“And what was it like?” Alexander prompted.
“It was wrought of rubies set in gold, my lord, as long and as broad as my hand, as brilliant as the sun in the summer sky. It was a treasure, to be sure, and one that fiendish Laird Ewen stole from my lady fair.”
“A treasure, perhaps, with a value beyond its price,” Alexander mused. Eleanor felt Alexander’s gaze upon her, as well as the attention of both cook and castellan, but she stared at the tips of her shoes. Her entire being roiled at the injustice she had been served at Ewen’s hand, and though a part of her longed to tell Alexander all of it, another part of her feared that he would not take that particular truth well.
“Indeed!” Moira agreed with gusto.
“And you never retrieved it?” Alexander asked Eleanor quietly.
She had been so certain that he would ask another question, one less mild, that she glanced up. There was consideration in his gaze, a consideration that told her that his larger questions would be asked in privacy.
There was much to be said for a man who treated her with courtesy before his household. Eleanor released the breath she did not realize she had been holding and forced a small smile. “It was to be returned to me when I bore him a son, but I never rounded with child in Ewen’s household.” She shrugged as if the matter were of less import than it was.
“Drunken sot,” Moira muttered.
Alexander ignored the comment. “And you did not retrieve it when you left?”
“I could not find it on the night I departed from Tivotdale,” Eleanor said with a smoothness that belied her panicked search of Ewen’s chamber. “Though truly I was disappointed to lose so precious a reminder of my mother.”
“As any thinking soul would have been,” Alexander said with resolve. “I welcome you, Moira, to Kinfairlie. Should your lady desire your continued service in her chamber, I have no objection, or if not, there will be a place for you in my hall in gratitude for your loyalty to my lady wife.”
“I thank you, my lord,” Moira said with a deep bow, then looked expectantly at Eleanor. The cook bowed and returned to the kitchens.
“I thank you, my lord, for this courtesy,” Eleanor said. “And I would counsel Moira upon what must be done, with your indulgence.”
“Of course.” Alexander kissed her fingertips in parting. granting her a significant glance that Eleanor did not doubt was a portent of the questions he would ask later. He looked determined, did her spouse, as he had not before in her presence.
He would ask about Ewen and she could only hope for his mercy.
Eleanor urged Moira aside as Alexander progressed into the hall. “I would have you make your way to the stables,” she whispered to the maid. “Without any noting your passage.” The maid nodded vigorously. “And there would have you count the steeds. They are numerous, as many have arrived this very day…”
“I saw them! Such marvelous beasts…”
“Moira!” Eleanor chided in a whisper, wishing there were another soul she might ask to do this errand. “I beg you, let no soul see you enter or leave the stables. Come to me before the evening meal with your tally. The laird’s chamber is two flights up from the hall: I shall ensure that your passage is not impeded.”
“Yes, my lady.” Moira bowed, then gave her mistress a shy smile. “I am gladdened to find you hale, my lady.”
Eleanor smiled in return. “And I, you, Moira.”
“And I offer congratulations, my lady. There is not a foul word to be heard about the laird of Kinfairlie.” Eleanor nodded, hoping rumor proved true in this circumstance. “But there is something I must confess to you, my lady.”
“I thank you for your tidings, Moira, but they will wait until later.” Eleanor shook her head, knowing the maid would chatter the day away. “Make haste upon my errand!”
* * * * *
Alexander was jubilant. Eleanor had confided in him, and better, she had surrendered a truth that could not have been easy to confess.
He was untroubled that she had killed Ewen Douglas. He knew well enough that a woman could strike back in the midst of abuse and see her abuser felled. That Ewen drank with such gusto only lent credence to such a notion.
Alexander did not mourn Ewen’s passing, and he could not blame his lady wife for not so doing. This confession of hers, though, vastly encouraged him. If she could tell him this, then she trusted him, in truth.
And that could only be a good omen for their future together.
