She glanced to her side, seeing what her people did. Men of power. Handsome men. She noticed the wistful looks of the younger women in the keep. Even the elders like Muriel watched the Englishmen with guarded admiration.
Her stomach tightened. There was no mistaking it. Noel strode with the mantle of power resting upon his shoulders. This Englishman was assuming command of Craigendan, and none failed to see this. Life here would be forevermore changed.
Well, so be it. In some ways Craigendan had been in suspension these past months. First, the waiting for the men to return, for everything to pick up where it left off. Then news came of Dunbar; mourning and sorrow visited the women who had lost husbands or betrotheds. On the heels of the tides, the drought hit; the summer and autumn of struggle followed. And more waiting.
Noel strode to the trestle table and put his hand on the back of the lord’s chair. That simple act sent a ripple throughout the whole chamber. The words that he’d speak were naught but a formality. All understood Noel de Servian was the baron now.
His gaze circled the Great Hall, silently marking what she had warned him of—except for those belonging to the Challon cadre, the only males were old or lame; the rest were barely more than little boys. Turning to Guillaume, Noel arched a dubious brow. The other man merely gave a faint nod, in a way which bespoke a familiarity that they understood each other’s thoughts.
“I am sure rumors are rife with my coming, curiosity about the English stranger,” Noel began. “Speculation ends now. I am Sir Noel de Servian. Edward Plantagenet has granted me title and charter to Craigendan. I am your new lord. Already I pay homage to Julian Challon, your overlord. We were raised as brothers. I have heard Scots say that between foster brothers the bond is stronger than that of brothers of blood. I agree. Though not a brother by birth, I am a man of Challon by choice. Come nightfall and chores are done, the men amongst you will come bend knee and tend your oath to me. In time, you will find I am a firm master, but one with a soft hand. Serve me well, and I will do all in my power to see you prosper and are protected from any danger that threatens Craigendan. I will shield you with my very life.”
Skena’s vision roved to her people, trying to fathom their reactions to the news. Resentment was seen on a few faces, mostly those of the small number of males. Some of the women looked relieved. Skena suppressed a smile, knowing they were sighing at the prospects of not having to do the many chores which belonged to men. With a new lord, new men would follow. Come spring, she figured there would be several weddings. Life would gradually return to normal.
Also not escaping their notice—her hand on de Servian’s arm. She was nervous despite feeling confident they would accept de Servian as their chief, especially when it was clear he held her approval.
As her line of vision wandered past Guillaume, a little behind and to the left of Noel, Skena tensed when she caught sight of Dorcas in the half shadows of the Great Hall’s archway. Her heart jumped, another surge of resentment hitting her blood. She had specifically ordered Dorcas back to the wall; as usual, the woman clearly ignored her rule. Since the dimness hid her half sister’s face, it was nearly impossible to see the expression she wore.
“I am also pleased to inform you that the Lady Skena has consented to soon speak her troth, not only accepting me as lord here, but as her husband as well,” Noel said, lifting her hand from his arm to kiss it in front of all gathered.
Skena started to turn her attention back to Noel, but then a man entered the hallway and came to stand behind Dorcas. Torn, Skena needed to show how happy she was with Noel’s pronouncement, yet her eyes were pulled back to the shadowy figure, leaning toward her sister, as if he were whispering in her ear. Dizziness spun through her. Even so, she had no time to focus on the couple on the far side of the room, for Noel moved closer and kissed her cheek, blocking her view.
“Is that not so, Skena?” he asked.
Skena struggled to hide her confusion with a smile. She saw he wanted her response, that it was important to him; she gave it, having no idea to what she was agreeing. “Whatever my lord wishes, I want as well.”
Noel gifted her with a grin, pleased by her answer. He pulled out the lady’s chair for her, allowing her to sit at the position that would remain hers—lady of the keep. She slid into it, and then nodded to Muriel to set the servants fetching the food.
