He sat down and Brenna quickly stood, reaching for one of the chalices, pouring him ale.
“So, milord, how did you sleep?” she asked him.
He shot her a curious gaze, accepted the ale, and looked to Swen, who shrugged.
“Well, you must admit, Conar, that we did not think we"d come here to stay.”
Conar shook his head. “We"ve not come to stay. I cannot stay now. There is too much at risk at home.”
“There"s grave risk here!” Brenna said. She continued to serve, piling a plate high with food, setting it before him. “And this is now your home. Look around you, Conar. You"ve managed quite well. Your father would tell you that you have acquired an excellent estate.”
“And my father would tell you that upon occasion, estates must manage themselves. I"ve not spoken long with this man of Manon"s, Ragwald, but I"m quite certain that he can keep things running smoothly in my absence. I"ll not be gone for very long.”
“No one will be able to manage things and protect this place—not with the girl here,” Brenna said.
Frowning, Conar set down the crust of bread he had chewed. Sitting back, he crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Brenna. “All right, then, Brenna, just what is on your mind. What difference does it make where I leave the girl?”
“Have you gone blind?” Swen demanded, incredulous. He saw the glittering in Conar"s eyes and quickly amended himself, “I beg your pardon, Conar, but
…” His voice trailed away.
“What are you talking about? Both of you?” Conar demanded, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
“Have you taken a look at the girl?” Brenna asked him softly.
“A good look?” Swen added.
Conar stared at them both. Brenna sat on one of the carved chairs at his side.
“Manon sent for you because he felt danger increasing here, because of his daughter. She would be a prize if she were haggard and hairless because of this fortress. But word is going out about her, many men have seen her, and she is growing older.”
“Manon"s daughter is not yet thirteen!” he exclaimed.
“Your bride is an exceptionally stunning girl,” Brenna told him.
Irritated, Conar slammed down his chalice. “To me, Brenna, she is a child. I agreed to this wedding because Ragwald was so insistent, because it seemed the best way to protect these people—and yes, because I have been handed an incredible inheritance. But the girl is to grow, we have all agreed on that.”
“Yes,” Brenna agreed. “She is young, but women do become wives at thirteen. You might wish to recall the time when you first discovered an interest in my gentle gender!” Brenna said.
“Now, Brenna, how would you know—” He broke off. Brenna was smiling.
Brenna had known. How old had he been when he had first found himself in the fascinating arms of the young dairy maid?
Older than his new bride, surely …
Maybe not so terribly much older. But somehow that seemed very different.
He had no patience for this situation.
“I"ve no intention of taking her with me as my wife at this time,” he said firmly. He gazed hard at Brenna. “Since you know me so well, you must be very aware that I"ve no interest in ravishing a child when—”
“When diversion and entertainment so easily come your way,” Brenna interjected softly. “But though you"ve no interest, milord, you must bear it in mind—others might. It is dangerous for her here, and her presence adds danger to the fortress if you are not within it.”
“I"ve wed her—wasn"t that the point of the ceremony, that she should have a husband and thus keep those who would prey upon her at a distance?”
“If a marriage is not consummated, it is too easy to dissolve. Even legally.
Popes can be convinced—if one is eager to have Christian sanction!” Swen warned him.
“And what do you suggest?” Conar asked angrily. “That I ravish this hostile young orphan?”
“Of course not,” Brenna replied, tossing a lock of golden hair over her shoulder. “But I do suggest that you take a good long look at the girl. And that you bring her with you. Somewhere safe!”
Somewhere safe …
It was then that Melisande walked into the room, and it was then that he did study his bride at long last, really study her.
They were right. There was much to be seen about Melisande today that he had not realized yesterday. The chain mail she had worn had hidden certain things. Her body was long, lithe, slim … and beginning to grow curves. She was elegantly tall, with her stream of ebony hair cascading down the length of her back. Her face was young, but exquisite, and then there were …
Those eyes. Large, violet, passionate, and very, very beautiful. Brenna was right. The girl was going to grow to be exceptional, and he couldn"t take risks with her. She was a walking temptation as she was now. And there were many men not adverse to wedding—or bedding—young women.
The strangest tremor shot through him. Hot, hard. He had not come yesterday expecting to take property or a bride; he had come as a guest, to explore the future perhaps. It had all happened suddenly, but now this place was his.
As was the girl.
And though he did not want a child bride, neither could he bear the image of her being seized by any other. Her beauty was trouble. An immense headache with all that he already had in his life.
Brenna leaned toward him, whispering softly. “You can leave this place fortified with half our men. But you cannot leave her here without you. Warfare is constant. Raids come daily. Yet if the place were seized in your absence, it could be taken again. Unless she, Melisande, is seized with it, for though the wedding contracts make this fortress yours, she is the heiress, and the blood will speak. You must keep her safe, away from those who would covet her.” The little minx was walking toward him now, and he was suddenly aware of the sway in her movement. She moved with grace, soundlessly, regally. She stopped before him, heedless of both Swen and Brenna, though Conar was certain that her eyes had touched upon Brenna with a sizzling hostility as well.
