“I am merely a woman, one scarce worthy of note,” Moira said with some pride, and straightened her apron. “If you will excuse me, there is wood to be brought for the fires.”
“Nay, I will not excuse you, not without knowing your name,” the sauce maker insisted.
Moira glared at him. “My name is not of import.”
The cook began to chuckle. “She has seen your intent, Cedric, and does not welcome your attentions. Leave the woman be.”
The sauce maker’s ears turned crimson. “I but wish to know her name. That is the fullness of my intent.”
The cook laughed harder. “The sauce has need of thickening, Cedric. Get yourself to your labor.”
Cedric sputtered for a moment and gave Moira a beseeching glance. When she did not respond, he heaved a sigh. He turned to his sauce, sparing the occasional glance her way.
Glad of this reprieve, Moira turned to depart, but the cook laid a heavy finger upon her shoulder to halt her. “And still I do not know your name, nor from whence you hail,” he said, his voice lowered so that the others in the kitchens turned back to their labor.
Moira shrugged. “Surely the name of a little woman is not of such import?”
The cook arched a brow. “The name of every soul in my kitchens is of import, for I will not suffer my laird’s hall to be breached through my portal. Further, you have lied and done so with ease. I know that you were not here at midsummer. Indeed, Cedric speaks aright, for I know that you have not crossed this threshold before.” He held her gaze, his own kindly but firm. “Who are you?”
Moira squared her shoulders, seeing nothing for it. “My name is Moira Goodall and I pledged myself to the service of Lady Eleanor Havilland, surrendering that pledge to her own mother when that lady lay at death’s door.”
The cook pursed his lips. “The same Lady Eleanor who wed our laird?”
Moira nodded. “The same.”
“But she came with no attendant.”
Moira lifted her chin. “I followed her, as is my duty.”
The cook considered her for a moment. He inclined his head and Moira thought herself excused, but he laid claim to her elbow. “The truth of your tale can easily be ascertained,” he said. He led her from the kitchens into the dark corridor that must lead to the hall.
It was only then that Moira’s spirit quailed. Surely Lady Eleanor had not left her behind at Tivotdale for a reason? Surely her lady was not displeased with her service? Surely her lady would not deny her?
* * * * *
Eleanor was flattered by Alexander’s attentions and his determination to aid in conquering her supposed fear of steeds. It was no ordeal to have him by her side, his fingers brushing her elbow, her hand, the tip of her nose in a sequence of small gestures that left her tingling from head to toe.
The man could awaken lust in a corpse, Eleanor was certain of it. He covered his hand with hers when he showed her how to stroke a horse, he put his arm around her waist when leading her closer to one of the great steeds. There was nothing improper in his gestures, not between man and wife, but his every touch made her yearn to meet him abed again.
All the same, it was less than convenient to be the focus of his attention. She could not count the horses accurately, and a precise count was critical to her ensuring their welfare. Alexander would not be persuaded to leave her alone in the stables, which must be the warren of her fears, and Eleanor had only her own impetuous lie to blame.
So it was that her footsteps dragged when he returned to the hall and he turned upon her with laughing eyes.
“So, you are reluctant to leave the stables,” he teased, his manner making her heart skip. “The antidote for your fears would seem to be half-ingested.”
She wondered then if he had discerned her lie and felt churlish for ever having uttered it. “Perhaps you have dismissed my fears. You know full well that no woman with blood in her veins could resist your assurances,” she retorted.
He laughed. “Then there are a cursed number of bloodless women in this vicinity, to be sure. Even you have shown yourself resistant to me.”
“Hardly that!” Eleanor was certain that her attraction to him was obvious to the most casual observer and had been so from the moment that first they met. At his skeptical glance, she found herself flushing. “I yearn for your caress at the merest glimpse of you,” she admitted, blushing at the truth of it. “And I ached with your absence this past night. Surely you must know as much.”
