One Snowy Knight

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Why hide? Would he not just return here openly?” he countered.

  “Mayhap he heard Edward had given you Craigendan. This was no sudden thing, you said. He awarded you the charter months ago. The wound kept you from coming to claim it. Perchance Angus heard of this whilst he was healing and hid in the wood to spy, find out what the situation was at Craigendan before revealing himself to anyone. If that is so, then he would contact Dorcas first. She would aid him, sneak him food and information. Ask her. She is a terrible liar, worse than Duncan. She gives you this blank stare and does not bat an eye if she lies. Foolish woman thinks that makes her appear innocent. Force her to tell you where he is.”

  “Skena, cease this foolishness. Angus is not hiding anywhere. He is dead.” Noel dumped the water from the bowl into the slop bucket.

  He wished he had some logical reasons to offer as to why Comyn was playing this evil game, so Skena’s mind would accept it. Her believing it was Angus only put her in danger. The more he argued it could not be Angus, the stronger Skena insisted it was. He could end her suspicions once and for all. Three simple words would stop all concerns of Fadden’s having risen from the dead. I killed him. And with that declaration he would destroy the hopes that had taken seed in him. Shatter Skena’s tender belief that wishes could come true.

  He would ruin all. In that same breath, she would lose everything as well.

  Noel’s eyes shifted to Guillaume, exchanging a silent message as they waited for the woman to enter the solar. “Comyn went away too easily,” he complained.

  “You sound disappointed. What did you expect? He had little reason to tarry. His only excuse for coming was to assure himself Skena was all right. She now has a valiant knight protector and is betrothed. His presence was made redundant, and he knew it.” Guillaume moved to the fire, warming himself.

  “In truth, I had hoped to vent my frustration by rearranging his face.” With a predator’s focus, Noel watched Dorcas coming down the hallway. “I shall have to settle with confronting Skena’s half sister. Notice, she is not limping after her fall.”

  Instead of being intimidated by a summons from the new lord, Dorcas entered with a languid gait meant to show off the sensual sway of her lush body. That alone set Noel against the woman, even if there were not already a list of reasons to dislike her. Skena had gone without a normal ration of food for sennights, judging by her body’s thinness. He saw no such self-deprivation on Dorcas’s frame. The haughtiness in the way she carried herself lent credence to Skena’s assertion that Dorcas fancied herself above others.

  “You wanted me, my lord?” she asked, coming into the large room and stopping only a few feet away. The tone of her words carried an implied sexual meaning. Her hazel eyes flicked to Guillaume, hardened with calculation, and then finally she nodded to him in deference.

  “I wanted to speak about your claims to Skena.” Noel spoke softly, but only a fool would not hear the steel to his words. He pondered just how much an idiot this woman was. Well, he was about to find out.

  She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “Claims, my lord? I am unsure of what you speak.”

  “Skena spoke that you claim Angus Fadden is alive,” he said flatly.

  “Alive? I have heard no such tides.” She tried to sound shocked, but failed. And once again, she failed to blink. “I have no idea why Skena would say such lies.”

  “Lady Skena,” Noel quietly corrected.

  Finally, she batted her eyelids in surprise. “Beg pardon, my lord?”

  “I said call her Lady Skena—”

  She fleered. “But Skena is my—”

  “I am aware of who you are and what position you have filled at Craigendan. Do not hope to continue in that vein. You shall address her as Lady Skena. Am I understood?” The pitch of his voice made it clear he would brook no opposition in showing disrespect toward Skena.

  Tension was reflected in the woman’s jaw, but she gave him a faint nod.

  “Good. Now I would like to know why you think Fadden is alive,” Noel exhaled in impatience, ignoring her previous assertion.

  Yet again, she offered him that wide-eyed expression that Skena had cautioned him to expect. “I cannot give the answer you seek. I have no notion why Skena would say Lord Fadden is alive. All ken he died in April. Duncan brought back the news in early May, mayhap a sennight after Beltane.”

  Noel targeted the fact that she spoke of Comyn by his given name, but allowed it to pass. For now. He stepped toward her, using his height to intimidate her. “Skena said you told her Fadden was alive.”