“You"ve no right to my father"s bed,” she told him, and though the words were sure and spoken with a chill dignity, there was a rasp within them.
“Indeed, milady,” he murmured, and his gaze fell over her again. She wore a soft mauve shift with a tunic in a deeper purple, and that color seemed to match her eyes.
“He is not even cold!” she hissed.
He stood, infuriated that she would so speak to him at all, much less in front of others.
“I slept with no disregard for your father, but with sheer exhaustion. May I remind you, milady, I did not seize and plunder this place, but rather set my own men to die in the defense of it—at your father"s request. And may I also inform you that when you have such matters to discuss with me, it had best be in private in the future.”
“May I suggest then, milord Viking, that you do not do things which might cause you public humiliation?”
That was it, the final straw. He set a hand upon her upper arm and swung her around.
“Conar!” Brenna said with alarm, starting to rise also.
“Sit, Brenna, please!” There was a moment"s startled silence, and Brenna slid back into her chair.
Melisande silently tried to tug free from his grasp. He ignored her, speaking to Brenna and Swen. “You will be so kind to excuse me, as the countess and I need to have a private discussion.”
“There"s nothing more I have to say to you—” Melisande began, but he cut her off quickly.
“Milady, there"s a great deal I have to say to you.”
“I"ll not—”
“You will!”
He heard the tremendous intake of her breath and was prepared when her nails tore into his hand. He was still smiling to Brenna as he tossed Melisande over his shoulder, ignoring her shriek of rage.
Best to have this over with now.
He took the stairs back up to the living quarters, down the f
ew feet of hallway to the count"s bedchamber, and there sat upon the bed, bringing her face down over his lap.
He wasn"t sure what he intended. No real violence, for he had seen her in the chapel and knew that her heart was ruled by the anguish of her father"s passing.
But no matter how she had been raised, how independent she had been taught to be, he could not be expected to tolerate this behavior!
He had to talk to her, and truly, that was all that he intended. She had to be threatened so that she understood. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words turned into a growl of pain as she sank her teeth into his thigh.
“Little witch!” he cried, and what he considered his very patient and tolerant determination just to talk with the girl fled his mind with the haste of a winter wind. It was not what he had intended, but it was her own damned fault. His hand fell hard upon her posterior, once, twice, and again, and then he caught hold of his temper, throwing her up before him. Her eyes were wide and wet as she backed away from him, but there was no remorse in them, only pure fury and hatred.
“How dare you, how dare you!” she cried.
“I dare again, milady, if you do not hush and do so quickly!”
“Milord!”
The call from the bedroom doorway came from Ragwald. He rushed into the room, hurrying to the girl, sweeping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her protectively close.
“She means you no insult—” he began.
“I mean him every insult!” she cried in protest.
Conar crossed his arms over his chest, disbelieving all that was occurring.
This should have been such a simple thing! He had wed a child. One with a strange air of both sensuality and innocence about her. One too beautiful—and far too wild—for her own good. It really was a wretched situation. He shouldn"t be dealing with it now, he should be supervising the rebuilding of the wall, determining just how many men were needed to protect the property, and how long he dared leave it. Instead he was staring at violet eyes so alive with tempest that he"d be afraid to turn his back on her, no matter what her tender age.
She was his wife, he thought, and the irony of it suddenly seemed quite ridiculous. He was not going to argue with her. He was going to give the orders, and quite simply, they were going to be obeyed.
“She"s dangerous, Ragwald. Dangerous in her passion. Perhaps the kindest thing would be if you were to leave her with me now,” Conar said coolly, “and she will know how to behave in the world when I have finished.”
“Milord, I beg you, think on all that has happened here! Have tolerance, pity.”
“I don"t want his pity, I want him out of my home! Out—of my father"s bed, out of my inheritance!” she snapped.
He threw up his arms. Despite the way Ragwald tried to protect her, Conar found himself ignoring the man as he strode toward the girl, his temper worn ragged. He clutched her by the arms and lifted her off her toes, bringing her eyes up to meet his. “Mine now, Countess, do you understand that? Mine. Now, astrologer, take your delicate and innocent little beauty here, and get her out of my sight before I see fit to confine her, bound and gagged, to her own room!” Even held so, she did not bow to his command. “This will be my room! It was my father"s room, and it will be mine.”
She had driven him to the brink. He was ready to toss her over his shoulder again and carry out his promise of binding her hand and foot and leaving her to think and fume within her own chamber. But something within her touched him then. Something in the glistening eyes, the knowledge that she was fighting her own pain as thoroughly as she was fighting him. She had dearly loved her father. She had just lost him, had not yet seen him interred in his final resting place. No matter how angry she made Conar, he had to admire her brash courage, too. But that, of course, might well be a part of youth. And stupidity.
She"d no right to rush against Gerald in the way that she had. Had she been his concern then, he might well have raised a hand against her with far greater vigor than today.
