The Snow White Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  Alarm flickered across her features, despite his teasing tone, though Alexander now knew its root.

  He bent and brushed his lips to hers. “You should be warned, lady mine, that when I am insulted by a lady’s estimation of my nature, I feel an overwhelming urge to prove her expectations wrong.” She smiled ever so fleetingly, uncertainty still fingering in her eyes; then Alexander kissed her fully.

  He had to wait only a heartbeat before she softened and leaned against him. She shivered as he caught her close, but she parted her lips to his embrace. He knew that his lady fought her dragons with as much determination as he.

  Alexander had no doubt that between the efforts of the two of them, those unwelcome beasts would soon be banished from the realm.

  * * * * *

  The man defied expectation. He was not one to use his fists, not like Ewen, which was a relief in truth. Still, Eleanor was cautious. Millard, after all, had been possessed of a smooth charm that disguised his cruelty.

  She had learned early that welcoming him abed made the household more peaceful.

  It was, however, far simpler to consider the merit of welcoming Alexander between her thighs. He kissed her with that seductive ease, his lips moving persuasively against hers.

  Eleanor barely hesitated before she met his caress with an ardor of her own. He had not judged her. He had not struck her. He had listened to her with compassion. She did not feel stripped bare after having made her confession, and though she could not pledge to love Alexander Lammergeier, she was encouraged that honesty and trust might suit him well enough.

  And a son, of course.

  Their kiss heated with astonishing speed, her hands rising to tangle in his hair, his arms locking around her waist. He kissed her with such delicious abandon that Eleanor almost forgot the instruction he had given in the kitchens below.

  Thus she jumped as high as Alexander when the heavy rap came upon the portal. “Your bath, my lady!” cried some soul, then pushed the door open. Alexander beckoned and the wooden tub was rolled into the middle of the chamber. A veritable army from the kitchens followed, carrying kettles of steaming water and pouring their contents into the tub in succession.

  Then Isabella appeared in the doorway. Her manner was cautious, as it had not been in Eleanor’s presence thus far, though she smiled at Alexander. “I would bring you a nuptial gift,” she said with a quick glance at Eleanor. She offered something in her fist, her cheeks coloring.

  “And what is this?” Eleanor accepted the small glass vial, but did not know whether to loose the stopper or not. Was this a jest, or a comment upon her knowledge of herbs?

  “It is for your bath,” Isabella said. “I knew it would be perfect when I heard you had summoned a bath for Eleanor. Rosamunde granted it to me upon my thirteenth birthday and told me to save it for my wedding night. She said it would conjure sweetness between man and wife, though I know not what she meant. I would give it to you, as an apology and as a nuptial gift.”

  “Are you certain?” Eleanor asked. She had already noted that these siblings held this departed aunt in esteem. “Surely you wish to keep this gift for yourself, as you were bidden.”

  “I have never done what I was bidden,” Isabella admitted with a laugh.

  “There is truth enough,” Alexander muttered with some affection.

  “While I suppose that you were as innocent as all the angels!” Isabella retorted, giving her brother a poke in the shoulder. “I will never forget that frog you left in my best slippers.”

  “That must have been a decade ago.” Alexander grinned, unrepentant. “How can you even recall it with certainty?”

  “I never did get the smell of it out of the leather,” Isabella huffed. “A word of counsel to you, Eleanor. Keep a close eye upon your slippers—”

  “Or your frogs,” Alexander interjected.

  “—for this rogue is cursed quick.”

  “I shall do as much,” Eleanor said, unable to keep herself from smiling. Kinfairlie must have been noisy indeed with these children underfoot, all playing pranks upon each other!

  Perhaps she should surrender more than one son to Alexander, the better to ensure that her children grew up amid the noise and merriment she had never known. The very prospect made Eleanor’s blood heat and she found herself watching her spouse.

  He spared a sparkling glance for the vial. “I thought you curious, Isabella. Do you not fear that you surrender part of the mystery, and that with it unexplored?”

