The Snow White Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  “When Laird Alexander took the saddle, the points of the thorns were driven into Uriel’s flesh,” Ravensmuir’s ostler said, his expression that of a man sickened by what he saw.

  Owen lifted his gaze to meet that of his peer. “But I saddled Uriel myself, and I swear by the grace of God that these thorns were not there.” His bile rose at the injury done to the horse. “I would never have committed such wickedness. I would never have seen a steed willfully injured, you must all know as much!”

  Uriel bent and nibbled at Owen’s hair, perhaps sensing the ostler’s consternation, perhaps grateful that the ostler had removed the thorns.

  Ravensmuir’s ostler smiled, the expression softening the harsh lines of his face. “The horse absolves you, Owen, though that leaves us no closer to knowing who did the deed.”

  “Alexander!” The cry of the laird’s new lady wife echoed over the company. She cast herself from the saddle of a palfrey with the ease of one accustomed to riding, flung her reins aside, and ran to her husband.

  “I thought she feared horses,” muttered one of the grooms.

  “She rides with the ease of one who has ridden all of her life,” said Ravensmuir’s ostler.

  “And her maid was in the stables,” said another boy. The other four looked to him in surprise. “I saw her. She said she came to see the fabled horses of Ravensmuir, but she went from one stall to the next with great diligence, as if she sought a particular horse.”

  “And the laird showed the lady his own steed before the midday meal,” mused Ravensmuir’s ostler, before meeting Owen’s gaze.

  “And I left the laird’s horse alone once he was saddled, cursed fool that I am, for I fetched Uriel an apple.” Owen rubbed the beast’s nose as the five frowned in unison. “Would that you could tell us what you had witnessed, my friend.”

  “The laird must know of this,” declared Ravensmuir’s ostler.

  Owen watched the lady exclaim over the laird’s wounds and wondered if he was the sole one who recalled the charges of Alan Douglas in this moment. What scheme had the lady? What shadow in her heart was eclipsed by her bright beauty?

  * * * * *

  Eleanor felt the absence of goodwill in her husband’s household the very moment that it was rescinded.

  Alexander, to her relief, was not sorely injured, though she had feared greatly for him.

  “I am sufficiently cocky to withstand such a blow to my pride,” he jested as his brother aided him to his feet. Eleanor did not miss how he winced when he put his weight upon his foot, or how he stretched his back with a grimace, but at least none of his bones were broken.

  “It is not your cock that I fear for,” she retorted, wanting only to see his smile.

  “No? I thought you yearned for a son.”

  Eleanor flushed at that and Alexander laughed. Then he sobered suddenly, granting her a stern look. “How did you come to be here so quickly as this? Surely you did not ride?”

  And Eleanor realized her error. She had not thought of her earlier lie, she had thought only of pursuing Alexander, of trying to ensure his welfare. She straightened, not knowing what to say, and found suspicion in every face turned toward her.

  Alexander alone watched her with a knowing gleam in his eye, as if he were not surprised by these tidings. He stepped closer, unable to stifle a wince, though he raised a hand to ward off her assistance.

  Eleanor knew she would have little chance to repair her mistake. “I lied to you,” she admitted softly, and Alexander’s expression hardened.

  “I know.” His tone was cold. He arched a brow, his gaze unswerving. “And this after you pledged honesty to me.”

  Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. She found only anger in Alexander’s stony expression and knew that she stood before a judge who had no reason to grant her mercy. She had lied to him; she had deceived him; she had sheltered him from the truth simply because it was ugly. Now her efforts to ensure that this marriage had a chance to find its footing would destroy that marriage.

  Unless she could persuade Alexander to grant her a hearing. She recalled belatedly that his most furious response had been to the revelation that he had been the victim of a lie and knew her position to be perilous.

  She might well have lost his support forever in this choice, though she knew she could not have done otherwise. She thought again of Blanchefleur and was sickened by the persistent taste of her own dark past.