He swore. Heedless of her innocent ears. He set her down, forcefully thrusting her back to Ragwald"s care. “For now, my man, you may deal with her. I warn you, talk some sense into your young pupil, astrologer, for I am weary of the effort!” He turned impatiently and strode out of the room, still seething as he returned to the great hall. Brenna and Swen had been joined by various members of the fortress household, the most important being Philippe, captain of the guard, and Gaston, his elder, right hand adviser. The plans for the fortress castle had been laid out on the table, and Conar quickly turned his attention to them, marveling anew at the care and detail given to the workings of the structure. It could withstand quite a siege, Conar thought. The towers were placed so that approaching danger could be seen from all angles. The only weaknesses might be in the walls themselves.
Or in a treachery such as that which had been practiced yesterday.
“This is an exceptional prize!” Swen said softly at his side. Conar looked up.
Philippe was looking at him with pride, nodding in agreement. Conar took in the look of the man and determined that he was a fine commander within the fortress, that he knew it better than any man. Perhaps he needed someone else here with the power of his name and homeland behind him, but he would do his best to leave the bulk of the power in Philippe"s capable hands. Gaston, too, seemed a sage fellow, and both knew the fortress inside and out.
“Swen,” Conar said, “I would like to study these plans at greater length.
Perhaps you would look over all the workings with Gaston and Philippe, and report back to me. What has been damaged must be repaired. Quickly. I promised my father that I would not be gone long.”
Swen nodded. Brenna naturally rose to accompany him, and Conar was left alone with the plans on the table before him.
A few seconds later he felt a slight chill and looked up. Melisande was back, keeping her distance from him, remaining at the stairway landing that led into the great hall. He grit down hard on his teeth, startled that he hadn"t heard her the moment she had come.
“I do hate to disturb you from savoring your gain,” she said, those violet eyes so fierce and condemning, belying the soft and taunting tone of her words.
“But—” She hesitated just a moment. “But—Father Matthew has come and has asked when he might say the funeral mass for my father. I assured him that now seemed an excellent time. I am leaving for the chapel.” On the table his fingers flexed and unflexed. What was it? He longed to wrap his hands around her elegant little throat.
“You will leave, milady, when I say.”
“It is my father we bury.”
“It is your place now to obey my commands.”
“You"ve no right to deny my father a Christian burial.”
“I"ve no intention of denying—” He broke off. She was doing it again, pulling him into an argument as if they were both children.
He stood up. She wasn"t going to manage it. He bowed suddenly and deeply to her, sweeping out his arm. “You wish to bury your father now, milady? We will do so. Now.” He strode across the room to her. Before he could reach her, she turned quickly to flee. He stretched out an arm, managing to get hold of a handful of her hair. He tugged her back to him with that soft ebony mass, met her violet eyes again. “I will escort you, Melisande. In your haste, milady, have you allowed it to be mentioned to your father"s closest companions that the time has come for his mass?”
She clamped down hard on her jaw, tugging her hair free from his grasp.
“Ragwald has gone to inform all within the fortress walls. He will call down from the parapet.”
“Fine. Then we will go.”
He took hold of her elbow. She detested his touch, but refrained from jerking away again, and from speaking. They strode in silence from the south tower to the north one, and the chapel on the second level there. The space was already filling. Conar saw that, indeed, the men had been informed, and Philippe and Gaston stood closest to the carved wood stone where
Count Manon lay, now shrouded in soft white gauze. Ragwald knelt at the count"s feet, and Melisande broke free from Conar to join him there.
Conar let her go.
Father Matthew entered the chapel and began to speak. Obviously he had been as fond of his lord as Manon"s daughter, servants, and friends, and as he spoke of the count"s youth and goodness, the chapel began to fill with the soft sounds of tears. The stoutest, hardest of men stood within the chapel that afternoon, their eyes liquid with tears. Conar felt again the deepest sorrow for the man who had built this fine fortress, who had invited him here. It had not been so long since his own grandfather, Ard-Ri of Eire, had lain so before his funeral procession to Tara. He could remember the pain of losing Aed, and despite himself, he felt his heart go out to his child bride once again.
If only she would cease to fight him so, perhaps something could be worked out.
As the service ended, Manon"s closest friends came forward to lift him for his last journey, the one to the family crypt. It was below the storage level, deep within the foundation of the place. Double doors led to the blackness of the crypt, where, though it was day, only the torches gave light to lead the way to the stone bed where Count Manon might rest now for eternity, shrouded in his white mist.
Through it all, his young daughter had not broken. If she had cried, she had done so silently. But as Father Matthew spoke the last words and they turned to leave the crypt behind, Melisande stopped. “Give me a torch, Philippe. I would not leave him here alone so quickly now.”
Conar did not like it. The firelight barely touched the shadows here. The crypt was not heavily peopled with the dead, but he could see the shrouded figure that lay so close to Manon. The count"s wife, Conar was certain, and there were several other white-clad forms within the cold stone confines of the chamber. It did not seem a healthy place for the girl.
“Melisande,” he said. Those who remained within the chamber stopped at the sound of his voice. She turned to him, as if suddenly made aware of him. “It is not wise,” he told her.
Philippe quickly stepped before him. “I implore you, milord, let me abide with her for a while. I will see that she does not stay long.” Conar hesitated, then sighed. “Nay, my good fellow. You go on with the others. I will abide here with her.”
MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves Page 12