To Alexander’s further delight, the cook had no need of his counsel. Eleanor had already resolved the questions about the menu for the midday meal. He could well become accustomed to such assistance as she so adroitly offered—indeed, it made the weight of responsibility seem less onerous to have it shared.
Alexander turned toward the hall with a lightened step, content to let Eleanor dictate to Moira’s actions as well. He was yet mulling upon the details offered by the garrulous Moira when Anthony cleared his throat portentously.
“Is that not the sum of it, Anthony?”
“I am afraid not, my lord. My lady has made the most excellent suggestion that a party ride to hunt this afternoon, better to provide meat for tomorrow’s board. A hunt would provide entertainment for your guests, as well as see their bellies full.”
Alexander, bold with recent revelations, could not help but tease his stem castellan. “And it is a fine idea, Anthony.” He sighed and frowned, just as Eleanor rejoined them.
“Is there a problem, my lord?” she asked.
He shook his head, as if sorely burdened. “Only that my responsibilities tear me both one way and another. I intended to spend the better part of this day with my accounts, the better to ensure that they were resolved by year end, but your suggestion that we hunt this day is a good one.”
“You meant to labor again at your accounts?” Anthony demanded, fighting unsuccessfully to hide his delight. “Willingly, my lord?”
“Of course, willingly, Anthony. A laird cannot neglect his duties, and I should not have to tell you that balancing the ledgers is a duty of considerable import.”
“Certainly, my lord. You will find no argument from me upon this matter.”
“Ah, but the meat.” Alexander shook his head and let his brow furrow anew. “Is it a greater duty to see one’s guests entertained and well-fed, or to know the status of one’s holding?”
Eleanor came to his side; the way that she fought a smile revealed that she had overheard their words. “Perhaps another could lead the hunt. Your brother, perhaps?”
“But he has ridden already this day and it is not his duty.” Alexander spared his lady a mischievous glance, deciding that it would not hurt to tease her, either. “And I could not ask you to take a hawk upon your fist and lead the party, not given your fear of horses.”
To her credit, Eleanor flushed and looked away. Anthony appeared to be genuinely concerned. “But, my lord, surely the ledgers could wait until the morrow?”
“Anthony! I am shocked to hear you suggest such a course! How many times have you told me that leaving a deed until the morrow only encourages a man to leave it to the morrow again and so on, next to next, until the deed is never done?”
Anthony flushed and averted his gaze in turn.
Alexander placed a hand over his heart. “Ah, my beloved ledgers. Duty calls and I shall have to put them aside for the fickle pleasures of the hunt. Such is but one of the burdens laid upon me.” He began to walk to the board, leaving them both with something to consider.
To his surprise, Eleanor stepped after him. “I could labor upon the accounts in your stead, my lord.”
Alexander pivoted.
Anthony’s eyes had widened in his own surprise. “My lady, such skill is not typically among the talents of a noblewoman.”
She lifted her chin. “My father taught me to read and to write, as well as how to balance an account, the better to ensure that I not be cheated.”
The men exchanged a glance, but Alexand
er recalled her earlier assertions about her duties in her father’s hall and, indeed, her sage counsel regarding tithes and fees.
All the same, her offer came in a moment that made him wonder. Why would she wish to see the ledgers of Kinfairlie? Did she mean to have a better assessment of the weight of his purse? Did she not believe his protests of his estate’s poverty?
Or did she merely mean to be of assistance? He looked upon her—her chin held high, her gaze steady—and wanted to trust her.
He looked upon the fullness of her lips, their ruddy hue, their delicious curve. He recalled her own confession that he easily kindled her ardor, and thought about partaking of another feast than the one being laid in the hall.
But that pleasure would have to wait.
“I could not ask such a deed of you, not when you already do so much,” he said with gallantry. “Come, let us make merry at the midday meal; then I shall take our guests to hunt.” He pulled her close to his side as they stepped toward the high table and lowered his voice so that only she could hear his words. “I warn you, though, that I will have a fancy for a sweet this night, after we retire to our chambers.”