  Kinfairlie’s ostler came to Alexander in that moment, three bloody thorns upon his palm and accusation in his expression. “These were beneath the saddle, my lord. They were not there when I saddled Uriel, but I left him before your arrival to fetch him an apple. Thomas declares that my lady’s maid, the one newly arrived, was in the stables then, and that she checked each stall as if seeking a specific steed.”

  Alexander’s expression was grim. “What do you say, Owen? I bid you speak your thoughts clearly.”

  “I make no accusation, my lord, for I have no evidence, but it seems that matters add together in a most cunning way. You introduced your lady to your steed before the midday meal, and her maid was found seeking a steed at the time that thorns were placed beneath your steed’s saddle.” The ostler squared his shoulders. “You might have been cast to your death, my lord, for these are massive thorns, and thus I cannot help but recall the charge made by Alan Douglas on Christmas Day in our own chapel.”

  Alexander’s features might have been set to stone. He spoke with quiet heat. “Then surely you recall that he, too, could offer no evidence to support his charge against the lady.”

  Eleanor felt her lips part. Did he defend her?

  Owen’s expression turned grim. “You are a kind laird, and one who has been good to me, and thus, sir, I would be so bold as to continue to speak my thoughts, though you may not welcome them. I fear for your survival. Your lady wife admits herself to knowing of poisons and there have been two poisonings in our hall since her arrival. She admits herself to having buried two husbands and rumor would have one believe that at least one of them died before his time. And though it is true that there is no proof of this, the lady shows herself a liar by her own deed.” He pointed to the palfrey Eleanor had ridden. “I heard her tell you this very morn that she feared horses, yet she rode with uncommon ease just moments past.”

  “Perhaps my laird is uncommonly persuasive in easing my fears,” Eleanor dared to suggest.

  “Perhaps my lady told a falsehood,” the ostler retorted, his gaze hard and his words sharp. “No one learns to ride as you just did in a matter of hours. You have ridden from the time you could reach the stirrup, upon this I would wager my very soul, and there is not a scrap of fear within you for horses, upon that I would also wager.”

  “You overstep yourself, Owen,” Alexander said softly.

  “I mean no impertinence, my lord—”

  “Yet you are impertinent.”

  “I would only see you warned, my lord, if you cannot see the portent yourself. Is it not the duty of a man sworn to a laird’s service to repay that laird’s goodness with tidings, even if they be ill?”

  “If it is so, then such tidings should not be surrendered before the entire company,” Alexander said quietly. “I respect your intent, Owen, but it is churlish to speak ill of the lady of a keep before all those who serve her. Had you proof of your charge, that would be another matter, but in this, you repeat only rumor and innuendo.”

  “Forgive my so saying, my lord, but it is more than rumor.” With that, Owen placed the three thorns in Alexander’s hand. “With your forgiveness, my lord, I would tend Uriel’s injury.”

  Alexander inclined his head and Owen spared Eleanor a cold glance before he turned away. Alexander, she noted, turned the bloody thorns in his hand and his expression became grim.

  “Owen,” he said quietly, and the ostler halted, though he turned only after a pause. “Do not imagine that I do not welcome your tidings, even if they be ill. My father taught me simply that no laird o
r lady should be condemned in his or her own hall. There have been unconventional choices made by my kin and rumors aplenty of their intent, though not a one of them has had a black heart. Matters are not always what they seem, this was my father’s counsel.”

  Owen would have spoken, but Alexander held up a finger for silence. “This matter will be resolved, upon that you may rely, and if there are charges and if there is evidence, then we shall hear all of it in Kinfairlie’s court. Until that time, I counsel you and your fellows to speak of my lady with respect.”

  Owen seemed to fight his urge to argue the matter. His gaze flicked between laird and lady, then he inclined his head. “As you say, so shall it be, my lord.”

  Alexander nodded crisply, then turned to his castellan. “We shall return to Kinfairlie, Anthony, and I shall retire to my chambers for the remainder of the day.”

  “Very good. I shall send for a physician, my lord.”

