by Lynn Kurland
"Surely he's here to tell her he'll have none of her," one of them whispered.
"Aye, and wishes to have this over with as soon as possible," another added. "How do I look? Wimple straight and covering all it should?"
Margaret watched them fuss over themselves and felt her heart sink within her. They had the right of it: Alex was surely coming to tell her he wanted nothing of her.
Why would he, when he could have his pick of any maid in England?
It mattered not to her. Margaret shrugged aside her hurt and stared at the doorway, willing Alex to come through it. He would find himself scorned before he could do the like to her.
"My lord, you cannot enter there," a man was saying. "I want to see my future wife." "But my lord, this is not the place for it! These are the women's chambers."
"Then I should have no problem finding her here. Out of my way, flunky boy."
Alex himself came to rest in the doorway, his eyes searching the chamber. Margaret watched him as he caught sight of her, then wondered at the expression that crossed his face. Relief? Happiness?
Two very large, burly guards appeared on either side of him. Alex ignored them. ''Margaret—''
The guards wrestled him away from the doorway. "Margaret, I need to talk to you!" he bellowed as he was dragged backward. There was a great amount of scuffling, grunting and swearing. When she heard the ring of steel, she drew her sword. Half the assembled ladies swooned. Margaret ignored them and strode to the door. Then she came to an abrupt halt. That woman was there, the woman who had wept over Alex. Was this then his wife? Nay, he'd said he had no wife. That much at least she believed. Was she then his lover?
The fighting continued in the hall, but Margaret spun away, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. What cared she that Alex had likely told the truth, but not all of it? Margaret stepped over wenches who seemingly recovered quickly from their swoons—likely because there was no one there to catch them—and continued to the alcove.
"Do you know Lord Alex?" one of the women breathed.
"Aye, know you aught of him? We would hear it all!"
Ha, Margaret thought with satisfaction. Learn that he already has a lover and will have naught to do with you.
"I know a great deal about him," the woman said. "But if you'll excuse me—"
"Nay, tell us all you know!"
"Aye, we must hear it all, every wit. How can he be won?"
"Does he care for fair hair, or dark?"
"I really need to speak with the lady Margaret," the woman said, sounding rather uneager to answer their questions. "If you don't mind—"
"Her?" one of the others gasped. "Why by the saints would you have speech with her?"
"Aye, a great cow of a thing is she," another said with a laugh. "Have a care, lest she trample you by mistake!"
Margaret put her shoulders back and turned around. She didn't want to. She wanted to break down and weep. But she was a Falconberg and Falconbergs stood tall. She faced those who mocked her and dared them to do it to her face.
Which they did, of course.
Margaret forced herself to look at the woman who stood across the chamber, silently listening. Saints, but she was so fair it was enough to make Margaret despair. How could she ever hold Alex when this was what he could choose from? She even spoke with his odd accent. Saints, but she could never compare with this creature. Such a face Margaret had never before seen on a maid. Indeed, Margaret could hardly bear to look at her.
"I'm Elizabeth."
Margaret couldn't manage words. She nodded glumly.
"Alex hasn't had time to tell me much about you. My husband was too busy justifying his mapmaking skills for that."
"Husband?" Margaret echoed. "Who? Alex?"
Elizabeth looked shocked, then she laughed. ' 'Why, no. Jamie's my husband."
"Jamie? But I thought—"
"Alex is my brother."
"Ah," Margaret said. She found she could say nothing else without breaking out in a sweat from relief. She looked at Elizabeth and wondered why she hadn't seen it before. She and Alex shared the same eyes. "I should have seen," Margaret admitted. "I daresay my mind isn't at its best today."
"Lord Alex is your brother?" a shrill voice demanded.
"In truth?" another asked.
"Oh, oh!" another squeaked. "Here he comes!"