“Truly?” Alexander halted between stables and hall. The sunlight danced off the last of the snow, which lingered in corners of the bailey. The sky was a clear blue, a hue that matched Alexander’s eyes and made the twinkles within them seem to dance more merrily. He touched a fingertip to her arm, mischief in the curve of his lips. “What of a touch?” he mused.
Eleanor felt the weight of his fingertip and the heat of it through her chemise. “You force me to cede an advantage to you,” she charged. “In your quest for truth between us.”
His smile flashed and his fingertip eased up her arm. “Truth is never easily gained,” he murmured. “Though this would be a welcome one.”
His fingertip found her shoulder and Eleanor straightened beneath its ceaseless caress. Alexander watched his fingertip as he traced the curve of her collarbone. Even through the barrier of her garments, she was certain she could feel his touch as surely as if she had been nude before him. Her very flesh was afire, her heart pounded as if she had run a thousand miles.
“Surely you do not quail before such a quest,” she said, her words uncommonly breathless. “I thought you a knight of formidable will.”
He met her gaze, snaring her with that vivid blue. “Surely even the most valiant warrior should not undertake such a quest without his lady’s support?”
“Do you ask for mine?”
He nodded, his manner so intent that she knew he missed no nuance of her expression.
“Then you have it,” she said softly. “You have but to ask me for any deed that is within my power to surrender to you.”
“What of any truth?”
Eleanor swallowed. “Yours for the asking.”
He arched a dark brow, his fingertip reaching the hollow of her throat, which was bare to his touch. Eleanor caught her breath as he traced a circle there. “Did you surrender as much to your other husbands?”
Eleanor swallowed and held his gaze determinedly, willing him to understand. “Neither asked me for truth. Neither treated me with courtesy.” She caught his hand in hers, lifting it from her flesh, and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Neither tempted me to indecency before the entire household.” She smiled then, guessing him to be surprised by her candor. “How fares your taste for truth, husband?”
His eyes glinted with what might have been satisfaction. “I did not know that I tempted you to indecency.”
Eleanor felt her smile broaden. “You awaken my desire apurpose, my lord. Have the honor to confess to some truth of your own.”
Alexander grinned. “I attempt to conjure your desire, to be sure, though it is not for me to say how well I succeed.”
“Yet surely you must know that you do.” She laid his hand against her throat, letting him feel the thunder of her pulse. His eyes widened slightly; then she took the sole step between them. She placed her lips against his own throat and whispered against his very flesh. “Know, my lord, that I yearn for a sweet morsel this midday, a sweeter one than will be served at the board.”
Alexander chuckled. “I think I should have asked for honesty sooner,” he teased, catching her shoulders in his hands. “But why such ardor, Eleanor? It is my understanding that such heated desire is uncommon for women.”
She studied him for a long moment, then granted him the truth he desired. “And so it was always for me,” she admitted quietly. “I have never savored meetings abed, Alexander. I have only endured the touch of my husbands, until you.”
He looked skeptical.
“Is it not part
of every tale that the champion’s kiss awakens the passion lurking in his lady’s heart?”
Alexander smiled. “Now you sound like my sister Vivienne, although she would likely have said that the champion’s kiss melted the frost about his lady’s heart. She would insist that the lady’s true love was the sole man who could awaken the love slumbering within her, and that his deed in so doing would show the lady his merit.”
“You speak of love again.”
“I salute its merit.”
“I speak of desire and pleasure abed, and the fact that I have missed your caress these past two nights.”
“That is well and good, though I warn you that I seek more.”
Eleanor turned away from him, making her way to the hall. Her innards churned, for she understood what he asked of her and knew she could not surrender it to him.
She pivoted to face him and let the words spill before she thought better. “Here is truth, Alexander. Love between man and wife leads only to bitterness and unhappiness. Love may be a marvel, but it is one of short duration and one destined to tarn against the lovers. I vowed young that I would never love a man, that I would never love my husband, and so I uphold that pledge. I lust for you, as I have never lusted for any man. Let that suffice.”