Everything had changed. Another man now sat in the lord’s chair, soon she was to wed, and this time by her choice. Oh, she had the good of her people in mind, but that had little to do with her joyful acceptance of Noel’s offer of marriage. In her heart she felt Noel would be good for Craigendan. Good for her. Though he had tried earlier to intimidate her in the chamber, he had not dictated to her how things would be, never been overbearing as Angus had throughout their marriage. The only time she had managed to bend his will was on the matter of keeping Andrew at Craigendan instead of sending him to the south, to Angus’s younger brother, Daragh, to begin training.
Thinking of Angus, she turned her eyes toward the far archway, to see if Dorcas remained, if the man was still with her sister. The doorway was empty. A shiver crawled up her spine, as she recalled how his silhouette had the same shape as Angus. Noel had assured her Angus was dead, and that assurance had not been given lightly. Still, her first impression was that the man had been Angus. There was something in the way he had leaned toward Dorcas that bespoke familiarity, a lovers’ closeness she had been forced to observe for the past five years.
Skena was distracted from her thoughts as Annis and Andrew entered, Jenna herding them to the table. Her son took one look at de Servian, sitting in the lord’s chair, broke away from her maidservant, and ran to Noel. Without asking, he clamored up onto Noel’s knee and hugged him.
“You are better,” Andrew exclaimed. “Jenna told us how you battled the wolves with màthair. Oh, I wish I could have seen you swinging your sword. See, Mama, I told you he was a valiant knight, just like I asked the Cailleach for.”
Annis stood, half-hiding against Jenna’s leg, her brown eyes watching her brother sitting upon Noel’s thigh, same as the boy had done numerous times with his father. Just as she had never been permitted to do. Her daughter had tried to crawl onto Angus’s lap several times when she was younger, only to be rebuffed. She stopped asking after a time. Skena wanted to go to her and hug her, kiss away the lingering hurt. The little girl could not understand why her father had never loved her.
Noel noticed Skena looking behind them. He turned to see what had captured her attention. “Come, Lady Annis, I fortunately have another leg.” He patted his thigh and then held out his hand to the child.
Annis backed up, startled by his offer. Jenna gently took hold of her shoulders to steady the skittish child. Poor Annis. Outside of Galen or some of the servants, no male had ever called her by name. Skena’s heart squeezed, watching Annis’s frightened expression. Oh, she was not scared of de Servian. Like her mother, Annis was too afraid to believe wishes could come true.
Noel plucked a hulled hazelnut from the bowl just placed before him. He gave one to Andrew and then took another and held it out to her little girl. Annis loved hazelnuts, but even the promise of the special treat was not bribe enough to lure her closer to the Englishman.
“What bothers the girl?” Noel asked, then popped the nut into his mouth. Reaching into the bowl, he took another and once again presented it for Annis.
Skena’s hands shook as she sliced the bread and then put a piece for Noel on his plate. “Do not call her that.”
The words came out harsh, too harsh for a man who had done naught to earn them. The sin was not his. Still, it was difficult to hear this man refer to her daughter in the same manner Angus had.
Noel watched her, puzzled by her strong reaction, unsure what he had done to summon the rebuke. Again, he ate the nut that Annis refused.
Pretending to be engrossed in cutting cheese and meat and placing the food on his plate, Skena ignored him. Or tried. She fe
lt his stare bore into her, willing her to look up. Unable to resist, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Those damnable silver eyes held the power to pierce her soul, as if she could hide nothing from this man. Vexed, she picked up a piece of cheese to take a bite. When Noel continued to watch her, she instead tossed it down to the metal plate.
“You are a patient man, Noel de Servian,” she said, but from her tone it was apparent she did not currently rank the characteristic as entirely positive.
He inclined his head. “I have had much practice. I am not a young man, Skena, as you know. I burned out a lot of my impatient ways in my green years. One also learns to control your words and temper when you serve King Edward. He has more than enough of both to spare. They speak his Angevin rages rival those of his great grandsire.”
Skena fixed on the information. “A fearsome man, your king. His deeds this past spring and summer reached all ears in the far corners of the lands. What sort of man wages war to bend people to his will? Destroys towns, slaughters men, women—even children—by the hundred score.”
