“And so it was that the castellan had a daughter, a lovely maiden who was most curious. Since there were only servants in the keep, since it was resolved that she could not find much mischief in a place so newly wrought, and since - it must be said - she was possessed of no small measure of charm which she used to win her way - unlike any maidens of my acquaintance -” The sisters roared protest, but a grinning Alexander held up a finger for silence. “- this damsel was permitted to wander wheresoever she desired within the walls.
“And so it was that she explored the chamber at the top of the tower. There are three windows in that chamber, from what I have been told, and all of them look toward the sea.”
“You can see three windows from the sentry post below,” Vivienne said.
Alexander nodded. “Though the view is fine, the chamber is cursed cold, for the openings were wrought too large for glass and the wooden shutters pose no barrier to the wind, especially when a storm is rising. That was why no one had spent much time in the room. This maiden, however, had done so and she had noted that one window did not grant the view that it should have done.
“Clouds crossed the sky in that window, but never were framed by the others. Uncommon birds could be spied only in the one window, and the sea never quite seemed to be the same viewed through that window as through the others. The difference was subtle, and a passing glance would not reveal any discrepancy, but the maiden became convinced that this third window was magical. She wondered whether it looked into the past, or into the future, or into the realm of fairy, or into some other place altogether.
“And so she resolved that she would discover the truth.”
“It was the portal to the fairy realm!” Elizabeth said with excitement.
“There is no such place,” Isabella said with a roll of her eyes.
“It is but a tale, Isabella,” Annelise chided. “Can you not savor it for what it is?”
Vivienne eased forward on the bench, enthralled by Alexander’s tale and impatient to hear more. “What happened?”
“No one knows for certain. The maiden slept in the chamber for several nights and when she was asked what she had seen, she only smiled. She insisted that she had seen nothing, but her smile, her smile hinted at a thousand mysteries.”
Vivienne’s attention was captured utterly then, for she suspected she knew how that maiden had smiled.
Alexander continued. “And on the morning after she had slept in that chamber for three nights, the damsel could not be found.”
“What is this?” Isabella asked.
“She did not come to the board.” Alexander shrugged. “The castellan’s wife was certain that the girl lingered overlong abed, so she marched up the stairs to chastise her daughter. She found the portal to the chamber closed, and when she opened it, the wind was bitterly cold. She feared then that the girl had become too cold, but she was not in the chamber. The mother went to each window in turn and peered down, fearing that her daughter had fallen to her death, but there was no sign of the girl.”
“Someone stole her away,” Isabella said, ever pragmatic.
Alexander shook his head. “She was never seen again. But on the sill of one window - I suspect I know which one it was - on the morning of the maiden’s disappearance, the castellan’s wife found a single rose. It appeared to be red, as red as blood, but as soon as she lifted it in her hands, it began to pale. By the time she carried it to the hall, the rose was white, and no sooner had the castellan seen it, than it began to melt. It was wrought of ice, and in a matter of moments, it was no more than a puddle of water upon the floor.”
Alexander rose from his seat and strode to the middle of the hall. He pointed to a spot on the floor, a mark that Vivienne had not noted before. It shimmered, as if stained by some substance that none could have named.
“It was here that the water fell,” Alexander said softly. “And when an old woman working in the kitchens spied the mark and heard the tale of the rose, she cried out in dismay. It seems that there is an old tale of fairy lovers claiming mortal brides, that the portal between their world and ours is at Kinfairlie. A fairy suitor can peer through the portal, though they all know they should not, and he could fall in love with a mortal maiden he glimpses there.”
Alexander smiled at his sisters. “And the bride price a smitten fairy suitor leaves when he claims that bride for his own is a single red, red rose, a rose that is not truly a rose, but a fairy rose wrought of ice.” He scuffed the floor with his toe. “Though its form does not endure, the mark of its magic is never truly lost.”
Silence reigned in the hall for a moment, the light from the candles making the mark on the floor seem to glimmer more brightly.
Alexander shrugged. “I cannot imagine that Papa believed the tale, but doubtless once he had a daughter, he had no desire to have her traded for a rose wrought of ice.”
“Someone should discover the truth,” Isabella said with resolve. “Doubtless some village mischief is behind it.”
Annelise shivered. “But what if the tale is true? Who knows where the maiden went? Who would take such a risk as to follow her?”
Vivienne clenched her hands together and held her tongue with an effort. She knew who would take such a risk. She knew, with eerie certainty, that this tale had come to light now because it was a message to her.
Here was the moment she had awaited! A fairy spouse would suit her well, of that she had no doubt, no less the adventure of a life in another realm. Fairies, every sensible person knew, were an unruly and less-than-fastidiously groomed lot. She would fit into their ranks perfectly.
So she resolved: Vivienne would sleep in the tower chamber on this night. She only had to figure out how the feat could be done without rousing the suspicions of her siblings.
* * *
Chapter Two
Vivienne’s task proved to be easier than she had feared.
She sat with her sisters that evening, bending over her needlework and fighting to hide her impatience. They worked upon a large tapestry for the hall, each embroidering a single panel. The completed work would never be so fine as those embroideries brought from France and Belgium, but there was a charm in it being made by the family.
