The Snow White Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  Eleanor caught her breath and Alexander smiled. The other ostler and the squires stood and watched, approval in their eyes,

  “You would trust me with this?” she asked, awed. Owen nodded, his manner gruff.

  “I would be honored,” Eleanor said, her words husky. “I would be proud to aid such a magnificent steed.” Owen smiled and bowed, then hastened away. Uriel meanwhile tossed his head, seemingly in agreement with this sentiment, and snorted with vigor.

  Alexander smiled down at his wife, well pleased with what she had achieved this day.

  “You have made a conquest of every man in my stables,” he teased beneath his breath. “And that with a single tale. I shall have to pray that you are sated with the attentions of one man alone.”

  Eleanor turned her shining gaze upon him. “I can only hope that he will prove to be attentive, indeed. Tell me, my lord husband, is there time for a sweet before the evening meal?”

  * * * * *

  She loved him.

  It was as simple as matters could be and Eleanor marveled that she had not guessed the truth sooner. Eleanor loved Alexander, with his conviction that all was good, with his surety that honesty and good humor would make all come aright, with his determination to hear the whole of the tale before he rendered a judgment.

  Alexander was fair, he was just, he was kind. She loved that those in his household served him with unswerving loyalty; she loved that he was protective of every creature, big or small, human or horse, who relied upon him.

  She loved that he could be pensive or playful, that he 1 was clever and unafraid to show his feelings. She loved that he cherished truth and honesty above all, and that he rewarded their surrender to him.

  And that was but a smattering of what he offered to her. She loved that Alexander gave her the benefit of the doubt, as no soul ever had done, that he assumed that she had a reason for any deed she had committed. Alexander gave her choice, gave her time, treated her with honor and dignity.

  He had persuaded her that the merit of what was offered by loving him far outweighed any risk. It was not an easy lesson for Eleanor and she did not doubt that she would err again in his company, but she knew that Alexander would always grant her the chance to remedy any misstep.

  It was a weighty boon he offered to her and one she welcomed. With ardent pursuit of her secrets, he had broken the last shield protecting her battered heart.

  She wanted to show him as much, in the best way that she knew.

  Moira met them at the base of the stairs, but Eleanor smilingly turned the maid away. “There is no need for your tally now,” she said, tugging at her husband’s hand.

  Alexander followed her, only limping slightly, his eyes fairly glowing at her enthusiasm. “You are anxious to reach our chambers,” he teased. “It must be the lure of my ledgers.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I am anxious to have your company to myself,” she retorted, not caring what any person made of her bold words.

  Alexander grinned. “But I am injured…”

  “And I know the best tonic to see you healed.”

  Alexander sobered slightly. “You should know that I am not so determined to have a son as other men have been. Sons and daughters may come in their own time or they may not—their presence or absence changes nothing in a good marriage.”

  “It is not solely a son for which I would strive!”

  Moira wrung her hands at the base of the steps, not sharing the pair’s merry mood. “But, my lady, there is another detail I would confide in you!”

  “Later, Moira, later will serve well enough.”

  “But…”

  Deaf to the maid’s entreaties, Eleanor tugged her husband’s hand until he stood on the step immediately below her. She framed Alexander’s face in her hands, ran her thumb across his smiling lips, then kissed him fully.

  She heard him catch his breath at her show of affection; then his arms were around her waist. He pulled her closer, even as he opened his mouth beneath her assault. He let her take what she would have of him and Eleanor reveled in the awareness that she was not alone in responding to their embrace.

  She broke their kiss reluctantly, only to find his eyes awash with stars. “You look so merry,” she whispered with wonder.

  “How could a man not be merry, when his wife looks at him as you are looking at me?”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  His smile turned mischievous. “As if you mean to surrender more to me than a mere smile.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I challenge you, sir, to take upon yourself another quest.”

  “Another? Surely my lady’s esteem is well-earned?”

