She pushed the circle of gold on to Fergus’ ring finger. “They taught that the vein in this finger went directly to the heart,” she said.
“And does it?” Fergus asked, intrigued.
Leila smiled. “I believe all veins lead to the same destination.”
“All roads to Rome, then? Or maybe Rūm?”
She laughed and Fergus was glad of her words because his mother’s ring only fit on Leila’s middle finger. They kissed again, a little less chastely than before, then were surrounded by those intent upon wishing them well. The men shook his hand and the women kissed his cheeks, until one impulsively kissed Leila as well. Fergus was surprised to see her delight, then she kissed that villager in return. Her subsequent laughter prompted the others to laugh as well.
“A feast!” Calum cried. “Let us all make merry, for there is much to celebrate on this night!”
The company roared approval and Fergus led Leila to the high table. The villagers clapped and hooted as he swept her into his arms and swung her around. She laughed again, looking young and most alluring, then his father rapped on the board.
Leila was seated between Fergus and his father. Duncan sat on Fergus’ other side and the Templars flanked them all. The squires stood behind the knights and aided in the service, a situation that clearly pleased Hamish’s aunt and uncle. Mulled wine and ale were poured, and cups raised high in a toast to the new couple. They cheered, they drank, then the roast venison was carried from the kitchen to applause. Even Xavier and Iain seemed to have found a happy accord on this night.
Fergus had to consider that though his homecoming was not what he had expected, it was better than it might have been. He had a lady by his side whom he trusted and would not ignore the merit of that.
For this night, he would ignore that persistent shadow of dread and hope it meant naught at all.
On this night, he and Leila would make their first effort to create a son, and he had to ensure that it was a joyous event.
* * *
“I shall be compelled to tell the news in French,” Calum declared when the soup was being carried from the kitchen. “So that Lady Leila can learn more of her new home.”
Leila was, again, the only woman at the high table. She was aware of the villagers below the salt watching her. She knew that Fergus had resolved some detail in his thoughts and wondered what it might be. He was more at ease with the compromise of their match, though she knew his regard for Isobel had not diminished so quickly as that.
Nay, the man had a scheme and she doubted he would confide it in her.
The seneschal brought a copper pot with a spout and poured mulled wine for Calum, then for Fergus and then Leila. The wine smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and a waft of steam rose from it. The scent of the spice was welcome after the bland fare they had eaten in inns since arriving in England and Leila sniffed appreciatively.
“Do you drink wine?” Calum whispered to her in sudden alarm.
“Only on an occasion such as this, when it is celebratory,” Leila said.
“I thought your prophet had advised against it,” the older man said, showing even more familiarity with her faith than Leila could have expected.
“And so he did, but it is not uncommon to savor wine in moderation in my homeland.” It was also not uncommon for warriors and rulers to drink themselves to the point of inebriation, though Leila chose not to mention as much.
Calum nodded. “Ah, so it is drunkenness that is avoided, and this is good advice indeed.”
That was not strictly so, but Leila did not wish to discuss doctrine on her first day at Killairic. She wished to blend in, not to be different, which would mean a measure of mulled wine on a celebratory occasion, such as she had savored in her uncle’s home.
Calum dropped his voice to a whisper. “We seldom have wine, and this will be the last of it for a good while. A wedding is the best time for wine, I believe.”
“As do I,” Leila agreed and sipped of hers.
There had been wine at Aziza’s wedding.
She refused to think about her cousin, not on this night, not at an occasion she would have liked to have shared with the woman as close to her as a sister.
She noticed that the villagers were served ale while those at the high table enjoyed the wine. She could only conclude that wine was expensive in this land, perhaps because the climate did not favor the growth of grapes. She would have to find out more.
Indeed, she was keenly aware that she had seldom eaten at a lord’s high table, even though she had journeyed the breadth of Christendom. While disguised as a squire, she had eaten stew from a bowl. At Châmont-sur-Maine, she had eaten in the kitchens with the servants, at a long communal table, again from a wooden bowl. It was only upon returning to Haynesdale that she had eaten at the board, after abandoning her disguise as Anna’s maid. No one had paid much attention to her there, and she did not doubt that she had made some errors of etiquette.
With the entire company intrigued by her, Leila was determined to have perfect manners at this meal.
Half of a loaf of flat bread sliced horizontally was placed before herself and Fergus, and Leila moved to pinch off a corner. She assumed it was the first item they should eat and she was ravenous.
Fergus stayed her with a shake of his head. “’Tis called a trencher and will act as a plate, absorbing all the sauces,” he advised her in an undertone. “They will go to the dogs after the meal. You need not fear for a lack of bread. There will be smaller loaves.”
“They did not use bread this way at Haynesdale.”
“They had wooden trenchers there, but the notion is the same. You and I will share.”
Leila nodded understanding, glad he had warned her.