Annelise had created the design, for she was the most deft with a piece of charcoal. Mythical creatures frolicked across the surface, each slowly taking shape with thread and color. Vivienne loved the design and enjoyed working upon it more than she usually enjoyed needlework, but this night she found no pleasure in the task. In fact, her threads seemed to tangle and knot with a will of their own.
The time passed with such slowness that Vivienne thought she might scream, and for once, she envied Alexander the need to retire to review Kinfairlie’s ledgers. Vivienne’s toe seemed to tap of her own volition. She tucked her feet under her skirts, hoping no one noticed her restlessness.
“You are making more of a mess of matters than usual, Vivienne,” Isabella noted, she who was as orderly as Madeline.
“I have no talent for embroidery, it is clear,” Vivienne said.
Isabella claimed the knot of wool thread from Vivienne’s restless fingers and set calmly to sorting it, strand by strand. “You have no patience for it,” she said, without censure. “That is different.”
“Still, you are usually more artful than this,” Annelise noted, studying Vivienne with some concern. “Are you unwell?”
Vivienne yawned and rubbed her eyes in answer, as if too exhausted to remain awake, then pretended to struggle to focus on her needlework.
“You do look tired, Vivienne,” Isabella said, sounding for all the world like their mother.
“It is not like you to tire so early,” Annelise commented. “You are usually the last of us to come to bed.”
Vivienne shrugged. “I was tired all this day.”
“And you did not eat your dinner,” a sharp-eyed Elizabeth reminded them all.
“Perhaps sleep would be best for you,” Isabella said. “And morni
ng will find you hale again.”
Vivienne set aside her work with apparent reluctance. “I admit the notion has an appeal.”
“Go!” Annelise urged. “You can work upon your panel another day.”
Isabella smiled. “Needlework awaits our attention most patiently.” The other sisters laughed and Vivienne did not require further urging to leave their company.
She climbed the stairs slowly as long as they could see her, so slowly that she might have been having difficulty lifting her the weight of her own feet. She heard Isabella tut-tut and smiled to herself, then darted across the floor above to fetch and light a candle. The moon was new, so there would be no light in the chambers above.
Kinfairlie’s keep was no more and no less than a single square tower wrought of stone. It was tall, so tall that Vivienne’s father had once called it a finger pointing to the heavens, so tall that it could be seen from as far away as their uncle’s keep of Ravensmuir.
Kinfairlie had not been rebuilt precisely to the former design after it had been razed to the ground. Curtain walls, for example, were now believed to be too difficult to defend, thus Kinfairlie’s surrounding walls had not been rebuilt. The remnants of the old walls yet marked the property, though they were tumbled in places, choked with thorns in others, and had vanished in still others.
Despite this, the keep could be readily defended by a few stout men. There was but one entry to the tower, marked by a portcullis, and a wide wooden door studded with iron. The entry was cunningly designed so that an intruder would be tricked into taking what appeared to be the larger way, though that corridor led only to the dungeon. Once there, the intruder would be trapped and at the mercy of the laird. Further, the corridor that proved to lead to the hall itself offered many opportunities to assault any assailant who managed to pass through that heavily-secured portal.
Above this entry, the tower was simple in design. The interior was marked by a staircase, which wound its way upward, making a quarter turn around the perimeter of the tower for each successive floor. There were four floors in total, the highest one characterized by a sloped ceiling defined by the point of the roof. The banner of Kinfairlie, graced with a glowing orb, fluttered from the pinnacle of the tower.
Vivienne knew the tower and its whispers as well as her own hand. She knew - as she suspected did most of her siblings - which stair could be relied upon to squeak, which corner was dark enough to hide an eavesdropper. She paused on the landing of the second floor, the one above the hall proper, listening for her brother’s whereabouts. She strode past the one empty chamber on the second floor, which had once been shared by her brothers, and wondered fleetingly how her two younger brothers fared in their respective training at Ravensmuir and Inverfyre. Did they miss their sisters as much as Vivienne missed them? She passed the larger chamber shared by herself and her sisters, then continued up the staircase.
The next floor comprised the laird’s quarters, including a large solar and a small chamber in which Alexander kept the ledgers of the estate. Both rooms could be secured from the stairs and adjacent corridor. From his rooms, the laird could look in three directions over his holding. There was not so much as a candle lit in the lord’s solar, though a glimmer of light marked the bottom edge of the portal to the smaller chamber. Vivienne guessed that Alexander was yet at work.
She crept past his door, then continued silently to top floor of the tower. The staircase emerged in the center of that level, with a chamber on either side beneath the pitched roof. A ladder led to the peak of the roof, a trapdoor there allowing access to the flag. The portal to Vivienne’s left was slightly ajar, and she knew the room was full of items that had seemed useful and thus had been saved, only to have been forgotten and abandoned to dust.
The portal to the right was barred and locked. Vivienne had just bent to consider the lock when she heard men’s voices behind her. She snuffed her candle and slipped into the protective shadows of the second chamber. The light of a lantern became visible on the walls of the staircase so quickly that she feared she might have been spied. Her nose tickled at the dust she had stirred and she fought the impulse to sneeze.