“How sad,” she murmured, “for I have a taste for just such a sweet, though I yearn for it now.” Then she spared him a sparkling glance, one that brought his very blood to a simmer and made him wonder how quickly his party might fell a buck or two.
* * * * *
In the end, it was not a buck that was felled.
Uriel, true to his name and Alexander’s recent inattention, was in a fearsome fury as soon as he was led from the stables. The steed scarcely calmed, even when Alexander himself seized the beast’s bridle. The entire household watched, and Alexander had no intent of being bested by a feisty steed.
From the comer of his eye, he saw Eleanor’s maid, Moira, slip from the stables. She made her way to her mistress’s side, then murmured something to Eleanor. Eleanor nodded, her gaze unswerving from Alexander.
Alexander had little time to wonder about this oddity, for Uriel commanded his full attention.
“Calm yourself,” he bade the steed, his words stern and low. He held the reins fast. “I am not so unfamiliar to you as that.” The stallion blew out his lips, his ears quivering, and there was a fearsome light in his eye. “Has any foul deed befallen him, Owen?” he asked the ostler, unable to account for the stallion’s mood.
“Not as I know, my lord. He has been brushed and turned into the fields daily, as is our routine. Perhaps he takes insult that you have not ridden him of late.” Kinfairlie’s ostler smiled. “He is a cursed proud steed.”
Alexander chuckled in his turn. “That is true enough.” He scratched the steed’s ear. “Have you been neglected of late, Your Highness?”
Uriel snorted and tossed his head anew. It was not uncommon for Uriel to make his feelings known, though it was uncommon for him to pursue the matter unduly. The steed oft made a token protest, but always surrendered to Alexander’s command.
This time, he protested at length. Alexander could not fathom why. The stallion exhaled mightily. His eyes flashed even as Alexander spoke soothingly to him. His back hoof stamped the ground in fury.
“I will brush him before I ride, for that soothes him,” Alexander said.
“He has been groomed, my lord.”
“All the same, a familiar touch can be reassuring.” At Alexander’s word, a groom fetched the brush. Alexander brushed the horse, liking the rhythm of this task. Tynan had always told him to make acquaintance with a horse before riding it, to win its bust each time with attention.
So, oblivious to the watchful household, he spoke to Uriel of nonsensical matters, then took to the saddle with resolve.
Uriel reared.
The stallion fought the bit, he whinnied in a fury such as Alexander had never witnessed in him. The ostler swore and made to seize the reins, but failed, the company backed away.
Uriel kicked, tossed his head, fairly spat in his indignation. He took every effort to throw Alexander from the saddle. It was as if another horse, a demon steed, had been substituted for the beast Alexander knew and loved so well.
He fought to command the horse, but the steed might never have borne a saddle. It was shocking, for Uriel had shown spirit, but he had never fought Alexander as he did in this moment.
Uriel bolted, leaving the astonished company of Kinfairlie far behind. He ran like the wind, desperate to escape some torment that Alexander could not name. Alexander heard the company shout and the hunting party give chase; he heard the familiar bellow of his ostler, but he merely hung on.
He feared that Uriel would run clear to London or drop of exhaustion en route, but the beast would not heed any command to halt. Alexander’s choices were few: he could allow himself to be thrown, or he could hang on. He gripped his knees tightly and hunkered low, working with Uriel’s rhythm, hoping the beast would tire himself. He spoke constantly to the horse, hoping the low murmur of his words would reassure him.
Uriel showed no signs of being reassured. Alexander used his knees to urge the steed to curve his course toward the sea, thinking that the stallion would halt when the way before him was not flat.
At first, it seemed the horse would defy his command, but his training ran too deep and he could not deny the command in the pressure of Alexander’s knee against his right side. Uriel turned, the coast rose ever closer; Alexander urged the beast down a point that jutted into the sea, just north of Kinfairlie proper.