  “Mayhap losing her beloved lord husband has caused her mind to turn inward.” One shoulder gave a small shrug. “Skena was never very strong, my lord.”

  “Lady Skena,” he snapped.

  “Beg pardon, my lord. ’Tis hard to change the patterns of a lifetime.” Her attempt to sound humble failed.

  Noel gave a bored wave of the hand. “You are dismissed.”

  “If there is aught else I can do for you, my lord—” she started almost to purr in sensuality.

  “I said dismissed. Do not make me repeat my orders,” Noel cut her off. He was rarely brusque with servants, but he wanted Dorcas to understand her place. Crossing his arms, he watched her walking away, something niggling at the back of his mind. “She little resembles Skena, nor Muriel, for that matter. Odd.”

  “They are only half sisters. Skena favors the Ogilvie line, so mayhap the woman gets her looks through the father.” Guillaume pointed out, “Did you catch her slip about Duncan’s telling her Angus was dead? How she also called him by the familiar?”

  Noel frowned. “Skena has this ability to pinpoint when people are lying. Told me both Comyn brothers lied, but Phelan would stare you in the eye, whilst Duncan always looked away, guising the action. She warned me Dorcas gives you the wide-eyed innocent look when she speaks untruths. And that is what she did when she mentioned Duncan’s telling her about Angus’s death. She lied. Again, she uttered falsehoods when she said she never told Skena he was alive.”

  “So she is involved. We assumed this already after last night. She also is comfortable enough with Comyn to use his Christian name. What shall you do?” Guillaume asked.

  “What can we do? Watch the postern gate well. Put one of your men to following Dorcas. Warn him to keep his arse in his braes and three arms distance from her, or I shall skin him alive with a whip.”

  Guillaume laughed. “Methinks that will convince him to resist her charms.”

  “It damn well better. She lied. Had last night’s mummery of falling not convinced me of her involvement, her lies removed any question in my mind. Comyn is away from Craigendan. He will have to come back if he hopes to keep up his games.”

  Guillaume tossed the dregs of his ale into the fireplace. “Mayhap, he will give up the plan, after coming face-to-face with you, with the Challon might at your back. His branch of the clan already has one black mark against their name for Phelan’s stupidity. He might not want to incur Edward’s wrath.”

  “A possibility. We shall see.” Noel’s gut told him not to count on that.

  Noel watched Skena pull the kirtle over her head and then wrap the plaide diagonally about her. She had been fidgety during supper, her eyes often straying to the children; it was clear she worried about them. She was also a bit irritated with him for not accepting that she had seen Angus.

  Sitting on the bench, he pulled off his shirt and unlaced his boots, tasks done absentmindedly. He hated that the foul truth stood between them. Aye, Angus Fadden’s ghost loomed near, but not in the fashion Skena believed. Someday what happened would come out. Just not now, not until he bound her to his heart and soul, until she could not breathe without him.

  “Has Craigendan been searched?” she asked, pacing to the fire.

  He nodded. “Thrice. But now Comyn is gone—”

  She tossed up her hands in exasperation. “’Tis Angus I say. He means to kill me…. Last night, I felt it with the
kenning…. I feared he would toss me over the bastion wall. I know it was him in the cleansing room.”

  He fought clenching his jaw. “Angus is dead, Skena. Accept that. Even if he were alive, how would he benefit from your death? I would still be baron here, by Edward’s decree.”

  “If you were still alive. If. If. If. Do you not see, if you were dead along with me, he could return and claim Craigendan?” she pressed her argument.

  He shook his head. “No one is deviling me. Why would Fadden wish you dead?”

  She shrugged sadly. “Before, you said there was no end to what men would do to possess a thing, that madness, obsession can grow? Same can be said of some women. Dorcas. With me dead, she believes she could wed Angus and finally become the lady of Craigendan.”

  Noel shook his head. “She is a mere serving wench—”

  “But my half sister. We had the same father.”

  Noel leaned forward to toss another peat to the fire. “I thought Craigendan came through your Ogilvie blood—your mother’s blood, in your Pictish ways.”

