The Snow White Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  Malcolm did not doubt that Alexander’s wound was fatal, but Eleanor would have stepped into the blood. She would have gone to Alexander’s side, but Alan shouted at her. “Do not touch him. His fate is sealed, as is yours.”

  Eleanor hesitated for a moment and Malcolm could see how she found her urge to defy the other man’s command.

  “What do you think you can do to me now?” she asked softly.

  Alan chuckled though it was not amiable.

  Eleanor exhaled, the steel leaving her shoulders with that breath. “I am sorry, beloved,” she whispered to Alexander, her words uneven. Malcolm could not imagine for what she apologized, for the blame for this assault could not be laid at her feet.

  Or could it?

  To Malcolm’s astonishment, she then addressed him, though she faced Alan. “I would ask you, Malcolm, to inform that witch Jeannie that if she does not see her laird healed from this malady, she will have me to fear.” Her words were uttered with such conviction that Malcolm did not doubt she would be vengeful indeed. “Whether I find her in this world or the next, my vengeance for any incompetence she shows in this matter will be so fierce as to make her wish she never drew breath. I fear that it is too late, but she must try, as never she has tried before.”

  Malcolm nodded. “I will so do.”

  Eleanor looked down at Alexander and Malcolm saw a glisten of tears upon her cheek when she turned to face Alan. “Alexander ensnared me with a kiss,” she said, her words husky, “while this man would capture me with a blade.” Eleanor granted Malcolm a glance, her eyes so vivid and piercing a green that he caught his breath. “A wise man knows which is the more formidable weapon.”

  “Do you bow to the inevitable, then?” Alan demanded, raising his voice so that all could hear him.

  “I will accompany you, if that is your meaning, but only so long as your men sheath their blades immediately,” Eleanor said, as if she had something with which to wager. “You will depart from Kinfairlie and not a one of you will ever cast a shadow across her lands again. These are my terms for accompanying you.”

  Alan nodded. “Agreed.” He sheathed his blade, sparing a condescending glance to the man fallen before him. “Though we could have taken all we desired by force.”

  “Only because you cheated,” Eleanor said with some heat. “On a level field, you would not have won an advantage so readily.”

  “You speak boldly, for one who surrenders herself to my power,” Alan said with a scowl.

  Eleanor smiled coolly. “I am only of worth to you so long as I live. We both understand that. You may claim my body, but you will never claim my heart, and you cannot silence my words.”

  To Malcolm’s astonishment, Alan did not dispute this. Eleanor reached for Malcolm then, her hand closing around his wrist with vigor. “Be with him,” she counseled with quiet vigor. “No soul should pass through the veil without a familiar hand upon their shoulder.”

  When Malcolm moved to do her bidding, he felt her push something hard and heavy into his hand. Instinctively, he grasped it, without knowing what it was.

  “Because your brother taught me that there are treasures with a value far beyond their price,” Eleanor murmured to him, ensuring that her words could not be overheard.

  Malcolm guessed that none realized she had given him any token and closed his hand over it as if he held nothing at all.

  She crossed the floor to a smirking Alan then, and Malcolm knew that he did not imagine that the lady shivered as she drew close to that villain’s side. She did not flinch from what had to be done, though, and true to Alan’s word, his men filed peacefully out of Kinfairlie’s hall behind him.

  When they were gone and Malcolm finally opened his hand, he found a ring within his grasp. The emerald gem that his mother had worn as a sign of her nuptial pledge to his father, the gem that Alexander had used to seal his own vows, glinted back at him within his own palm.

  And Malcolm understood then that Eleanor had surrendered herself to ensure Kinfairlie’s security, though still he did not understand why Alan should content himself with solely the lady as his prize.

  * * * * *

  Alexander awakened in his own hall, a sea of faces crowded around him. One face was notably absent. His head throbbed with unholy vigor. His sisters were clustered around him, and Isabella burst into tears when his eyes opened. Someone washed the back of his head with a pungent concoction, the gestures rough but not unkind. He could smell the herbs within the solution and winced at the pain.