Margaret looked to the doorway in time to see her betrothed clutching the doorframe, his fists bloodied and his hair very mussed. He resheathed his sword and strode into the chamber. Every woman there caught her breath, save Elizabeth of course. Margaret couldn't help herself from joining the others in a gasp. There was something about the man that turned her bones to mush whether she willed it or no.
Lydia's ladies recovered well enough and were soon buzzing about him like so many flies having found a particularly fragrant pile of dung. Margaret watched him try to escape them, but he was obviously unaccustomed to these sorts. After a few failed attempts at earning his freedom from their circle, he merely stood in their midst, folded his arms over his chest, and frowned down at them.
"I sew very well, see?" one of the witless maids burst out.
"Nay, my seams are finer," another said, elbowing the first aside and shoving the hem of her sleeve into Alex's face. "A wife should be able to mend her husband's clothes."
And thus began a very tedious argument amongst the wenches as to who could sew the straightest seam, who possessed the most keys and who could put a whip to the servants with the most skill. Alex grew increasingly restless and looked at her numerous times for help. Margaret only shrugged. Let him release himself from this tangle.
He finally cleared his throat with great force. "I'm here to see the lady Margaret," he announced. "Your skills are fascinating, I'm sure, but if you'll excuse me—"
"Her?" one of them laughed. "Why, I daresay she doesn't know one end of a needle from another!"
Alex's hand went to his shoulder in a protective motion. Margaret frowned at him. So she hadn't sewn a fine seam on that wound. It was closed, wasn't it? Alex looked at the ladies. "If you'll forgive me—"
"Why, she's not even a woman!" a particularly venomous wench spat. "Look at her in man's clothing."
Margaret had heard this all before, so the insults shouldn't have troubled her. She found, though, that hearing them again while Alex was there to learn them all was a new experience in humiliation. She felt her shoulders slump despite her best efforts to keep them back. She couldn't even look Alex in the eye. All she would likely see was agreement anyway.
"Huge—"
"Manly—"
"Overly tall—"
And then Alex laughed. Margaret was shocked enough at the sound to look up. He was looking at the women about him as if they'd lost their wits. He shook his head with another grin.
"I like tall women," he stated. The women around him were speechless. "Besides," he said, pushing out of their circle, "I want a woman who can hold down my fort, not just jingle the keys on her waist. And seamstresses can be hired."
With that, Margaret found herself hauled into his arms. She stared up into his pale eyes and saw nothing but love and acceptance there.
"By the way, I like how you look in hose," he added, before he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.
Margaret wasn't sure if the noise was blood thundering in her ears or the thumps from Tickhill's dozen ladies all falling to the floor in a dead faint. She found, quite suddenly, that she didn't care which it was. Alex had made the women look like fools, and he had made her look desirable. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back with all the gratitude in her poor heart.
And then, as suddenly as he'd come to her, he was jerked away. Margaret had her sword halfway from its sheath, ready to do injury to Lydia's women, only to find it was Lord Odo's men who had entered the chamber and pulled Alex away.
"My lord," one of the guardsmen said, scowling at Alex over his bloody nose, "I'd suggest you give us no more trouble here today."<
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The other guardsman Alex had done damage to was scowling just as fiercely from the other side of the chamber, surrounded by half a dozen equally annoyed-looking men-at-arms. Margaret watched Alex consider the odds, then concede the battle. He looked back at her.
"Be there tomorrow," he said.
"Um," she began.
"Do not make me come get you," he said, biting off every word. "You won't like it if I have to."
Half Tickhill's ladies swooned yet again. Margaret felt like doing the same. What fool would have denied this man anything that he wanted?
"As you will, my lord," she managed.
He grunted, then turned and strode from the chamber, guardsmen trotting off dutifully behind him.
"Well," Elizabeth said brightly, "that settles that. I think I'll be needing a few seamstresses."
