Alan swore.
Eleanor pulled herself free with haste and the red mark upon her flesh made Alexander angry.
“There is no cause to handle a woman thus!” Alexander urged the lady behind him. “You have no claim upon her, and less claim to give insult in my abode. Begone, Alan, before worse is said this day.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed. “You know little of the matter, it is clear. As my brother’s widow, and a widow whose own kin is dead, Eleanor’s future is mine to determine. I do have claim upon her, and I do intend to see justice served.”
“I owe you nothing!” Eleanor said with heat.
“The lady declines your kindly interest in her future,” Alexander said coldly. “And truly, there is no need for your involvement, as she has already wedded me.”
“Is this true?” Alan demanded of Eleanor.
“Indeed, it is,” she said.
“And you wed him willingly, without coercion?”
Alexander felt Eleanor straighten behind him, and her words revealed that some of her determination had been restored. “That is an intriguing query from a man who would see me wed by force.”
To whom would Alan see Eleanor wed?
Alexander noted the avarice in Alan’s expression and thought he could guess the answer to that query. He assumed that Alan had a fancy for his late brother’s wife, one that was not reciprocated by that lady and one that was unacceptable by the church’s law. The realization made him doubly determined to defend her. His sisters had oft expressed fear of Alan Douglas and he could well understand why Eleanor might have fled that man.
“I but seek to ensure your welfare, sister,” Alan said.
“It is assured,” Alexander and Eleanor said in unison. “You are far from your abode, neighbor,” Alexander added with pointed politeness. “And surely must make haste to see yourself at your own board this night.”
“We rest at Tivotdale this Yule, which is not so distant.” Alan nodded to Eleanor. “Though your bride could have told you as much, had she so chosen. She walked here from that hall, after all.”
That Eleanor had walked so far in the snow to evade Alan and his scheme told Alexander all he needed to know.
Alan sneered at Eleanor. “Did you walk to Kinfairlie specifically because you had heard tell that its laird was unwed?”
“No!” Eleanor retorted so hotly that Alexander believed it to be true. “I but fled, and knew not where I ran. The direction was of less intent than flight itself!”
Alan smiled and might have said more, but Alexander had heard sufficient. “Your presence is unwelcome upon these lands, Alan,” he said with resolve. “For you show yourself to be a poor guest. Leave now, and we may meet again in good cheer. If you remain, and continue to cause insult, that circumstance is less certain.”
“It is my intention merely to be a good neighbor and ally,” Alan said smoothly, bowing to Eleanor with a charm that only fed Alexander’s distrust. “I would simply warn you of the merit of the woman you would take to wife, before it is too late.”
“I know the lady’s merit,” Alexander said, recapturing Eleanor’s hand within his own. Her fingers were cold. He could well understand her fear of men if she had been wed to Ewen Douglas. That man had been a loud and violent drunkard, by Alexander’s reckoning.
“Do you?” Alan smiled that wolfish smile again. “Surely a man of sense would think twice afore taking a murderess to his bed?”
The company recoiled in shock, as clearly Alan had anticipated they would. He turned to his rapt audience and nodded as if confiding a secret in them. “It is true. We have hunted this viper for four days and nights, ever since in fact, we found my brother, Ewen, her legally wedded spouse, murdered in his own bed at Tivotdale. There was no sign of his wife, save the trail of her departing footprints in the snow.”
The company gasped, but Alan held up a finger. Alexander noted that the only person unsurprised by this revelation was Eleanor. She glared at Alan, her hatred undisguised.
It must be a filthy lie Alan told, and Alexander did not blame Eleanor for despising him for it.
“You make charges without proof,” Alexander said.
Alan held up a finger. “The only soul who had been in Ewen’s company was his lady wife, none other than the lady your laird would wed this morning. She had fled her own chamber in the middle of the night, with only the garb upon her back, and this upon the same night that my brother was killed.” He regarded the company. “My brother, Ewen, disregarded the tales that were told of the demise of the lady’s first husband and the lady’s rumored part in that demise, and that to his own loss.”