  Eleanor made a mock frown. “But not her smile. You said once that a courtesan’s smile could be encouraged with an intimate tickle abed. I doubt that you can see the matter done.”

  She saw only the flash of his eyes before he caught her in his arms; then he took the remaining stairs three at a time. He kicked the door to their chamber closed behind them and kissed her with lingering abandon, holding her fast against his chest. Eleanor reveled in his embrace, in the complete banishment of her fear, and knew with utter surety that Fortune finally smiled upon her.

  When they finally parted, she lifted the key from her belt and turned it in the lock with satisfaction. “I shall not loose you from this chamber before you succeed in your quest,” she teased, then granted him a wicked smile.

  “Then we had best begin,” he said with enthusiasm, “for I cannot imagine that such a goal would be readily won.”

  * * * * *

  When Eleanor locked the door of the solar behind them, her smile was both shy and bold. She held Alexander’s gaze, her own eyes bright, even as her cheeks flushed with her audacity.

  The lady was a marvel. Alexander loved the complexity of Eleanor, loved that she could be as regal as a warrior queen or as vulnerable as a new chick. She could defend him with the ferocity of a mother wolf, yet she surrendered to his kiss as softly as a blossom opens to the summer sun. He would never tire of her many moods, her quick wits, her ferocious defense of all she held dear.

  She crossed the floor to him, reached up, and cupped his chin in her hand. Her eyes were a clear, brilliant green, devoid of shadows and mysteries. She regarded Alexander as if he were the marvel, then touched her lips to his.

  Her kiss was both languid and impassioned. She coaxed his response with the slightest touch and offered him a caress that made his blood simmer. It was the first time that she had initiated an embrace that Alexander did not wonder whether she sought to distract him, that he had not feared, at least a little, that she gave of herself in body to keep the secrets of her thoughts from his perusal.

  They crossed the floor toward the bed as if in a dance, moving as one with nary a word exchanged. They feasted upon each other’s lips, tasting and teasing, their hands running ceaselessly over each other. It was as if they met for the first time, as if they each mated for the first time in their days. Alexander was fairly deafened by the thunder of his pulse, and he felt a similar urgency in Eleanor’s heartbeat.

  He undid the laces of her kirtle as she urged aside his tabard, kissing hungrily all the while. He shed his chemise while she kicked off her slippers; he loosed her chemise while she unlaced his chausses. He broke their kiss only to pull off his boots, watching as Eleanor shook out her hair.

  She came to him, wearing naught but a smile, and pushed him back onto the mattress. She climbed atop him and kissed him fully, holding his hair as if she imagined he might try to evade her. The very notion would have made him laugh, had Alexander not had better deeds to do with his mouth.

  Eleanor surrendered her all to Alexander, and did so with abandon. He could not believe the difference in her manner; he would never have believed that she had so much more to grant to him. Telling the tale of Blanchefleur and finding sympathy in his household, perhaps the first compassion she had ever been shown, seemed to have softened Eleanor. She opened herself to Alexander and
gave of the feast that only she could offer.

  And he was smitten, in truth. He was in awe of his lady wife, of her strength and her ability to heal. He marveled that she had any shred of tenderness left within her, that she could even acknowledge the possibility that a man could offer more to her than all of the other men in her life had done.

  He pleasured her as he had before and savored her eventual shout of release. She rolled atop him then, straddling him with her legs, her hair spilling around them like a curtain of gold. He caught her around the waist and lifted her above him, guiding her to sit atop him, in truth.

  Eleanor laughed, clearly delighted with this pose. “You are my captive now,” she teased, her eyes dancing, as he wished they always had done.

  “And a willing one, to be sure.”

  She moved, making him catch his breath. “I may never release you,” she threatened.

  “No man of wit would yearn for release from such captivity.”