  “Trust you to make me regret my impulse,” Isabella retorted, and Alexander laughed.

  “In truth, you will receive no other trinkets from Rosamunde,” he said, sobering. “If you change your thinking now, neither of us will think the worse of you.”

  Eleanor offered the vial in silent agreement, but Isabella shook her head. “I must surrender something of import to make this matter come aright. My error against you was not small, Alexander, and this vial is a small price to pay for your forgiveness.”

  “As well as a silver ring?”

  “As well,” Isabella said with force. Eleanor could not help but admire that these siblings had been taught to make matters right, to apologize for their errors, and to ensure that justice was preserved.

  “You have my forgiveness already,” Alexander said, and Isabella smiled.

  “Then take it as a gift.”

  Alexander lifted the vial from Eleanor’s grasp and viewed it with mock skepticism. “This and the silver ring,” he mused, considering the vial. “Methinks, my lady, that there must be something amiss with this potion, or else this is not truly my sister Isabella.”

  “Truly?” Eleanor asked, lowering her voice to match his.

  “Oh, she is a beauty, but is one with a keen grasp upon her possessions. It is unlike her to surrender much of merit.”

  “Oh, you could simply thank me!” Isabella cried.

  Alexander pulled the stopper; then he and Eleanor sniffed as one.

  “Lavender,” Eleanor said. “With rose and honey, I would wager.” She laid her hand upon Alexander’s and met his twinkling gaze. “I must confess that I have always found that mingling of scents particularly beguiling.”

  Alexander dumped the entire contents of the vial into the steaming tub, then smiled wickedly. “Are you beguiled, my lady?”

  “By more than scent, to be sure.” Eleanor smiled, enjoying that they teased Isabella, but Alexander’s gaze heated.

  He turned abruptly upon his sister and pointed to the portal. “Time it is for you to leave.”

  “Oh, just as matters become interesting!” she protested good-naturedly. “I shall never know the truth of what happens between man and wife.”

  “All the more reason to choose a spouse with haste,” Eleanor said. Alexander laughed at that, to her confusion, and Isabella cast her hands skyward.

  “You even sound the same as he, and this in merely two days!” she charged, then laughed and was gone. Alexander shut the door firmly behind her and locked it with a flourish. He tossed the key into the air, caught it, then cast it to Eleanor.

  She caught it, despite her surprise.

  “You were afraid yesterday when I locked the portal,” he said quietly, his eyes gleaming. “I do not like fear in a woman and I do not think it fitting for a lady to feel compelled to flee the chamber she should think of as her own. This key will always be in your grasp.”

  Eleanor smiled as she fingered the cold key. She tied it to her belt, liking that her new husband was perceptive and kind. Perhaps it was not all bad to confess a secret or two, provided such gems were surrendered to the right person.

  Dare she hope that this husband was the right person? “Such thoughtfulness is deserving of reward,” she mused, then kicked off her shoes.

  Alexander looked about himself in mock confusion. “Ah, but I cannot think of a single advantage lacking in my life,” he said with a frown. “I have a beauteous wife, my siblings are hale, my keep is sufficiently warm.”

/>   That he could recount advantages with sincerity when his treasury was empty warmed Eleanor’s heart. She halted before him and raised a hand to touch his jaw. There was a shadow of stubble there that prickled against her fingertips. He watched her, smiling slightly, neither rushing her nor demanding of her. Eleanor stretched to her toes and touched her lips to that smile.

  “I can think of one thing lacking,” she whispered against his throat. The taste of him made her blood quicken and her mouth go dry. The height and breadth of him made her feel delicate and feminine. His patience made her feel potent.

  “Then enlighten me,” he murmured, his words stirring her hair. “For I cannot imagine what it might be.”

  “You do not have a son.”

  “True enough. But what might we do to remedy that?”