“It will not,” he said with soft conviction. He strode toward her, catching her hand when she might have left him. “Love and honesty and truth and justice were what was raised to expect, and expect them I do.”
“Do not compel me to lie to you!”
“I do not,” he said with such force. “Though you choose to do so.”
Eleanor flushed and looked away from him, fearful that he would spurn her for her lie, more fearful that her suspicions might prove true.
“Tell me about Ewen Douglas,” he said softly, and Eleanor’s gaze flew to his in alarm. “Alan charged that you killed him, and though I put no credit in that man’s word, still I wonder why you left Tivotdale in such haste, in the midst of the night.”
Eleanor straightened. The gleam in Alexander's eye told her that all rested upon her answer to this. “I warned you once that you might not savor the taste of truth.”
He inclined his head slightly. “And yet I ask for it all the same.”
Eleanor licked her lips. Her heart raced, so fearful was she that Alexander would put her aside, that this fragile dream would be shattered so soon.
But there was nothing for it. She lifted her chin. “Alan spoke aright. I did kill Ewen Douglas, and that was why I fled Tivotdale. But that is not the worst of it.”
“Tell me,” he urged, his manner intent.
“I do not regret the deed, and I know that I never will.” Eleanor held his gaze defiantly, then pivoted to march toward the hall. She thought he would not follow her; she thought that all she had hoped to gain in Kinfairlie was laid to waste.
Then Alexander’s hand closed around her elbow as he matched his steps to hers.
“You do not abandon me,” she said, knowing astonishment echoed in her tone.
“I already know of one good reason you had to see Ewen dead, and I do not doubt that there are others,” he said with such conviction that Eleanor’s mouth fell open in her surprise. She looked up, fearful that he jested with her, but Alexander merely winked at her. “I thank you for your confidence, Eleanor. This bodes well for our marriage, indeed.”
Eleanor blinked as they closed the distance to the hall. No man had ever granted her the benefit of the doubt. No man had ever suggested that she might have had cause for her deeds.
“I would ask you to reconsider the merit of your youthful pledge against love,” Alexander said as they neared the threshold. “It was, after all, made without the fullness of all you now know to be true.”
She stared at him, astonished to find herself considering that very prospect. This was the danger of this man, with his handsome visage and his smooth charm. He could persuade her that day was night or that night was day. He could make her wonder whether love had any merit at all; he could make her burn to meet him abed; he could tempt her to conjure for him a son; he could persuade her to offer her very heart to him.
And what would befall her after Alexander had a son?
Then he would learn of her father’s bequest; then he would have coin aplenty for Kinfairlie; then he would have no need of a lady by his side who refused to open her heart to him.
But would it not be worse to be cast aside then if she had opened her heart and come to love him? Eleanor stared at him, not knowing what to say, and Alexander smiled.
“It is a fool who imagines that the prize of a lady’s heart can be won with ease, for what is readily surrendered is seldom of any value at all.”
Eleanor did not challenge his assertion, for she was beginning to fear that he spoke the truth. What that would mean for her, she could not begin to guess.
* * * * *
Eleanor had little chance to consider the matter further, for Anthony met them at the portal to the hall. The cook stood beside him and between the two men was the last woman Eleanor had ever expected to see again.
And worse, the maid looked frightened.
“Moira!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing at Kinfairlie?”
Moira bowed and the two men exchanged a glance. “I followed you, my lady, for I was certain that you had not meant to leave me behind at Tivotdale and I could not break my pledge to your own mother, made as it was upon her deathbed.”
Typically, words fell with haste from Moira’s lips. The maid had never been valued for her discretion, but for her loyalty. In this moment, Eleanor wished the maid would fall silent.
“I did not wish to endanger you, Moira. I knew not where I would find sanctuary or even if I would find it.” Eleanor smiled. “Such an uncertain fate seemed a poor reward for your years of service. I had thought that you might find a place at Tivotdale.”