The women shifted uncomfortably. Margaret watched as Elizabeth silently looked them over. Saints, but the woman had a stare that rivaled the wind from the north for coolness. Soon came offers for the services of seamstresses and aid in procuring material. Margaret was, quite frankly, amazed. Perhaps the women feared Alex would come after them and it would go very ill for them. Either that or they feared Elizabeth might do the like. Margaret would have picked up a needle herself to have avoided having that chilly stare turned her way.
"Let's go walk in the garden," Elizabeth said, drawing her arm through Margaret's. "I hate being cooped up inside."
And before Margaret could say her yea or nay, she found herself walking through the castle and escaping the great hall. Once outside, she took a deep breath and realized how glad she was to be outside.
"My thanks," she said, giving Elizabeth a cautious smile. "I fear I'm not at my best while trapped indoors in such a small chamber."
"Especially considering the occupants," Elizabeth agreed. "I thought you were remarkably polite."
"Polite? I said not a word to them."
"You could have been carving them to bits," Elizabeth pointed out, with a grin. "I'm impressed with your restraint. Alex was just sure we'd find bloodshed."
"He can thank himself there was none. I cannot say what I would have done if he hadn't come."
Elizabeth only smiled. ''I think he probably knew that. Here, let's see if we can find some sort of garden where we can sit. I don't suppose we should head outside the gates, though I could certainly use a good walk to clear my head. I hate bitchy women, don't you?"
Elizabeth was so forthright, all Margaret could do was blink in surprise. Indeed, it made her wonder if she shouldn't perhaps travel to Scotland one day. The women there were certainly made of different stuff than the maids in England.
"Are all the maids in Scotland so plainspoken?" Margaret asked.
Elizabeth smiled. "I suppose they are." Margaret considered.
"I think I should have been born there," she mused. "Perhaps I would have been more accepted."
"You do seem to be a little ahead of your time."
"True," Margaret agreed with a sigh. "And most disconcerting it is, too." Elizabeth laughed, but it was a gentle laugh. Margaret felt surprisingly cheered by it. Obviously she had missed out on much in not having a sister. Perhaps this marriage to Alexander of Seattle would be more tolerable than she thought.
"You joust very well," Elizabeth said as they sat in the midst of Lydia's herbs. "You must have worked hard to perfect your skill."
Margaret nodded. ''I had to. My father passed on almost ten years ago and left me to hold his lands."
"Goodness," Elizabeth said, looking genuinely startled. "And you did this all on your own since then?"
Margaret nodded.
"Why don't you tell me about it?"
Almost before she knew it, Margaret found herself spilling out her heart to Alex's sister. She relived the fear of losing her family and knowing she could count on no one but herself. She told Elizabeth of the long years of keeping up the pretense that her father still lived.
But when she came to Alex's arrival into her life, she found she could no longer speak so freely. Love him though she might, wish to wed him though she did, there was still the matter of his state of mind. Elizabeth would likely not wish to hear bluntly that her brother was daft. To be sure, it would be better to put her questions about Alex's madness to James MacLeod, but perhaps she could test the waters a bit with Alex's sister to see how such questions would be received.
"Alex and I have had interesting words about his homeland," Margaret began, hoping she sounded as if his answers had distressed her not at all.
"Alex did mention that he told you where he was from," Elizabeth said.
"Aye," Margaret nodded, "he said he had been recently sojourning in Scotland." She chose her next words carefully. "He said he was originally from Seattle, which is on a continent." She studied Elizabeth carefully to see how she was accepting this.
"I see," Elizabeth said, just as carefully. "And that's it?"
Margaret sighed. Perhaps it was best Elizabeth hear it as soon as possible. She would learn the truth of it eventually.
"I fear he's daft," Margaret admitted reluctantly.
"Daft?"
"If not daft, at least quite befuddled. It grieves me to say as much," Margaret added quickly, "for I know you must love him dearly. But he spouted such nonsense to me when I put my questions to him that I knew I was right to fear for his sanity."
"What exactly did he say?"