He turned to Alexander, the cunning in his eyes doing little to persuade Alexander to believe him. “Save yourself now, neighbor, and spurn this woman before your match is consummated. She can only bring you grief.”
“And if Alexander spurns her, what then will be her fate?’ Madeline demanded. Alexander did not doubt that his sister meant to make the full result of any such choice clear to him, but he had no intent of spurning Eleanor.
How could he surrender her to the custody of a man who would so willingly defame her? Alexander did not doubt that worse than cruel words would await Eleanor beneath Alan’s hand.
Alan smiled his chilling smile. “She will return to our abode and face justice as she deserves.”
Alexander watched Eleanor, whose expression was impossible to read. She arched a brow, as if anticipating what he might ask. “Do whatsoever you will, my lord,” she said to Alexander, her tone tart. “It is not a woman’s place to choose, after all.”
Alexander saw that Eleanor expected little from him, and knew that her expectation had been learned. Doubtless, Ewen had taught her to expect nothing, not even courtesy, from a spouse. That must have compounded the lessons of her first spouse.
Alexander would teach her to expect otherwise from her husband.
“It is, however, my wife’s place to remain at my side in Kinfairlie,” he said, and knew he did not imagine the surprise that lit Eleanor’s eyes.
“What folly is this?” Alan said.
“No folly at all. I thank you, neighbor, for your counsel, but the lady and I have already consummated our match.” He drew Eleanor to his left side, where she rightly belonged, and bestowed a smile upon her. “I fear that we celebrated the nuptial night afore our nuptial vows were made. It matters little in the end, so long as both are completed in timely manner and neither of us is desirous of an annulment.”
“But this cannot be…” Alan protested.
Alexander snapped his fingers and beckoned. Vera, his sisters’ maid, came through the company, proudly bearing the stained linens from his own bed. The priest blessed the bloodstain and prayed for the favor of sons, while Alan’s brow darkened yet more.
“This is impossible,” he said with fury. “It proves nothing.”
“It proves that Ewen did not have blood in his veins,” Alexander said quietly, “if he was never tempted to claim his bride. It seems the lady’s two former husbands had much in common, though little of merit to be sure.”
The other man looked as if he would make a hot reply, but Alexander allowed him no chance to speak. “Has it not long been said that Ewen favored his ale above all else? Perhaps he fell in his chamber, being too besotted to find his own bed.”
“You know nothing of my brother or his nature!” Alan began, but Alexander shook his head.
“And you seem to know nothing of his demise. You offer only accusations. You offer no evidence against my wife, save her absence from your hall, and no proof of her guilt. There are those who must marvel that Ewen was not dead of his excesses years ago.”
“But…”
“In fact, your behavior shows the lady’s good sense in leaving Tivotdale once her spouse was dead. No woman of wit would expect justice from you.”
“You cannot argue with me! You have no right to harbor a murderess!”
“Your accusation is a poor gift to bring a
neighbor on Christmas mom, no less upon his wedding day,” Alexander said, not acknowledging Alan’s interruption. “Further, you interrupt our celebration of this day’s miracle.” He met the older man’s gaze. “Join us or leave.”
“You cannot compel me…”
“Mine is Kinfairlie, and mine is the command of those upon its lands.” Alexander laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Make your choice.” He saw in the periphery of his vision that his two brothers-in-law had also dropped their hands to the hilts of their blades.
The chapel was silent for a moment; then Alan swore.
He pivoted and marched back to his men, snatching his gloves from the squire, then glared at Alexander. “This matter is not resolved between us,” he warned, but Alexander smiled.
“I say that it is ended, and rightly so.”
With that, Alexander turned his back upon the unwelcome visitor, fairly daring Alan to act upon his threat.