  She hugged herself against the chill. “I am not an Ogilvie heiress like Tamlyn or my cousin Aithinne. You must not recall my telling you on the first night you came that I took my father’s name to inherit this land. King Alexander gave me and Craigendan to Angus. If something happens to me, and Angus is alive, Dorcas might figure he could take her to wife, since she is of Diarmad MacIain’s blood. She has always believed she has as much right to this land as I do.”

  “She is not stalking your shadows. You are seeing a man. Who would help her?”

  Skena rolled her eyes as if he were a simpleton. “Angus!” Grabbing his arm, she nearly wailed. “My children are in danger, Noel. That bitch will not let them live if I am not here to protect them.”

  Doubling over on herself, she clutched her middle and howled in anguish. His heart aching at seeing her in such distress, Noel pulled her close. “Hush, lass, I shan’t permit anyone to hurt you or the children.”

  “You will not be there to protect them. They will kill you, too.” She choked out the words through her sobs.

  “Skena, Skena…your mind turns inward upon itself. Fadden is dead.”

  “You are wrong!” Another moan racked her body.

  When he first came, he feared Skena loved Fadden and still grieved for him. Only, he now pondered just how happy she had been in the marriage with the Lowlander Scot, especially with her half sister as Fadden’s leman. One that wanted to be raised to be baroness.

  Noel took her by the upper arms, pulling her to stand. “Skena, danger is close at hand. This we both know. Howbeit, I give warrant that Fadden is not the source. He is dead, Skena. I saw his body myself.”

  She blinked her tear-filled eyes, confusion filling her face. “Saw him? You never said that before.”

  Noel steeled himself. He treaded upon treacherous ground. “Horrors of battle are not things men speak of to a gentle lady. The savagery, the brute ugliness deeply scars the soul. Talking of such matters only keeps them alive in the mind, permits them to haunt you. I find it repugnant what war does to men, how it robs them of honor and caring. It hardens you, Skena, in a fashion I do not like to see in me. ’Tis what I did to survive. Even in the worst of it, I desperately held on to my humanity, to my basic sense of honor. Many men do not.”

  “Did you ken Angus?” she asked, trying to focus her thoughts.

  He shook his head. “Nay.”

  “Then how can you be sure? As you said, men of the same build, coloring, and wearing a beard oft appear similiar. Mayhap you only saw a man who looked like Angus.”

  Damn her, Skena refused to accept his half truth. She showed a good grasp of logic. With nothing solid from him to refute her fears, she remained convinced Angus was still alive.

  Three words could knock the legs out from under her. And damn his hopes for a life with her in the same breath.

  “It was not Fadden, Skena. Please trust me on this. There is no question. Let it go. There is some other answer.”

  “Of all the pigheaded men! You, Lord de Servian, rank as King of Fools. By ignoring what I say you condemn me, condemn my children.” She tried to shove away from him.

  Noel held firm. “Skena, damn it, listen to me. Fadden is dead.” She kept struggling, fighting him, as much in her mind as with her physical efforts. She would not listen. “By all that is holy, I know he is dead. I killed him.”

  “You…killed…him?” She stilled. The words were barely more than a whisper.

  She no longer cried, but looked at him in horror. She finally glanced down to see his hands holding her arms. The look she gave him made him remove them. Noel held them up, palms to her, saying he was not trying to hurt her. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to find the words to explain.

  Instead, she moved fast, shoving him and running; she only slowed long enough to knock the stool into his path, causing him to trip. “Skena, wait!” He grimaced as his back screamed a plaint from his twisting to keep from falling. “Goddammit! Curse saints and sinners alike. Skena, let me explain. ’Tis not what you think.”

  As he rushed into the hall, he paused to look in both directions.

  Skena was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Noel ran to the staircase, meeting Guillaume coming up the steps with Stephan Mallory behind him. “Did Skena come this way?”

  Guillaume shook his head no. “What happened?”

  “I told her about Fadden,” Noel said, calling himself a thousand kinds of fool. “She has it fixed in her mind he is alive and has come back to kill her. Would not listen to anything else.”