Noel exhaled, then took another nut and held it out to Annis. And waited for the child to snatch it. At length, he answered. “Edward Plantagenet is a complex man. I oft found myself liking the man, but misliking the king.”
Skena picked up a slice of bread, but found she had no appetite, so passed it to Andrew. “You were at Berwick?” she asked.
Noel avoided meeting her probing stare. His long, graceful fingers wiggled the nut back and forth to lure Annis. The silence lengthened until Skena presumed he was not going to answer her. Then, he dropped his hand, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Grim emotions etched the corners of his sensual mouth.
“Aye, I was at Berwick. To my everlasting disgust and shame.” He slowly raised his head and looked at her. “One of the times I misliked the king.”
She swallowed hard. “Then it was as bad as the tales spoke?”
Noel’s expression was hard, level. “Worse. You cannot imagine how horrible. I would have you never to know such ugliness.”
Her eyes raked over the handsome man, taking in the ashen shade of his skin. What he had witnessed left deep scars on Noel de Servian’s soul. She lived in this sheltered pocket of the Highlands, protected by her uncle, the powerful Earl Kinmarch. War had never come to the gates of Craigendan. Oh, the keep was smaller than the mighty fiefs of Kinmarch, Glenrogha, Lochshane and Kinloch, but all the lesser holdings of Glen Shane’s honours had been safe as well. Still, Skena understood men sadly were oft ugly to other men; greed, desires, hatreds could push them to do terrible things. Only, she had never witnessed such barbarity firsthand.
“’Tis why you awaken covered in sweat?” Skena asked, but the question did not need his reply. “I first thought your body still fought the cold or the poison from your wound. Each night you awoke, your heart pounding, so hard it vibrated your whole body, speaking odd words. It made no sense to me then. I understand now.”
“The things I saw at Berwick are some of the foulest images the mind could be forced to endure. It sorrows me people are capable of such atrocities.” He paused, despair tempered with resolution flickering in his pale eyes. “I will fight to protect what is mine, but I hope to God I shall never go to war again. I am too old to face the ugliness.”
Skena reached out and touched his arm, hearing the sadness, the weariness in his words. The long years of emptiness. “You keep calling yourself old.”
“I am.” Hunger was clear in his countenance, in the timber of his voice.
“Not in my eyes.” Skena felt that shortness of air he always brought to her, and forced herself to draw a calming breath.
Two souls, each needing the other so much.
Their focus on each other was broken as Annis shyly took Noel’s hand and uncurled his fingers from around the nut. Her huge eyes, for once not dimmed by the fear of rejection, sparkled with anticipation. Popping the treat into her mouth, she chewed it slowly. Her pale cheeks crimsoned with a blush, but then she timidly slid upon his knee. De Servian’s arm curled around Annis and pulled her back to a firmer seat upon his thigh. Her daughter looked up at the tall man, adoration in her gaze.
“Would you like another, Annis?” Noel asked.
Emotions overwhelming her, Skena put a shaky hand to her mouth in a hope to stop the tears from flooding her eyes. If she had not already been in love with Noel de Servian, she would have lost her heart completely over the way he cradled her daughter, that he had granted her child the one thing long denied Annis—her name.
Mayhap wishes at Yuletide did come true when they were brought by a man named Noel.
Chapter Nineteen
“Why must you go?” Skena wanted to stomp her foot to emphasize her frustration, but knew it a wasted effort. “Men! None of you ever listen! Worse, you always assume you ken best. Though you are prettier than most, de Servian, you remain just as pigheaded.”
He cocked his head and flashed a wicked grin. “De Servian? What happened to Noel?”
“Nodcock.” She did stomp her foot. It felt good if naught else. “You have been ill for days, and with what you went through in opening the old wound, ’tis unwise for you to venture out into the cold so soon. Guillaume is to blame for this. He should have more sense than to encourage you to ride with the Challon men to hunt game.”
Leaning close he whispered, “Prettier than most, eh?”
Skena refused to yield to his charming ways. A comely man was dangerous to a woman’s peace of mind. Her head whipped around looking for something to brain him with. Short of the poker, she could not spot anything suitable to fill her need.