  Eleanor met the merry sparkle in his eyes and pretended to consider this quandary. She liked that Alexander let her set the pace of their lovemaking, and liked even better that he was playful abed. His manner fed her confidence in her own allure and showed her much of her own desire for intimacy.

  To think that she had always been called cold by her spouses. This one kindled a fire within her that could not be denied. His was a gift, one deserving of a gift in return, and Eleanor knew that the son whose birth would see Kinfairlie’s treasury filled was the sole gift that would suffice.

  That Alexander courted her favor in ignorance of what she could give him was the most seductive detail of all.

  8

  Alexander watched as Eleanor pursed her lips and pretended to consider the conundrum of finding him a son. Her lips were so full and ruddy that he longed to kiss her, but he steeled himself to wait. It was a man’s violence that made her uncertain, though already he sensed that she overcame that memory.

  Had Millard struck her, as well as Ewen? Perhaps her father, too, had been abusive of her. A part of Alexander seethed that any man would see fit to injure a woman to see his will reign supreme.

  That Eleanor met him abed with as little fear as she did filled him with awe and admiration. She was valiant, there was no doubt about it, though Alexander knew that full trust between himself and his wife would only come when she was certain of his intent.

  So he waited, his blood boiling, and let her seduce him. It was a sweet torture he endured for the sake of marital harmony, but he could not have done anything else and been the man he was.

  Eleanor let her fingertips slide down his throat in a light caress that left a trail of fire across his flesh. Her touch paused upon the thrum of his pulse in his throat and she met his gaze as if amazed by the power of her own touch. Alexander smiled, hoping she saw the fullness of his admiration for her.

  She caught her breath and her lashes fluttered downward, as if she could not bear to look upon his passion. She fanned out her hands and ran them down his chest, her touch firmer as she felt him through his garb. Alexander stood utterly still and watched her, unable to discern her response.

  Her hands landed upon the buckle of his belt with purpose and he caught his breath. Then she looked up, her eyes glittering with desire and his heart clenched. “You could claim a foundling and grant him your name,” she mused.

  Alexander pretended to consider this. He clenched his fists at his sides, for he dared not reach for her yet and frighten her. “I could, if only I was not so proud of my lineage. Perhaps that would be more fitting for a second son, instead of my heir.”

  Eleanor unfastened his belt and laid it aside, then slid her hands beneath his tabard. “Doubtless you speak aright,” she said as she coaxed the garment over his head. She unknotted the tie in his chemise with quick fingers. She wrinkled her nose, then cast him a playful glance. “But I have heard that your wife is cold, and does not welcome you between her thighs.”

  Alexander shook a finger at her. “You should not give credit to rumor!”

  “Is she not frosty, then?” Eleanor opened her eyes wide, then tugged his chemise over his head and cast it aside. She swallowed as she looked upon him, then raised one hand slowly and laid it over his heart.

  Alexander captured her hand within his, turned it within his grasp, and kissed her palm. She watched him, scarce seeming to breathe, and he smiled at her. “She has endured much,” he said softly. “And keeps her secrets closely as a result. Any man with his wits about him would see that time is the best salve for this wound.”

  She pulled her hand free of his grasp, then reached for the lace of his chausses. “My father oft said that a woman has need of a babe in her arms to be truly content. Perhaps your wife could be persuaded to surrender that son to you.”

  Alexander was confused by her persistent references to sons. Had her failure to conceive been at the root of her former husbands’ displeasure? “My father oft said that it is love that makes a woman truly content. Although I would welcome a son or even a daughter, it is not imperative that I have either.”

  She glanced up, clearly surprised.

  Alexander smiled. “I have two younger brothers: one has no title and the other has seen his inheritance collapse into rubble. Either of them would welcome the suzerainty of Kinfairlie, should I be without heir.”

  “There are more of you than the sisters I have met?”

  “Seven siblings do I have. Five sisters and two brothers.”

  “That is astonishing,” she said, clearly amazed. “And your father had how many wives?”