  Guillaume lifted his eyebrows. “Someone might have that aim in mind, but certainly ’tis not her dead husband. We will go look for her while you get your boots and a shirt on.” As Noel turned to go back to the lord’s chamber, Guillaume cursed. “God’s teeth, man, you are bleeding from the wound.”

  Noel reached back to the bandage, his fingers coming away with blood. “Small matter. We can deal with the wound once we find her and she is safe—”

  The sound of the children talking drew Guillaume to their chamber door. Slowly pushing it open, he looked in. Swinging the door wider, he showed Noel that Skena was with Andrew and Annis. “Stand easy, friend. Your lady is with her children. I was just fetching young Stephan here to set him as guard for the night.”

  Noel moved to the door and looked inside the room. Skena sat in the middle of the bed with Annis cuddled in her lap. Andrew hung playfully from the crosspiece of the footboard, jabbering about giants, warriors, and how he would grow up to be a fine knight one day…just like Noel. At the boy’s declaration, Noel felt his heart tighten.

  Guillaume’s deep voice broke the soft family sounds. “Lady Skena. Noel is bleeding. He needs you to tend him.”

  “Jenna can—” she began.

  Only Guillaume swiped his hand across Noel’s back and held up his bloody fingers. “Jenna will care for the wee ones. Squire Mallory has come to stay with them as well.”

  Skena nodded resignation. Slowly, she slid off the bed and came forward, quickly wiping her tears with the backs of her hands. Without looking at Noel, she swept past him.

  Noel watched Skena flitting around the room, preparing worts, cutting the length of material for a bandage—and avoiding looking at him. Her movements were jerky. To be expected, he supposed. She was still grappling with the enormity of what he had told her.

  Damn him, why could he not have hid the truth from her? There were too many changes in her life to deal with, plus the threat of someone menacing her and mayhap the children. She little needed to reconcile herself with news that the man she would plight her troth with was also the killer of her husband. He sighed. There was something about how Skena made him feel that saw it hard to keep matters from her. He wanted no shadows between them. Starting off a marriage with truths unspoken would be an ill omen to the path their lives would take.

  The damage was done. He could give h
er time to come to an understanding and want to speak of the circumstances of Fadden’s death. She was a smart woman, and wisely realized the gravity of her situation, grasped that in battle men killed. He hoped she was coming to know him well enough to sense he was honorable and would only have taken a life with just cause.

  The key was, he knew she desired him. Her own body would be traitor against any stubbornness. She was falling in love with him. Skena was a kind woman, a caring woman. Her heart would listen to him in time. Howbeit, a deep sense of honor was woven into Skena’s character. She took vows and bonds seriously. She had owed allegiance to Fadden for many years. That left her in a bad position.

  She picked up the knife to cut the length of material. Her hand fisted around the hilt and something dark passed behind her eyes. She glanced over at him, watching him in a way that saddened him.

  He held up his arms so she could cut the old bandage away from his waist. Almost daring her, he stood there, knowing if she wanted to plant that dirk in his heart he was giving her the opening. Oh, his warrior’s instincts would stop her if it came to that. This was her trial. Would she embrace the future he offered, or cling to the past and a man who did not deserve her? Skena’s grip tightened about the bone handle.

  “Do you wish to hear the whole truth, or would you prefer just to kill me now?” he asked in resignation. “You tread a dangerous road, Skena. Ugly thoughts flow through your mind. You are a fierce warrior, stronger than even you ever believe, but this is a conflict you should back away from. Do not make this a struggle between us. You will lose. I will lose.”

  She said nothing, her head lifting to meet his stare. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

  He gave a sigh, wanting to grab her and shake some sense into her, wanting to kiss her until she forgot past loyalties to a man who had failed to earn such allegiance. “Very well, if you desire to use the knife on me, your grip is all wrong unless you plan to gut me.” His left hand took hold of her wrist tightly. She could not break free, yet he was not hurting her. “The upward thrust is good for slitting the belly. ’Tis a slow, ugly death. A man stands there holding his innards, knowing his death is coming. Pain unendurable. Perchance that is what you wish? Methinks you likely would rather plant it in my heart. In that case, you need to grip it thusly.”