  “I am not dead yet,” he said with feigned irritation, though it took much effort to do so. “Unless you mean to see that situation changed.”

  “Praise be!” cried Rose, the cook’s wife. “The laird speaks!”

  The people of Alexander’s household pushed closer then, their faces alight with relief. Elizabeth cheered and Annelise smiled through her tears; Isabella hugged Alexander so hard that it hurt, but he did not complain.

  “I thought you would have preferred me dead,” he teased Elizabeth, and she flushed.

  “You are not that bad,” she acknowledged. “At least not as yet.”

  “There is no one better than a sister to ensure that a man’s vanity is kept within limits,” he muttered, then winked at her when she flushed crimson. She made to swat him, then thought better of her impulse and pulled back her hand. Alexander caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, appreciating her concern however it was expressed.

  The effort left him dizzy, though still he lay upon the floor, and he knew he had been wounded, indeed. He closed his eyes and lay back, and the nausea lessened. He recalled only facing Alan’s man, then an explosion of pain in the back of his head.

  Then nothing. He looked again, but Eleanor was not yet in the company. Her absence had him rising, ignoring the pain that accompanied his movement.

  A gnarled hand planted firmly on his chest and pushed him back toward the floor. “Alan Douglas is gone, my lord,” Jeannie said, mistaking the reason for his urgency. “There is naught to fear, save your own welfare.”

  “It is not Alan I would seek, but my lady wife.”

  Alexander made to rise again, but was no more successful. Indeed, it was galling that the ancient midwife could halt his intent with a single, albeit strong, hand. “What ails me?” he asked her quietly.

  “A wound to the back of your head, my lord, and one that shed a great deal of blood. It looks to be worse than it is, though you will ache mightily for a few days even with my care.” She gave him a shrewd glance. “You do not look so hale, my lord.”

  “I must seek my lady wife,” he said, seizing her hand with resolve and putting it aside.

  “You need not trouble yourself, my lord. She, too, is gone from Kinfairlie,” Jeannie said with no small satisfaction.

  Alexander rose unsteadily to his feet, despite the midwife’s protest. The hall swayed slightly when he did so, but Malcolm stepped to his side and claimed his elbow with a firm grip. Alexander seized his brother’s shoulder and fought to quell the protest of his very innards.

  “Be warned, Jeannie,” Malcolm said. “The lady vowed to see you injured if her lord husband was not tended well and healed.”

  Jeannie snorted. “She can scarce raise a hand against me while with Alan Douglas.” She smiled up at Alexander, her eyes glinting. “If no one will tell you the truth of it, my lord, then I will. Your faithless wife chose Alan Douglas over you, and that without a backward glance.”

  “She did no such thing!” Malcolm protested.

  “What do you know of women, particularly those who scheme to see their own advantage? Did she not leave willingly, her hand upon his arm?” Jeannie demanded. “I saw no shackles. I witnessed no struggle.”

  “It was not as you would imply,” Malcolm insisted, his voice rising. “She sacrificed her own welfare for our own.”

  Those in the hall began to murmur, even as they gathered closer to hear the details of this dispute. Alexander did not know what to think of
Eleanor’s choice. Why had she accompanied Alan, after refusing to do as much just days past? She had said that he wished to wed her in Ewen’s stead, and Alexander had been certain that she did not share that desire.

  “She abandoned her laird for what she saw as a better spouse,” Jeannie retorted. “Did she not put my lord’s ring in your custody?” The old healer cackled at Malcolm’s start of surprise. “I see more than most would believe possible, and now you know it to be true.”

  “She meant only to see the gem safe,” Malcolm said, his defense of Eleanor warming Alexander’s heart. “She did not wish Alan to claim the ring.” His lips set and he held Alexander’s gaze. “She said there were treasures with a value beyond their price.”

  Alexander’s hope surged at that echo of his own words. In truth, it was difficult to believe that Jeannie named the matter right, not after the mating he and Eleanor had shared the day before. He had been certain that she had been on the verge of surrendering her heart to him.