  Eleanor laughed. She moved with deliberation, quickly discerning what best enflamed him. She leaned down and kissed him again, her tongue dancing within his mouth. She caught his nape in her hand, holding him beneath her kiss as she rocked her weight atop him. Alexander caught her buttocks in one hand, then slipped his fingers between them.

  “Together this time,” he told her between kisses, and she caught her breath as he caressed her. They fitted together as if they truly had been wrought for each other; they moved together as if they had been created to dance solely with each other. Alexander watched passion put sparkles in his lady’s eyes, watched her cheeks flush as her arousal reached its peak. He himself was on the threshold of pleasure—for what seemed a thousand years—as he waited for her to join him there.

  She caught her breath suddenly and her eyes widened in pleasure. Her lips parted, her face flushed crimson, and before she could cry out, Alexander allowed himself to leap over that threshold alongside his lady wife. They shouted as one and clutched each other tightly; then in the wake of their release, she began to laugh.

  “Surely my effort was not deserving of laughter,” he teased in a growl, and she laughed all the louder.

  “Not that! Anthony will be certain that you find uncommon pleasure with your ledgers,” she said.

  Alexander chuckled, then kissed her slowly. He knew an uncommon conviction that all would be aright between them, that they would only learn more about each other in the years they were to share, that their match would only grow better with each passing day.

  And that was prize enough for any man.

  * * * * *

  Elizabeth finally cornered Malcolm in the hall after the midday meal, and managed to have him to herself. He was the one who could aid in her quest, and she wanted the chance to persuade him to her side without Alexander’s counsel.

  “Malcolm,” she murmured after they had exchanged pleasantries. “I have a boon to ask of you.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Surely any boon should be asked of Alexander. I have nothing to my name, save my own self, thus can grant little to a lady.”

  Elizabeth gripped the cup of ale, which she did not desire. “I want to go to Ravensmuir.” Malcolm started, but she hastened onward. “I must go to Ravensmuir. I must seek out Rosamunde and see to her welfare…”

  Malcolm laid a hand upon her arm. “Elizabeth, Rosamunde is dead,” he said gently.

  “No, no, it cannot be thus. How can you know? We have never found her corpse, nor that of Tynan. They could be alive still, in the rubble, awaiting our aid…”

  “Elizabeth!” Malcolm spoke so firmly that Elizabeth fell silent. “No soul could survive the collapse of Ravensmuir’s labyrinth, much less do so for months. Further, it would be foolhardy to venture into the rubble, for one cannot tell how it might shift.”

  Elizabeth sat back on the bench and regarded her brother unhappily. “You will not take me there.”

  “Do not even imagine that you should go there alone.”

  Elizabeth frowned and looked away, fighting against her tears of disappointment. “I thought you would want to retrieve Uncle Tynan’s body, to know for certain of his demise, to see him buried with honor if necessary.”

  Malcolm reached across the table and seized her hands, compelling her to look at him. “Why do you desire to do this? What do you think to find? It has been months since their disappearance, Elizabeth.”

  She sighed and studied their interlocked hands. There was nothing to be lost in confessing all of the truth. “I dream of Rosamunde, all the time. She is in the labyrinth and it is collapsing and she is summoning me to her aid.” She dared to meet Malcolm’s gaze, which was compassionate. “I have to go. I have to try to aid her.”

  He shook his head and held fast to her hands. The warmth of him was reassuring. “It would be folly, Elizabeth, and you would not find what you would seek.”

  “How can you know?”

  “They are dead, though it is not easy to believe as much.” Malcolm sighed. “I did not tell any of you this, but I dreamed of Maman and Papa after their demise at sea. I dreamed that they were calling for my aid, and I dreamed that I failed them. I must have had this dream two hundred times.” He met her gaze steadily. “Uncle Tynan found out, because I awakened shouting more than once. He told me that it was grief that wrought a tale in my thoughts. He told me that it would pass as I grew accustomed to my new truth.”

  “And did it?” Elizabeth’s mouth was dry, for she did not like his counsel.