  “There is no need, Anthony. I am sufficiently hale to survive.” Alexander gave Eleanor a look so cold that she was chilled to her very marrow, then turned away.

  Her marriage was over, unless she set matters aright. “No!” Eleanor cried when they might have abandoned her there. “No. This matter cannot be left as it stands. It is true that I lied to you about my fear of horses, but I would surrender the truth to all of you. I would do it now.”

  The ostlers and squires paused and turned, clearly incredulous. Alexander watched Eleanor, his expression inscrutable, and she knew that all hung in the balance.

  The sooner she made her confession, the better. “Surely this can wait, my lady,” Anthony suggested. “I would see my lord made comfortable ”

  “And I would see the truth granted its hearing,” Eleanor argued. “It is late for me to confess as much, and I know it, but I would redress the matter now, before you all, before another moment passes.” She took a shuddering breath. “I hope for nothing more than that you all stand witness to the fact that my suspicions are groundless.”

  “Suspicions?” Anthony echoed in confusion. “What suspicions have you of us?”

  Eleanor squared her shoulders. “Let me tell you of it.”

  * * * * *

  Alexander watched his lady with mingled awe and pride. She stood as straight as a finely wrought blade, her chin high and her bearing regal. She spoke clearly and with conviction, her words carrying over the company with ease. The sunlight glinted on the gold of her hair, for her veil had been lost in her pursuit of him, and burnished her finely wrought features. She was beautiful and pained, and his heart ached at her courage.

  “Once there was a woman whose father saw her wedded to a man many years her senior,” she said. Alexander knew full well who that woman was, and saw that others in the company had also guessed as much. “She was twelve summers of age, while he had seen two and sixty summers. He was a corpulent man, enamored of the pleasures of the table and one disinclined to deny himself any indulgence. He was rumored to be cruel, albeit in a cunning way, but he was a comrade of the maiden’s father and she chose to believe that he could not be guilty of what was whispered of him.”

  She nodded slightly. “And truly, the evidence seemed to support her faith in him, for he was kind to her. She had brought a palfrey of her own with her when she joined his household, a steed of chestnut hue with a white star upon her brow. As a young girl, she had thought the mark looked more like a flower and so she had called the horse Blanchefleur. The steed was treated well in her lord husband’s stables, though he oft teased her that she loved the beast more than she loved him.”

  Eleanor looked down at her slippers for a moment. “She denied this, though she feared that he had discerned her secret. It would have been uncommon, indeed, for such a young woman to have held such a man as he in her most ardent affections.” She swallowed and looked over the company. “And so it was that the maiden was relieved beyond belief when she learned that she bore her husband’s child. He had made it known that he wished for nothing more than a son, and she hoped that she might fulfill his desire.”

  Alexander frowned at this reference to a son. Was this where Eleanor had learned her insistence upon a babe of that gender?

  “But Fortune did not smile upon the maiden. The babe was only five months in her womb when her water broke. She fought against her labor, not wanting to surrender the prize her husband sought, but the babe came all the same. It was small; it was wizened and red; it was dead.” She licked her lips. “And it was a boy.”

  The ostlers fidgeted at this unwelcome detail, and Alexander noted that sympathy lit the gaze of more than one of them. He waited, for he guessed the loss of the child, even so late in her pregnancy, was not the origin of whatever scar Eleanor retained of those events.

  “The maiden feared the reprisal of her spouse, but he was charming. He was solicitous and sympathetic. He urged her to lie abed, to recover, to eat tempting morsels. He coaxed her smile when she felt she had no reason to smile. Indeed, he proved himself to be more gallant than she had ever imagined, and she faulted herself for not having seen his merit. Three days after this sorry loss of their child, he announced that he had prepared a feast in his wife’s honor.”

  There was a murmur in the company at this. Eleanor looked over the sea, her eyes narrowed, though still she recounted her tale. “No expense was spared, to the maiden’s astonishment, for she could not understand why her deed was so worthy of celebration. The hall was filled to bursting with nobles and neighbors, all in their finest garb. The board groaned with the quantity of food prepared and her husband insisted that all drink to the maiden’s health. She was grateful for his understanding and newly determined to provide him with his son.