Moira snorted. “I would not linger willingly in that hall! The foul words they utter about you are beyond belief!” She spared a sidelong glance to Anthony. “Would you linger beneath the authority of any soul who saw fit to defame your laird?”
Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again, for he was not averse to criticizing his own laird himself. Eleanor saw Alexander bite back a smile.
“It is improper, and it is wrong,” Moira declared. “No maid should so much as whisper against her lady. I told them, I did, that it might look bad for you, my lady, but that we must have seen only half the tale. My laird Ewen might well have deserved to have died for the deeds he committed against you, but that is not the same as certainty that you saw him dead with your own hand.” Moira took a deep breath.
“That is sufficient, Moira,” Eleanor interjected, trying to halt the torrent of the maid’s words.
Her attempt failed utterly.
“Nay, it is far from the same, though that is not to say that he would not have deserved as much, the drunken sot.” Moira spat on the ground. “There is no man worth his salt who treats a lady so poorly as he treated you—”
“Moira, enough!”
“Taking the gem from your mother on the night of your nuptials!” Moira shook a finger at the castellan, then at the cook, and both men took a step back in their discomfiture. “A man who would not show honor to his lady on such a night is a knave and a cur and a shameless rogue, to be sure. I would not wipe my feet to attend his funeral!”
“What gem?” Alexander asked softly, and Eleanor knew he would not cease until he had the full tale.
“It was a sentimental piece, and scarce worthy of note,” she said hastily, doubting that she could limit his curiosity. The man was cursedly determined in pursuit of a secret! “Moira found his gesture discourteous, no more than that.”
“Yet again, Ewen showed his measure,” Alexander murmured.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but there was much more than that!” Moira cried. “My lady gives credit where it is not due, if I may be so bold as to say as much.”
“W
ould that not be a criticism of your lady?” Anthony murmured, but Moira ignored him.
She appealed instead to Alexander. “This was a gem from my lady’s own mother, the sole token that she had remaining of that great lady, a lady I served from the time I was ten summers of age. I was there when Lady Eleanor was born; I was there when Lady Yolanda breathed her last; I was there when the laird himself rent his hair and wept like a child.”
“Moira,” Eleanor said. Hers was a token protest, for she knew that the full tale would spill now and there was nothing she could do about it.
Moira took a ragged breath and jabbed her thumb into her own chest. “I was there when the great lady Yolanda took the crucifix from her own neck and pressed it into mine own humble hand and bade me swear that I would see to the welfare of her babe, the child whose birthing would claim her own life, and that I would ensure that her newly born daughter would have that gem for her own.”
Moira shook that finger at Alexander. “And I protected that gem with my life and I secured it for my lady, and my lady Eleanor’s father saw fit to let me—me!—hang it around her neck when she first celebrated the miracle of the Eucharist.” She took a shaking breath and wiped away a tear. “He was a hard man, was your father, my lady Eleanor, but his heart was good.”
“Moira, I believe you have said enough,” Eleanor said so firmly that the maid blushed.
“On the contrary,” Alexander said. “I would hear more of this gem.” Eleanor would have protested, but his grip tightened on her hand. He granted her a piercing look. “If I am not mistaken, it would be the one you wished you wore at our nuptials.”
Eleanor nodded and averted her gaze.
“Rightly so, my lord, for it is a gem that should adorn any bride in my lady Eleanor’s lineage. So, the great lady Yolanda told me and so I saw with mine own eyes, and that more than once.” Moira fell abruptly silent. The maid’s gaze danced between laird and lady, for she finally understood Eleanor’s manner.
“Moira?” Alexander prompted. Eleanor nodded minutely, for the harm was done, and the maid smiled.
“It was a crucifix, my lord, one that had been in Lady Yolanda’s family for generations, or so she told me. The women in her family wore it openly upon their nuptial day and beneath their garb otherwise, lest it attract avaricious eyes, and so Lady Eleanor wore it on the day of her nuptials with Laird Ewen, just as she had when she wedded my lord Millard.”
The Snow White Bride Page 23