The other man left with a curse, as Alexander had guessed he would. The portal slammed and the sound of the horses carried through the chapel, the echo of hoof-beats gradually fading from earshot. The company heaved a collective sigh of relief, then began to chatter.
Alexander lifted the ring between himself and Eleanor once more, holding it between his finger and thumb. He held it before her hand, and met her gaze, letting her decide whether to don it or not.
She studied him for a moment, marvel in her eyes. It was clear that the lady had not been defended from innuendo and rumor before, but Alexander meant to show her that marriage could be better than what she had known.
Without a word, she solemnly pushed her finger through the ring’s circle. He saw her blink back her tears and was heartened that she could grant him a chance, after whatever she had endured.
Ewen Douglas had been a brute and would not be mourned by many.
“It looks right upon your finger,” he whispered to her when its weight had slipped over her knuckle. “As if it was left to me, so I would have it to give to you.”
“I thank you,” she whispered. Then Eleanor smiled, a smile so brilliant as to leave Alexander dazed, a smile that he knew he would never cease to seek, much less that he would forget. “Your gift to me is beyond expectation,” she whispered, then tightened her fingers around his.
Alexander attended Father Malachy’s words only partly then, a lump in his throat and his bride’s hand fast within his. Against all odds, he had been granted a bride who made his blood simmer, and between them both, Alexander knew, they would make a marriage worth all the gold in Christendom. They might have had an unconventional beginning to their match, but that had not stopped his sisters from finding happiness.
So it would not halt him.
* * * * *
Moira Goodall had a talent for taking whatever pittance God had granted her and making the most of it. She had been granted a nature best for service, and she had served Lady Yolanda faithfully until that lady died.
Further, she had undertaken the pledge that Lady Yolanda had demanded of her, upon that lady’s deathbed in the birthing chamber. She had served the lady’s daughter, Eleanor, from the moment that child made her first wail, and this despite the protests of Lady Yolanda’s husband and Lady Eleanor’s husbands. Moira had not always been made welcome in her mistress’s new households, but she had a talent for making herself useful and she had managed each time to remain by Eleanor’s side.
God knew that the child had had need of her.
Moira also was plain of face, but she had offered that burden to God and had found usefulness in it as well. A man’s eye would pass over her so readily that she could join any company and her presence would neither be noted nor remembered. So it was that she had joined the company of Alan Douglas, mingling with the whores who followed any campaign, when he set out in pursuit of his brother’s widow. Moira guessed that avarice would ensure that Alan found Eleanor and she knew that he would never take note of her presence among those who trailed his company.
And so it was that Moira found her errant lady, albeit in happier circumstance than she might have hoped. Her loyal heart fairly burst to find her lady in Kinfairlie’s chapel, the laird himself looking upon her with the respect she deserved.
Moira left Tivotdale’s whores while Alan Douglas argued with the laird of Kinfairlie. She eased herself amid the merrymakers from Kinfairlie village as if she had been in their company all along. Even the whores, so fascinated by events before themselves, never noted her departure from their midst.
So it was that Alan Douglas left Kinfairlie with one less soul in his party, none the wiser for Moira’s presence or her absence. No one would ever miss her at Tivotdale, this Moira knew well, and she could now serve her lady faithfully once more. There was but one soul in Kinfairlie who would recognize Moira, and Moira wished to be certain of her lady’s circumstance before she revealed herself.
Moira drew up her hood, remained within the company, and listened to every morsel that came to her ears. One never knew what detail one would have need of, especially in service to this ill-fated lady.
* * * * *
Choice.
How sweet it was that Alexander granted Eleanor the choice. He defended her, but then left it to her to decide to don his ring again. Eleanor had never been granted a choice, not by any man, and on this morning, she prayed with rare fervor, giving thanks that her footsteps had brought her to Kinfairlie’s gate.
She would give Alexander a son.