  He intended to ensure that she had that chance.

  “She thought you dead or close to it,” Malcolm said, stoic in his defense of Alexander’s bride. “She said she was sorry, though I know not for what, and she called you her beloved.” His jaw set. “Do not discredit a noble gesture, Jeannie, just because it was not your own.”

  The old midwife propped a hand upon her hip. “So, now Jeannie is not to be believed, even though this woman who would call herself a healer could not discern that my lord yet breathed.” She sneered. “Or do you suggest that I brought him back from death with the sorcery of my potion? Is that how you would be rid of old Jeannie?”

  “We have no desire to be rid of you,” Alexander said, though that was not entirely true.

  “Alan forbade her to approach Alexander,” Malcolm said with force. “No healer could see all at a distance in the smoke-infested darkness of this hall! Grant credit where it is due!”

  Jeannie snorted again. “And grant fault where it is due,” she cried. “Did she not leave with Alan Douglas? Did she not abandon our laird in his own blood? Did she not pull the ring that sealed her nuptial vows from her own finger?”

  “Did Alan Douglas not leave Kinfairlie when she did so?” Malcolm asked, his voice falling low. “Did her deed not ensure that we all lived to see the morn?” The assembly caught their breath and Alexander watched his brother look over them. “Did she not extract a promise from Alan to honor our borders and leave Kinfairlie unscathed if she accompanied him? The lady surrendered herself to him to save us, this much is clear.”

  “She is not what you would think her to be.” Jeannie pulled herself up to her full height. “Was the laird himself not poisoned on the night she arrived?”

  “By your concoction, Jeannie,” Malcolm argued.

  The old healer snorted. “A concoction that would have done him no injury, had he eaten of the meal, instead of chasing her across the snow!” Glances were exchanged over this, seemingly emboldening the older woman. “I tried to warn her, that I did, by granting her a taste of her own treatment, but she managed to evade the lesson.”

  Alexander frowned. “What is this you say? What warning did you grant?”

  “The last of the wine that she said she claimed for you.” Jeannie snorted. “I knew she meant to savor it herself, and so I spiced it that she might have a taste of her own—”

  “You mean the wine that Anthony drank?” Alexander asked with dawning fury.

  “You mean that you meant to see our lady fall ill?” Anthony himself demanded in outrage.

  “It was a lesson,” Jeannie insisted. “And one that would not have killed any soul.” She shook a finger at Anthony. “She did not save you from any fate. You would have been healed all the same, with or without her deed.”

  “Out!” Alexander roared. “Out of my hall! Jeannie, you will never cross the threshold of Kinfairlie’s keep again!”

  There was a rumbling of assent through the hall, and nods were exchanged. A passageway was made for Jeannie, who did not seemingly believe that she was being cast out. Helping hands urged her toward the portal, and she began to mutter.

  As soon as she was out the portal, all gazes turned to Alexander. “My lady has been unjustly maligned ” he said.

  “And she has sacrificed herself to see us all safe from Alan Douglas,” Malcolm said.

  “Such valor must have its reward,” Alexander agreed with surety. “We will ride in pursuit of the lady.”

  The men in the hall granted agreement. Alexander could not reply, so loud and numerous were the avowals of assent. Indeed, he was having trouble remaining on his feet and his vision was clouding. This injury would need time to heal before he could be of much aid to Eleanor.

  “You will not ride soon,” Malcolm said quietly, evidently seeing his brother’s malaise.

  Alexander wavered on his feet and Malcolm seized his elbow once more. “No, not soon,” he said, embarrassed by how much he had to rely upon his brother’s support. He raised his voice with an effort. “We will ride forth, upon that you may rely, though the time will remain to be decided. Indeed, we must wait until the twelve days of Christmas are past so that war can be conducted honorably.” He smiled for his company with his customary bravado. “By then, I assure you, I will not only be hale but will have a scheme.”