“It is good you are hungry,” Calum said with a smile. “We were preparing to feast for May Day, so Fergus’ arrival is timely.”
“As if he saw the future,” Leila said, and her host laughed.
“As if he did.” He smiled at his son.
“Do you still have your cook from Paris, my lord?” Duncan asked.
“I do, indeed. I do not believe any soul could dislodge Xavier from my kitchen, to my own good fortune.”
Duncan winked at Leila. “At any other hall, it would be mutton stew or grilled eels, but we shall dine lavishly on this day.”
Leila was glad of it. She knew she had lost weight since leaving Outremer, given long days of riding and often meager meals at taverns. The fare had been excellent at Châmont-sur-Maine but more humble since then.
A sequence of servants moved before the high table, offering each dish from the kitchen to Calum first, and she eyed the platters with anticipation. Each servant spoke, probably naming the dish, but their Gaelic was too quick for Leila. It was Fergus who translated for her. There were no olives and few legumes, but that did not surp
rise Leila any longer. The squires served their knights, but the others were served by those from Killairic’s kitchens.
The roast venison was enormous, revealing that the deer in this land were larger than those she had known. The meat smelled wonderful and she knew she should compliment this Xavier when they met. Hamish whispered that it was Radegunde’s favorite, which made Leila smile and accept a little more.
Next, there were eggs of such size that Leila doubted they were from chickens.
“Grouse eggs in mustard sauce,” Fergus supplied. “While those are from pheasants and simply hard boiled. That may be parsley upon them.”
“Such birds are raised here?”
“Nay. The eggs are foraged from the woods. There are geese in the village, but they will be slaughtered at the Yule. This is civet of rabbit,” he said, gesturing to a dish being presented. “Which will have some wine in the sauce. The roast hare that is next will not.”
Leila listened to Fergus’ descriptions and indicated what she would like to taste, noting how the selections were placed on the trencher so that their sauces did not mingle. There was an onion tart and another with eels, both of which she wanted to try.
“Are the eels from the sea?”
“They are raised in the millpond.”
She watched how Fergus delicately took pieces of food from the trencher with his fingers and copied his actions, noting that he left the finer portions of meat for her. This must be etiquette and Leila mimicked him easily.
“Sweet after savory,” Fergus counseled when she was certain there could not be more food. “Ensure that you can sample the next course lest Xavier be insulted.”
“I thank you for the warning,” Leila said.
“You said it was your intent to win allies.” His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her and her heart skipped.
“And I must have one in the kitchen, to be sure.”
They laughed together and continued to eat. There were no minstrels in Calum’s hall during the meal as there often had been in Gaston’s, but conversation was lively. The use of spice was liberal and the food was hot, the combination leaving a warm glow in Leila’s belly.
Calum was the first to sit back and to take a healthy drink of the mulled wine. He smacked his lips. “And now I will tell you all what you have missed.”
Duncan leaned forward, undoubtedly to hear better, and Leila felt the weight of Fergus’ hand land on the back of her waist. His thigh was pressed against hers, solid and warm, and she tingled in anticipation of their first night together.
“It was April, almost exactly four years ago, that you two rode away from Killairic,” Calum said. “That year passed peacefully enough—”
“Though Lady Isobel wed,” Duncan murmured.
“A merry occasion,” Calum agreed. “And a great feast presented by her father. The fields around Dunnisbrae were filled with tents.” He sighed. “Who would have anticipated that the next year would be filled with such strife?”
“What strife?” Fergus asked.
His father raised a finger. “Gille Brigte, son of your namesake, Fergus, died early in the year, which seemed a portent of trouble.”
“Surely his lands passed peacefully to his son.”
“Nay, for that man is still a hostage of King Henry. Lochlann, the son of Uchtred, desired to claim his uncle’s lands in Galloway, it became clear. We should have guessed in April, for there was an earthquake. It was far to the east but still felt in this very hall. As the priest said, it was a warning to us all.”
“Father, you know that the earth does not grant portents...”
“As above, so below, Fergus,” Calum said sternly. “And on the first of May, we were warned again for the sun disappeared in the middle of the day, swallowed by the moon, so the whole world went dark.”
“An eclipse,” Leila said.
Calum granted her a look. “A warning from the divine. Twice that year, Lochlann ravaged Galloway, intent upon claiming his uncle’s holdings by force.” His expression was grim. “We were hard-pressed to hold the border for the king.”
“I wish I had been here,” Fergus said.
“So did I, lad. So did I.” Calum had another sip of wine. “But to our relief, Lochlann was compelled to make peace with King Henry at Carlisle in 1186. I attended the council and signed the treaty myself as did King William of Scotland. Since then, Lochlann has been William’s lapdog. He even aided in putting down the revolt of the MacWilliams in Moray.”
Leila saw the flash in Duncan’s eyes before he dropped his gaze, but Calum carried on without noticing. “And I am glad of it. Lochlann has been occupied away from Galloway and of peaceful inclination when he returns. It is a welcome change from his past tendencies.”