The notion came to her so suddenly that it might not have been Eleanor’s own, but she knew the rightness of it immediately. She would grant Alexander a son, for in so doing she would inherit her legacy and the survival of this precious sanctuary would be ensured. This was the gift she could give to him in exchange for the gift of choice he had granted to her.
This was what she could do to repay the debt she owed to him.
No sooner had she made her decision, no sooner had her heart begun to thump with the prospect of meeting Alexander abed, than Father Malachy raised his hands and the company sang the end to the mass in unison. Then the assembly cheered and exchanged the kiss of peace, the chapel erupting in happy chatter.
Alexander seized Eleanor’s hand, doubtless intending to kiss her soundly, but in so doing, inadvertently pinched the cut upon her thumb. Eleanor winced and caught her breath at the stab of pain. The cut she had inflicted upon herself the night before was barely healed and began to bleed again.
Alexander looked down at her hand. He frowned at the clean cut, obviously guessing that it had been wrought by a blade. “You have injured yourself,” he said in some confusion.
“It was nothing,” she said so hastily that his gaze flew to meet hers.
“But it is a wound of considerable length,” he said, shaking his head. “I do not recall you being so injured this morn, though it is fresh.”
“It happened last night.”
“Surely I did not so injure you?”
“No, no. I did it myself. Foolishly. With my eating knife. At the board.”
He studied her, a suspicion dawning in his eyes. “But I recall the end of the feast, and you did not use your knife throughout the meal.”
Eleanor licked her lips, remembering all too well how he had fed her morsels so seductively. She dropped her voice, her thoughts upon what they might do abed this night. “I had no need of one, as I recall, for you saw me sated.”
But Alexander frowned. “Indeed, I did not think you carried a knife.” He looked to her belt, which was, in fact, barren of a small blade, for Ewen had forbidden her to possess one.
“I must have left it in your sisters’ chamber,” Eleanor lied.
Alexander turned her hand and studied the cut, undeterred. Eleanor pulled her hand from his, but she knew he did not cease to think about the matter.
“We should adjourn to the hall,” she said, hoping to distract him.
But Alexander glanced over the company with a frown. “They all knew of the nupti
als before I did,” he mused, and Eleanor feared he was overclose to the truth.
“But you were amorous last night,” she said with haste.
Alexander met her gaze. “I never have forgotten a lady abed,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I heartily doubt that you would be the first.”
“Can there not be a first for every matter?” Eleanor heard the fear in her voice and knew she did herself no favors by answering him. Still, it seemed that she could not hold her tongue.
“There is an old trick,” he said quietly. His gaze fixed upon her, those stars notably absent from his eyes, and her heart began to pound. “When a woman wishes to be thought a maiden.”
“What would I know of such tricks?” Eleanor spoke too quickly, she saw, for Alexander’s eyes narrowed.
“What jest do you and my sisters play upon me?”
“None!”
“Tell me the truth of this cut. Tell me the truth of what occurred between us last night.” He straightened, looking so grim that Eleanor feared his judgment. “Tell me the truth of what I have done. Did I strike you? Did I give offense?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what occurred?”
Eleanor glanced about herself, but Alexander’s sisters had left the chapel, abandoning her to their brother’s difficult questions. She, cursedly, was a poor liar and, even worse, Alexander was dangerously perceptive.
“I see no need for such confessions,” she said with a shrug. “We are wed and happily so.” She leaned forward, initiating a kiss for the first time in her life, though it was but a peck upon his cheek. “Let us retire to our chamber, my lord, and leave the others to feast in our stead.”
Alexander stepped away. “What is at the root of Alan’s false accusations? Why do you fear him so?”
“That is hardly of import.”
“I think it is.”
“He means to wed me, in his brother’s stead,” she admitted, hoping it would deter his curiosity.
It did not. Alexander’s frown only deepened. “Why does he anticipate that you would do as much? Such a match would be most uncommon; indeed, it would be against the church’s law.”
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