If the horse did not stop on this point, they would both be sorely injured.
Alexander took the gamble, though feared its import when Uriel did not slow his pace. The crest of rocks on the lip of the point drew closer and closer, and yet closer again. Alexander’s heart leapt in fear that they would soon be in the sea.
Then Uriel stopped cold, planted his hooves against the ground, and ducked his head. Alexander, unprepared for this move, was cast over the steed’s head.
He flew head over heels. He endeavored to land upon his feet, but all happened too quickly.
Instead, Alexander landed upon his buttocks and roared in pain. He then hit his head and both elbows on the rocks, bouncing as if he were no more substantial than a figure wrought of husks.
Finally he fell still. Alexander lay back and groaned. He would be black-and-blue, to be sure. He was not anxious to rise and assess the damage to his person.
At least he was out of Uriel’s saddle and was not quite dead. The horse snorted at close proximity, uninjured. That, he supposed, was the best that could be made of this matter.
Much worse, it would prove, could come of this event.
11
Owen’s dismay knew no bounds, for his laird and master had been injured by a steed beneath Owen’s care. He was somehow responsible for Uriel’s foul deed, of that Owen was certain. So it was that Kinfairlie’s ostler reached Laird Alexander first.
Owen fell upon his knees beside his fallen laird and said a prayer when his laird opened his eyes and winked at him.
“It is clear that I have forgotten all that ever I knew of steeds, Owen,” the laird jested, making it clear that he did not blame the ostler for events. He was uncommonly kind in that way, this son of the old laird, and his graciousness only redoubled Owen’s determination to see this mystery solved.
“It was a clever ploy to lead him here, my lord. I feared he would run the length of Christendom and tire himself to death.”
“As did I, Owen.” The laird moved tentatively and winced. He then grinned at the ostler, his charm and good humor clearly unaffected by his fall. “Though I do not think my concern for his welfare was repaid in kind.”
Owen did not smile. “It is not like Uriel, my lord. I cannot think of what came over him.”
“True enough. It has been decades since I have been tossed from a saddle, and never has Uriel taken such exception to me.” The laird frowned. “Did he flee?”
“He lingers, my lord, stamping his feet and shaking his he
ad. He is in a sweat, to be sure, and trembles mightily. He perhaps is too tired to flee farther.”
“Then go to him, Owen, and see if your touch soothes him. You have a way about you that a restless beast oft welcomes.” The laird’s mischievous smile flashed again. “I believe I will remain here for the moment. The view is most fine.”
How like the laird to tempt the smile of others while he himself clearly felt pain! It was no wonder that men served him with such fervor.
Owen bowed and rose to his feet, then approached the black stallion with caution. Uriel stamped and exhaled noisily, his temper riled as it had not beep, when Owen himself saddled him. What ailed the beast? Owen knew horses and he knew this one and he knew there had to be a reason for Uriel’s manner.
Then he saw the blood. Three streams of ruby red blood stained the stallion’s side.
Owen pivoted in terror, but his laird did not obviously bleed, and such a quantity of blood as this would have stained his garb.
Uriel was injured! How could this be?
The rest of the party arrived noisily, their cries making the stallion dance away from them. Owen shouted for the Ostler from Ravensmuir to aid him, as well as the three Stoutest grooms in his service. They enclosed the stallion in a tightening circle; then Ravensmuir’s ostler seized the reins. He held the reins fast and the boys stilled the horse with their hands as Owen hastily unbuckled the saddle and lifted it away.
Uriel shuddered from head to tail at its removal, and Owen immediately saw why. Three thorns were there, each as long and nigh as broad as the last digit of his thumb. Owen had never seen the like of them.
The blood ran cleanly and the wounds were not as deep as they could have been, but still it was a horror to look upon Uriel’s damaged flesh. The underside of the saddle had been cut to accommodate the base of each thorn, leaving the point exposed.
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