It seemed that violence and war had no borders. Leila supposed her new life would have some unwelcome similarities with her old one.
“And Isobel’s husband?” Fergus asked. “What are his allegiances?”
His father pursed his lips. “Stewart MacEwan was a strong ally to Lochlann and fought with him in that dreadful assault upon Galloway. Perhaps he wished to have an allegiance with the Isles via Isobel.” His father arched a brow. “You will have to tell them about Kerr, and such tidings cannot be delivered by a missive.”
“Of course, Father. I intend to go to Dunnisbrae on the morrow.”
Calum’s eyes narrowed. “I would leave the news a bit, Fergus,” he advised softly. “You should be calm when you confront Stewart. He is a man to seize upon any provocation.”
Leila realized that she was not the only one to have noted the tension in Fergus and to disapprove of his acting upon it. It added to her growing sense that she and his father could be strong allies.
“I am calm,” Fergus insisted, but the tightness in his tone betrayed him. “I will go on the morrow and see the task done.”
Though Calum appeared to agree with Leila, he was less inclined to argue with Fergus. Perhaps her assessment of Stewart’s reaction had not been unreasonable. She found her hands clenching together in her lap and tried to calm herself.
Calum lifted his brows, then turned to Leila with a glint in his eye. “And so your new spouse would leave you as quick as this.”
She smiled, knowing that he tried another tactic to make his point, but had no chance to reply.
“It is not far to Stewart’s abode, Father, as you well know,” Fergus said firmly. “I would see the news delivered without delay.”
“And your gift,” Leila added quietly, then sipped of her wine as Calum studied her, his gaze assessing.
“Gift?” he echoed.
“Your son is most generous,” Leila said smoothly. “Perhaps it was his father who taught him such grace.”
The older man’s eyes gleamed but he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “And there are more tidings, to be sure. You will likely not have heard that last year, Gudrodr, King of the Isles, died on the isle of Saint Patrick.”
Leila felt Fergus’ attention sharpen. “Surely one of his sons has succeeded him?”
“The islesmen chose Rognvaldr, likely because he is grown to manhood while the other sons are mere boys. But he is the son of an Irish concubine. Times change, Fergus. Both kings would prefer the crown to fall to a son born of legal marriage.”
Leila stiffened at this observation, for it was contrary to what Fergus had told her. She had first to conceive a child, she reminded herself, then deliver a son, then she could worry about Calum’s acceptance of him. Indeed, her marriage had not even been consummated as yet!
“Olafr svarti,” Fergus supplied, evidently naming one of the king’s sons. “Gudrodr erred in wedding so late, so Olafr cannot be more than a boy.”
“But he has allies who are men. Rognvaldr makes his court on Mann, while he has given Olafr the isles of Lewis and Harris as his portion.” Calum nodded even as Leila wondered about these places.
She also wondered about Calum’s concern.
“It is a hard land,�
� Duncan contributed. “Either rock or bog from what I hear.”
“Aye,” Calum agreed. “I fear there will be rebellion. Gudrodr will be interred on Iona on Whitsunday, some six weeks from now. I just had the missive on Easter. Someone from our hall should attend, but I fear I do not have the stamina for the journey.”
“I will go, Father,” Fergus said quickly. “And Leila can come with me.” He squeezed her hand as if he wished to be with her, but his words dismissed that pleasant notion. “It will give her an opportunity to meet more of our neighbors.”
And find a man. Leila’s heart sank at his implication, but she smiled. “Indeed, I will be glad to see more of Scotland.”
“And Iona is a most holy place,” Calum told her. “Should you be inclined to convert, it would be a good place to be baptized.”
“I must learn more first,” Leila said, doubting this would be the last prompt that she change her faith.
“Of course, of course. Such matters take time and consideration. I have an old friend with whom you might enjoy a discussion.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. We journeyed together to the east, but that is a tale for another time.” Calum smiled. “On this night, there are nuptials to be celebrated.”
“Perhaps, Enguerrand and Yvan, you might be able to linger until my return from that journey,” Fergus suggested, and the Templar knights nodded agreement. Leila knew their quick assent was because of the treasure secured in the solar.
“I fear I cannot accompany you,” Duncan said. “My own path lies to the north and I would depart on the morrow.”
Leila smiled, liking that he was so impatient to make a home for Radegunde. “Do you have a destination?” she asked.
“I seek a man,” Duncan said with resolve. “Wherever he has hidden himself is my destination.”
“I will miss your companionship, but understand that you must go,” Fergus said.
“Who will ride with you to Dunnisbrae in my absence?” Duncan asked.
“It is not far,” Fergus said. “I will leave at dawn and return by the evening meal. Surely such new accord in the land means a man can make such a short journey unaccompanied?”
The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance Page 10