“The day wanes. With night coming early to your land, we shan’t be out long.” Noel merely continued buckling his baldric about his hips. “I am lord here now. I must do lordly things. Besides, I have a yen for something—anything—besides wolf meat stew for my sup.”
“Do not dare laugh at me, de Servian.” With a disgusted sigh, she straightened the mail grommet about his neck, knowing he would not be able to reach it with his side still tender.
“If I give you kissing lessons when I return may I be Noel again?” He placed a peck on her cheek.
“Save your wiles. You have me playing at squire because it pains you to lift your right arm. You were sick for days with fever.” Her mouth pressed into a frown. “And you are old, remember?”
Noel laughed loudly, then leaned over and caught her mouth in a bruising kiss, then ruined it by pulling back too soon. Oh, she wanted to keep kissing him! Clearly, her yearning was upon her face, for his eyes flashed arrogantly. Reaching out, he ran his thumb over her lower lip.
“If I stay, my love, I will end up giving you those kissing lessons, and if I do I shan’t stop with kissing.” As if he could not resist, he brushed his lips briefly against her stunned mouth. She did not return his kiss. Leaning back he frowned. “Already you tire of kisses from the old man?”
Skena put her quivering hand to his lips to stop him talking. “You are not old. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. More importantly, you are beautiful inside, Noel de Servian. You make children believe wishes come true. Make me believe.”
He kissed her fingertips, then took her wrists and pulled her to him. “Then why did you not want me to kiss you?”
“I want your kisses…and more.” She blushed at her boldness, almost looking away, fearful she would spot reproof in his eyes.
“Then why—”
Skena rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth softly. “You called me my love.” Her heart stopped and only beat again when she finally drew a small, ragged breath. Like Annis, she was snatching that ‘treat’ he offered. She recognized she was in love with him, the feeling only strengthened with every passing hour, but dare she hope he was coming to care for her?
Noel’s grin faded and seriousness formed his handsome face. “I do—love you, you know. I have never spoken the word to anyone before.” When she opened her mouth to talk, he did a
s she had, put his fingers to her lips to silence her. “Trust me. You say I use the word ‘beautiful’ too often and thus it has lost value. You are beautiful, no matter how many times I say it—outside and within, Skena. You give me such hope. ’Tis true we are but strangers yet, still, I feel Fate brought me to you. My life was empty ere coming here. I need you. You are that piece of my heart, which has been missing my whole sad life. I am sorry the journey to finding you has taken so long.”
“Oh…” was all she managed to say. Noel spoke the very words that had long ago formed in her heart—the sense a part of her had always been missing. Mayhap Fate had brought them together, for it would be too cruel for them both to live their lives needing the other and never having that spot filled.
Noel leaned to kiss her, but the door pushed open and Andrew came in, followed by Annis, who was pulling Guillaume along by his first finger. Skena had to smile. Already Noel’s early attention toward her daughter saw Annis accepting this other Englishman as well. Her darling child would never before have been so trusting, so bold, as to lead such an imposing warrior around by his finger.
“We caught a dragon, mama,” Andrew announced, patting Lord Challon’s thigh.
Guillaume rolled his eyes at the children’s antics. “I hate to interrupt, but we dragons needs must ride. Winter daylight here lasts but a wink, you will find.”
Skena glared at them both, then threw up her hands in exasperation. “Fine. Run along. When de Servian sickens because he is out chasing game, instead of resting in bed—where he should be—then you may nurse him, Lord Dragon!”
Noel’s foster brother smiled at her flair of temper. “I warned you, Noel, these Ogilvie women are no end of trouble. Lady Skena, I promise to return him to the keep at the first sign he is unfit to be out.”
Noel tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek, furious he was ignoring her concerns. The side of his mouth crooked up. “The woman is in need of kissing lessons, Guillaume. Methinks I shall have my work cut out for me.” He quickly pressed his lips to her forehead, then patted both children on the heads before leaving the chamber with Lord Challon.
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