  “It did. I do not have this dream any longer.” He forced a smile and squeezed her hands tightly. “I shall make you a wager, sister mine. I shall depart at Epiphany to find my fortune, and if, by the time I return, you are still plagued by this dream, then I shall take you to Ravensmuir.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” Malcolm touched his cup to hers and Elizabeth drank with him. It was not what she had wanted of her brother, but as it was the best offer she was likely to have, Malcolm’s would have to suffice.

  She hoped with vigor that Malcolm would not take overlong to find his fortune.

  Alexander and Eleanor coupled thrice before they dozed, exhausted, within the shadows of the great bed. It had fallen dark outside and the first stars could be seen through the window.

  Eleanor’s fair hair was cast across Alexander’s chest and her legs were entangled with his. Her hand was curled within his own, both hands over his heartbeat, and he felt the sweet rhythm of her breath against his flesh. The great bed smelled lustily of the pleasure they had conjured and shared. Although he was hungry, Alexander was so fatigued that he could see no compelling reason to stir… until Eleanor shivered.

  She nestled closer to him and he made to pull up the bedclothes. She yawned and made to sit up. “It is so late. I should fetch a morsel from the kitchens before all retire.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. If you are hungry, I will go.”

  “No, you are injured,” she said, her tone allowing no argument. She pushed him back, her hand in the midst of his chest, and he fell back as if boneless.

  “I am not so injured as that.” He caught her around the waist and pulled her atop him. “And it would not be chivalrous to let you fetch a meal.”

  “You have need of your strength,” she chided. “I want that son.” Alexander shook his head, marveling at her insistence upon this single matter, even as she shivered. “And you are beneath my care, as I am the healer in this chamber,” she said, scolding him with a wag of her finger.

  She would have looked more solemn—and less endearing—if her hair had not been so disheveled and her bare breast had not been so pert in the chill. Alexander caught the weight of her breast in his hand, then ran his thumb across the turgid peak. She shivered.

  “You are too cold. It is my noble intent to warm you,” he said, then kissed her nipple.

  Eleanor caught her breath and stretched like a cat beneath his caress. “It is your noble intent to meet abed yet again.”

  “I will see you well-pl
eased.”

  “And so you already have!” she protested with a laugh. “We must have a morsel in our bellies, Alexander. You remain here, but you had best don some garb. It is cursed cold in this chamber and my father oft said that it takes heat to conjure a son.”

  “Anthony has not been able to light the braziers with the portal locked against him,” Alexander said, impatient with her repeated references to sons. “Eleanor, understand that there is no need for haste in creating a child. Children will come in their time.”

  “There is every need for haste,” she corrected. “Especially if you mean to grant your sisters the choice of whom they wed.” She rose from the bed, her pale flesh fairly glowing in the darkness, and scampered toward the pile of clothing they had cast on the floor.

  “What is this?” Alexander was confused, but she did not say more. “What do you mean about my sisters’ nuptials? What can our having a son possibly have to do with that matter?”

  Eleanor searched through the garb as the gooseflesh rose on her skin. She danced a little, for the floor was probably cold. “Oh, I shall be wrought of ice before I find my stockings!”

  “It cannot matter what you wear.”

  She gave him a look. “It always matters what the laird’s wife wears.”

  “Women!” Alexander rose, but did not don the chemise she offered to him. “Wear whatsoever comes to hand!”

  “No!” She regarded him with dancing eyes. “They still talk in the kitchens about me coming into the hall with slippers that did not match after our vows were consummated.”

  Alexander grinned. “Your laces were bunched as well. I recall fixing them.”

  “How could you not have told me?”

  “It was not your slippers I noticed.”

  She granted him a glare that would have been more fearsome if her eyes had not twinkled so. “Then be of aid to me, lest all of Kinfairlie laugh at the laird’s smitten wife.”

  He reached for her boots. “Don these first.”

  She shook her head, her teeth fairly chattering. “Not those.”