“The old tale has made me think about this chamber,” Alexander said, as if explaining his ascent to another. His shadow was thrown on the wall as he approached and Vivienne eased back into the chamber behind her. “I cannot think why we do not use it.”
“Perhaps because you have a houseful of maidens,” Anthony suggested, clearly somewhat put out to be called for this errand at this hour.
“It is but a tale! A mere whimsy,” Alexander scoffed. He paused then, and sniffed audibly. “Do you smell a snuffed candle?”
Anthony sniffed dutifully while Vivienne fought the twitch of her nose. “It must have carried from the hall, for no one has climbed to these chambers in years.”
“Hmm,” Alexander said. Vivienne held her breath, certain he would fling open the door of the second chamber and reveal her there. “It must be as you say,” he said and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“We should not even be here, my lord,” Anthony said.
“And what harm is there?” Alexander demanded. “I would like to at least see the chamber beyond. Perhaps it would be a more cheerful place to study the ledgers.”
“If you will forgive my forthright speech, my lord, I suspect you would spend more time watching the sea, were that distraction available.”
Alexander laughed. “Perhaps it would not be all bad to have a distraction from those cursed ledgers. ‘Item: one pound of butter, three pounds of leeks, two hens, one laying, all due to the laird at Michaelmas by Cornelius Smith for the share price upon his plot. Paid and witnessed. Item: two shillings owed by the ale master of Kinfairlie for selling short of the measure on the Feast of the Annunciation, not paid due to a lack of coin before midsummer.’” Vivienne heard the laughter in her brother’s voice. “Truly, a man could lose his wits verifying the endless stream of such entries.”
“And a man who did not take the time and trouble to do so might well see himself robbed blind,” the castellan said stiffly. Vivienne could readily imagine him shaking a finger at Alexander as he scolded. “Your father spent every morning at the ledgers, my lord, and was known far and wide as a just man who could not be cheated.”
Alexander heaved a sigh. “So you have told me a thousand times, Anthony. I fear you will never find me fitting my father’s measure.”
“I can but try, my lord.”
Vivienne peeked and found the two men with their backs to her: Anthony held the lantern, which illuminated the tight disapproving line of his lips. He also carried several tools. Alexander bent and peered at the lock. He jingled a brass ring of keys and tried to fit one into the lock.
The castellan cleared his throat. “Do you think this wise, my lord?”
Alexander spared the older man a smile. “Are you not at least curious? This chamber has been locked for more than twenty years. As it is within my suzerainty, it is my right and my duty to explore it.”
Anthony sighed.
Alexander tried each key in turn, so many of them not fitting that Vivienne began to lose hope. She felt cobwebs against her cheek and dared not wipe them away lest her movement make a noise. The dust seemed to roil around her and she surreptitiously rubbed her itching nose.
To her delight, the second to last key on Alexander’s ring made the tumblers fall audibly.
“Ah!” Alexander stepped back and studied the beams of wood hammered across the portal. Vivienne peered through the slit between door and frame to watch him take a doughty tool from the castellan.
“We could have one of the men from the stable open it on the morrow, my lord. It would not be appropriate for you to injure yourself in such a task.”
Alexander laughed. “I am not so old and feeble as that!” He pried the end of one beam away, then removed the others with speed. He cast the beams into the corner opposite the stairs, then grinned. In the light of the lantern, he looke
d mischievous and unpredictable, as once he had always looked. “What do you think we shall find inside, Anthony?”
The castellan’s lips tightened impossibly further. “I could not begin to guess, my lord.”
“Then we shall look.” Alexander depressed the latch and pushed open the door. A cold wind immediately swirled around Vivienne’s ankles and she shivered even as she peered into the darkness of the chamber beyond. The urge to sneeze grew even stronger and she fairly held her breath to vex it.
Alexander claimed the lantern and disappeared into the room, his footfalls loud on the floor.
“It is large!” he said, his voice echoing. “These windows are enormous. No wonder the cost of glass was so high. But the view is a marvel. Come and see!”
The castellan held his ground. “I shall wait until the morrow, my lord.”
A chuckle resonated in Alexander’s voice. “Surely you cannot be afraid? It is innocent maidens who are said to be in peril of the affections of fairy courtiers.”
Anthony sniffed. “Of course I am not afraid, my lord. I am simply cautious.”
“There is nothing in here, save an old straw pallet. Do you think it is the one the girl slept upon?”
“I could not begin to speculate, my lord.” Anthony drew himself taller. “Indeed, I would suggest that you not touch it, my lord, as it may be filled with vermin.”
“Ha! They would be intrepid vermin who managed to climb to this chamber and subsist upon no food at all.”
Anthony held his ground, clearly persuaded that such bold vermin did exist and in fact occupy that chamber.
“And which window, I wonder, is the one at root?” Alexander mused. “Not that there is likely any merit in the tale, of course. This is but a large disused chamber.” He appeared on its threshold, beaming with pleasure. “We shall have it cleaned on the morrow. Perhaps I will ask my Uncle Tynan if the price of glass has become less than it was.”
The Rose Red Bride JK2 Page 3