  “Then the great dish was served at the husband’s dictate, a stew that the maiden was told had been wrought for her own pleasure. It was laid before her with a flourish on the finest silver plate in their home. Her husband insisted that she eat first of it, that she eat heartily of it, for she would have need of her strength. Indeed, no one could eat a morsel of it before she had eaten all she could bear to consume.”

  Eleanor’s teeth visibly set on edge. “It was strange stew, the like of which the maiden had never eaten. It was redolent with spices, for no expense had been spared in its preparation, yet the meat was odd.”

  Owen, the ostler, turned away, his expression sickened. “It was silky on the tongue, unctuous even, and the maiden had little taste for it. Her husband insisted, though; indeed, he filled her trencher and stood beside her until she ate it all. And when she sat gorged with a meal she had not desired, he laughed and his was not a pleasant laugh. He grasped her elbows with force when he whispered in her ear, ensuring that she could not escape whatsoever he told her.

  ‘“We have each lost what we loved best this week, which is a kind of justice,’ he said, and she did not understand his import. ‘You lost my son and the price to you is Blanchefleur.’ It was then that the maiden knew what she had eaten, what meat had wrought that stew.”

  The ostlers roared at this travesty. “Barbarian!” cried the ostler from Ravensmuir.

  “Death is too good for such a villain,” declared Owen.

  Eleanor straightened. “And the maiden ran to the stables, even as her husband laughed at her dismay, for she could not believe that any soul could be so wicked. But Blanchefleur was gone and the ostler told her the truth of it. She vomited all that day and all that night as she wept in the stall that her beloved steed had occupied.” Eleanor lifted her chin, even as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “And so she resolved that she should never love another steed, the better that she could not cast that beast’s life in peril.”

  She turned to Alexander, her cheeks wet. “I am sorry, for I lied to you. But the cook said there was need of meat, and that you would resolve the menu upon your return from the stables, and the ostler said you had a scheme for the foals and”—she took a choking breath— “and you insisted that you must make me a gift of one of these wondrous horses and I
was afraid as I have never been afraid.” She ran a hand over her brow. “I am sorry, for I have the wits to know that no man would serve you so loyally as these men do, if you were of the ilk of Millard.”

  “It was not your wits that fed your fear,” Alexander said quietly. He went to her side and took her hand within his, lowering his voice. “It was love and fear of its loss. It was your heart, Eleanor, the heart that you would feign not to possess.”

  She stared at him, weeping yet still proud, and he kissed her palm, even as she trembled before him. He folded her fingers over his salute, then pulled her fast against his side. He could see how difficult this confession had been for her—and indeed, it was a horrific one. What kind of man would do such a deed? Alexander could not think upon it.

  He respected not only that Eleanor had faced her fear in surrendering a secret she held fast, but that she had done so for the sake of his trust.

  “We return to Kinfairlie,” he said. “My lady and I will ride the palfrey she rode here and Uriel will be led.”

  Owen, the ostler, stepped into their path, his manner contrite. “My lady, I beg your forgiveness for the charges I made against you this day. There is no person who could both feel such pain as you did in the loss of your palfrey and commit such a crime as that committed against Uriel.”

  “Appearances were against me, Owen,” Eleanor said quietly. She clung to Alexander’s side, seemingly weakened by the tumult of her tale. “I appreciate as much and hope that you never cease to surrender such, good counsel to my lord husband.”

  “Never!” Owen bowed. “I would ask a boon of you, my lady.”

  Alexander sensed his wife’s confusion, though he guessed what the ostler would ask. “Your request cannot be filled unless it is shared,” he said when the ostler did not speak.

  Owen spared a glance for Uriel, then cleared his throat “It is said that a healer’s talents can be used for a horse as well as a man. Is there a salve you might make to see Uriel healed more quickly? I would not see him suffer unduly for some soul’s cruelty.”