  The company roared approval of this notion, but the hall swirled around Alexander in a drunken dance. He felt himself falling, felt shadows closing around him with frightening speed; then he knew no more.

  “Determined fool,” he heard Anthony mutter, the castellan’s tone both scolding and affectionate. “He should not have been upon his feet with an injury like this. How can a man so clever prove himself such a fool?” Fool. That single word gave Alexander an idea before the encroaching darkness swallowed him completely.

  * * * * *

  Eleanor was nigh sick with her fear. She did not like the line of Alan’s mouth or the set of his jaw. She did not like how he grasped her upper arm as soon as they were outside Kinfairlie’s hall and dragged her after him so roughly that she tripped.

  His manner was too reminiscent of that of his brother.

  But Alan was not drunk, as Ewen so frequently had been. Alan’s blow would not miss, he would not misjudge its target. He would not stumble. He would not fall into a stupor before he could injure her severely.

  She saw Matthew on the ground, blood flowing from his arm and his face pale. His father leaned over him with concern, all the villagers appearing dazed.

  “You must bind the wound,” Eleanor said, without a second thought. “Take a length of linen and tie it around his arm. Keep your fingers upon it and the flow of blood will stop.”

  They looked up at her, so shaken that they did not understand her.

  “A length of cloth!” Eleanor said, then reached for her own hem. “Here, I will give you one—”

  “You will do no such thing,” Alan snarled, and tightened his grasp. His grip was so tight that she cried out in pain, but he only dragged her toward his horse.

  “My lady!” cried the miller.

  “I will be well enough,” Eleanor said in haste, not wanting them to endure further injury. “Tend to Matthew. Bind his wound, then take him to Ceara. He will be well if you tend him quickly.”

  “What do you care for the health of an ignorant peasant?” Alan asked, his manner mocking. “Or was he the one you meant to wed next?”

  Alan and his men found this comment amusing beyond expectation, though Eleanor did not share their humor. She was fairly tossed into a saddle, her heart sinking when Alan put his foot into the stirrup of the same saddle. She sat sideways, her knees pressed firmly together, for she feared his intent.

  “I can ride alone,” she said with haste. “I have the skill.”

  “And you will flee at first chance,” Alan said with a skeptical roll of his eyes. “I am not so witless as that.”

  “I give you my word that I will not.”

  “And what is a woma
n’s pledge worth?” Alan did not wait for a reply, but pulled himself up into the saddle behind her. He caught her fast against him and closed his gloved fist over her breast without any effort to hide the crude gesture from his men. Eleanor caught her breath at his unexpected familiarity and he tightened his grip upon her breast so that she knew she would be bruised.

  “I beg you, do not injure me,” she whispered.

  Alan laughed. He gave her breast one final squeeze of such vigor that it brought tears to her eyes, then spurred his horse onward. “Ride on!” he bellowed. “There is a welcoming heat to be savored in our own hall.”

  The mercenaries laughed and Eleanor did not doubt that Alan made a lewd expression. She was glad not to be able to see him and feared his intent anew. Would the mercenaries each sample her in their turn? It was clear to her that several relished the prospect.

  “I thought you desired my legacy,” she said, hoping that she was successful in making her voice sound calm.

  “What man would be fool enough not to desire it?” Alan asked.

  “The father of any son I bear must also be my legal husband to gain the legacy,” Eleanor said. “Though I am certain that you are aware of that detail.”

  “Verily, I am. You have buried another spouse in your determination to flaunt the will of men, but you will not be rid of this one so readily.”

  “You are not my spouse, but my jailer.”

  “As yet.” He tore the laces from the side of her kirtle with sudden force, ripping the eyelets. He forced his gloved hand through the opening and grasped her crotch with crude force. Eleanor gasped and jumped, for his grip was painful. “This, too, shall be mine,” he rasped in her ear, and her heart galloped in fear.

  Though she knew it to be inevitable that she meet Alan abed, she had to think of some way to delay that horror.

  “Surely you would want no doubt cast upon any claim you might make,” Eleanor said, her words rushed.

  “And what is that to mean?”