  “Only one. He loved her with such fervor that he would never have claimed another, had she died before him.” Alexander cupped Eleanor’s face in his hands while she marveled at this and brushed his lips across hers. “But because of my brothers, my lady wife need not fret about bearing sons. There is no concern that she must prove herself useful to remain in my affections.”

  Eleanor regarded him for a long moment, then her fingers eased into his chausses. She caressed him so that he caught his breath; then she smiled.

  “You like this,” she said, though her manner seemed so dutiful that Alexander guessed the reason behind her deed.

  He laid claim to her hand, halting her fingers. “You have a beguiling touch, but I would not be embraced for duty alone.” He watched her, noting her surprise. “I welcome your caress, Eleanor, only if it is one you wish to give, not if it is one you feel obliged to give.”

  She eyed him for a long moment; then her lips curved in a warm smile. She reached for her laces and quickly loosed her kirtle, stepping out of the ample silk folds. She untied her garters, her fingers shaking in her haste, then cast her stockings aside. She shed her chemise and shook out her hair so that it fell shimmering down her back. Her flesh gleamed in the morning’s light, her nipples beaded in the chill of the chamber. She was as beauteous as a nymph, as graceful as a fairy maiden in one of Vivienne’s favored tales.

  But she turned and offered her hand to Alexander, her eyes uncommonly bright, a smile upon her tips. “Isabella speaks aright,” she said, her voice husky. “Her potion does indeed conjure a sweetness between man and wife that knows no compare. Come, my lord, join me in my bath before it cools overmuch. You may find your life complete, but my fondest desire is to surrender to you a son. To succeed in that quest, I will have need of your aid.”

  Alexander laughed and took his lady’s hand. He kissed her knuckles even as he shed his chausses. “I am only too glad to come to a lady’s assistance,” he said with gallantry, and she shook a chiding finger at him.

  “You will aid only this lady in matters of creating sons,” she teased, a merry glint in her eye, and Alexander was content to cede to that request as well.

  This time, he resolved, the lady would be atop him, the better to encourage her confidence. The very prospect of Eleanor’s surprise made Alexander smile, though it was a merry while before she discovered what so amused her lord husband.

  And then she was so astonished that he laughed in truth.

  * * * * *

  It was late afternoon when Alexander descended to the hall. He called for some co
ld meat, for activities abed had ensured that he missed the midday meal, and joined Rhys at a table. That man looked more grim than was his custom.

  “How fares Anthony?” Alexander asked.

  “Well enough, I suppose. He slept this morn.”

  “And what tidings have you of the wine?”

  Rhys rolled his eyes. “You have a busy hall, Alexander. It seems that every soul in Kinfairlie passed through your kitchens last evening. Some noted the wine and some did not; some know when they were there and others do not. All were savoring their measure of the laird’s ale, so their testimony reflects as much.”

  “Ah. I had feared it might be so.”

  “It is impossible to eliminate any one person from any list of possibilities.” Rhys braced his elbows upon the board and gave Alexander a steady look. “Which means, of course, that any man of sense must look at the best prospects first. Does any soul wish you dead?”

  “Not as I know of it.” Alexander shrugged. “But then, it would be particularly witless to tell one’s victim of one’s intent.”

  “This is no jest,” Rhys said sternly.

  “I meant no jest. I meant only that someone who would conjure such a scheme, the better to ensure that he or she could not be named as responsible, must be keen of wit.”

  “That is fairly spoken,” Rhys acknowledged. He traced a circle on the wooden table and Alexander guessed that he would not welcome whatsoever his brother-in-law said next. “It must also be said that whosoever is responsible must know something of poisons.” Rhys looked up then, his expression somber.

  Alexander pushed aside the remainder of his bread, his hunger eliminated. “You speak of Eleanor.”

  Rhys took a deep breath. “I confess that I possess a wariness of healing women and those who know much of toxins, but there is much uncommon in this, Alexander.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “Consider that Alan Douglas has called her a murderess…”