Margaret shrugged. "Much I did not pay attention to. But he showed me his buttons and buttonholes and endeavored to convince me that he had stepped through a blade of grass from Scotland to England. And much other that made no sense at all."
Elizabeth only smiled faintly. "And you don't think that's possible?"
Margaret frowned at her. "How could it be? A man cannot travel over hundreds of leagues in the space of a heartbeat. I can only assume he's taken a strong blow to the head at some time in the past."
"You know, Margaret, if I were in your shoes, I'd have a hard time believing it myself."
"There's more," Margaret admitted, "though I half fear to mention it, lest you think me witless as well."
"I promise I won't."
Margaret sighed. 'He spoke of coming from a different century." She looked at his sister and smiled grimly. ''Fanciful imaginings, I know, and it grieves me to say as much. He is a fine man, surely, but I cannot understand why he believes as he does. Though I will be the first to admit that he knew much of Richard's movements before anyone else did." She listened to herself speak and began to wonder if perhaps she wasn't the one who had gone slightly daft. "I know there is a reason for it, but damn me if I cannot latch on to one."
Elizabeth plucked a bit of herb and twisted it for several moments in silence. Margaret found herself regretting her words. What sister would wish to hear of her brother's failings, especially when they were of this nature? And then Elizabeth looked up.
"Don't you think it's possible?" she asked. "That a man could come from a different century to this one?''
"Nay," Margaret said promptly, "I do not."
"Have you never believed in fanciful things?" Elizabeth asked.
"Never," Margaret said, shoving aside her speculations on faeries and ogres. "Never once."
Elizabeth only looked at her with a small smile. It was almost a sad smile, as if she knew something Margaret didn't. Margaret felt a sudden compulsion to explain herself further. She held up her blade.
"This I understand," she said, clutching the hilt. "This I can see with my eyes and feel with my hands. I can lift its weight. I know the course of its arc and how it sounds when it moves through the air. It never changes. And it will never leave me."
She listened to the last words come out of her mouth and had no idea where they'd come from. And she had even less idea whence her tears had sprung, but they came hard on the heels of her words.
"Oh, Margaret," Elizabeth said, taking her hands, "I'm so sorry."
"I fear he'll leave me," Margaret w
ept. "I shouldn't care."
"But you do."
"I'll be damned for it," she sobbed, "but I do."
"Alex loves you," Elizabeth said, her voice a soothing whisper. "He told me he did."
"He'll likely try to go home again," Margaret managed. "He said he wouldn't, but now that you're here ... it won't matter that we're wed."
"He's not going anywhere. We already asked him if he wanted to come back with us and he said no. I'll miss him, but I think he'll be far happier here with you."
"His heart will change—as will his mind."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I imagine you know by now that Alex is very stubborn."
"Indeed," Margaret said, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. "And most annoyingly so."
"If he says he's staying, then he'll stay. He won't go back on his promises."
Margaret thought on that a goodly while. If he said he wanted her, that he wouldn't leave her, then perhaps he meant it. Her sire and brothers had never truly vowed the like.
But she had surely never felt the love for them that she felt for this daft man from Seattle.
"Trust him," Elizabeth said. "He's waited his whole life to find you. He's not going anywhere."
Margaret nodded. Time would tell. It seemed as if Elizabeth had no intentions of spiriting her brother away. Perhaps he would stay after all. But there was still that other matter to be resolved. Margaret looked at her love's sister.
"You don't believe his foolishness, do you?"
"About the future?"
"Aye, that nonsense. And the gate in the grass."
Elizabeth twirled the herb stalk, then smiled. "I think," she said slowly, ' 'there is much more to life than what we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands." She tossed the herb aside. "Stories about faeries had to come from somewhere, don't you think?"
"Harumph," Margaret said, unwilling to take a stand either way. "I'll give that some thought."
Elizabeth only smiled and stood. "Let's go see about your wedding dress, shall we?"