Despite this, the keep could be readily defended by a few stout men. There was but one entry to the tower, marked by a portcullis, and a wide wooden door studded with iron. The entry was cunningly designed so that an intruder would be tricked into taking what appeared to be the larger way, though that corridor led only to the dungeon. Once there, the intruder would be trapped and at the mercy of the laird. Further, the corridor that proved to lead to the hall itself offered many opportunities to assault any assailant who managed to pass through that heavily secured portal.
Above this entry, the tower was simple in design. The interior was marked by a staircase, which wound its way upward, making a quarter turn around the perimeter of the tower for each successive floor. There were four floors in total, the highest one characterized by a sloped ceiling defined by the point of the roof. The banner of Kinfairlie, graced with a glowing orb, fluttered from the pinnacle of the tower.
Vivienne knew the tower and its whispers as well as her own hand. She knew—as she suspected did most of her siblings—which stair could be relied upon to squeak, which corner was dark enough to hide an eavesdropper. She paused on the landing of the second floor, the one above the hall proper, listening for her brother’s whereabouts. She strode past the one empty chamber on the second floor, which had once been shared by her brothers, and wondered fleetingly how her two younger brothers fared in their respective training at Ravensmuir and Inverfyre. Did they miss their sisters as much as Vivienne missed them? She passed the larger chamber shared by herself and her sisters, then continued up the staircase.
The next floor comprised the laird’s quarters, including a large solar and a small chamber in which Alexander kept the ledgers of the estate. Both rooms could be secured from the stairs and adjacent corridor. From his rooms, the laird could look in three directions over his holding. There was not so much as a candle lit in the lord’s solar, though a glimmer of light marked the bottom edge of the portal to the smaller chamber. Vivienne guessed that Alexander was yet at work.
She crept past his door, then continued silently to the top floor of the tower. The staircase emerged in the center of that level, with a chamber on either side beneath the pitched roof. A ladder led to the peak of the roof, a trapdoor there allowing access to the flag. The portal to Vivienne’s left was slightly ajar, and she knew the room was full of items that had seemed useful and thus had been saved, only to have been forgotten and abandoned to dust.
The portal to the right was barred and locked. Vivienne had just bent to consider the lock when she heard men’s voices behind her. She snuffed her candle and slipped into the protective shadows of the second chamber. The light of a lantern became visible on the walls of the staircase so quickly that she feared she might have been spied. Her nose tickled at the dust she had stirred and she fought the impulse to sneeze.
“The old tale has made me think about this chamber,” Alexander said, as if explaining his ascent to another. His shadow was thrown on the wall as he approached and Vivienne eased back into the chamber behind her. “I cannot think why we do not use it.”
“Perhaps because you have a houseful of maidens,” Anthony suggested, clearly somewhat put out to be called for this errand at this hour.
“It is but a tale! A mere whimsy,” Alexander scoffed. He paused then, and sniffed audibly. “Do you smell a snuffed candle?”
Anthony sniffed dutifully while Vivienne fought the twitch of her nose. “It must have carried from the hall, for no one has climbed to these chambers in years.”
“Hmm,” Alexander said. Vivienne held her breath, certain he would fling open the door of the second chamber and reveal her there. “It must be as you say,” he said and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“We should not even be here, my lord,” Anthony said.
“And what harm is there?” Alexander demanded. “I would like to at least see the chamber beyond. Perhaps it would be a more cheerful place to study the ledgers.”
“If you will forgive my forthright speech, my lord, I suspect you would spend more time watching the sea, were that distraction available.”
Alexander laughed. “Perhaps it would not be all bad to have a distraction from those cursed ledgers. ‘Item: one pound of butter, three pounds of leeks, two hens, one laying, all due to the laird at Michaelmas by Cornelius Smith for the share price upon his plot. Paid and witnessed. Item: two shillings owed by the ale master of Kinfairlie for selling short of the measure on the Feast of the Annunciation, not paid due to a lack of coin before midsummer.’” Vivienne heard the laughter in her brother’s voice. “Truly, a man could lose his wits verifying the endless stream of such entries.”
“And a man who did not take the time and trouble to do so might well see himself robbed blind,” the castellan said stiffly. Vivienne could readily imagine him shaking a finger at Alexander as he scolded. “Your father spent every morning at the ledgers, my lord, and was known far and wide as a just man who could not be cheated.”
Alexander heaved a sigh. “So you have told me a thousand times, Anthony. I fear you will never find me fitting my father’s measure.”
“I can but try, my lord.”
Vivienne peeked and found the two men with their backs to her: Anthony held the lantern, which illuminated the disapproving line of his lips. He also carried several tools. Alexander bent and peered at the lock. He jingled a brass ring of keys and tried to fit one into the lock.
The castellan cleared his throat. “Do you think this wise, my lord?”
Alexander spared the older man a smile. “Are you not at least curious? This chamber has been locked for more than twenty years. As it is within my suzerainty, it is my right and my duty to explore it.”
Anthony sighed.
Alexander tried each key in turn, so many of them not fitting that Vivienne began to lose hope. She felt cobwebs against her cheek and dared not wipe them away lest her movement make a noise. The dust seemed to roil around her and she surreptitiously rubbed her itching nose.
To her delight, the second to last key on Alexander’s ring made the tumblers fall audibly.
“Ah!” Alexander stepped back and studied the beams of wood hammered across the portal. Vivienne peered through the slit between door and frame to watch him take a doughty tool from the castellan.
“We could have one of the men from the stable open it on the morrow, my lord. It would not be appropriate for you to injure yourself in such a task.”
Alexander laughed. “I am not so old and feeble as that!” He pried the end of one beam away, then removed the others with speed. He cast the beams into the corner opposite the stairs, then grinned. In the light of the lantern, he looked mischievous and unpredictable, as once he had always looked. “What do you think we shall find inside, Anthony?”
The castellan’s lips tightened impossibly further. “I could not begin to guess, my lord.”
“Then we shall look.” Alexander depressed the latch and pushed open the door. A cold wind immediately swirled around Vivienne’s ankles and she shivered even as she peered into the darkness of the chamber beyond. The urge to sneeze grew even stronger and she fairly held her breath to vex it.
Alexander claimed the lantern and disappeared into the room, his footfalls loud on the floor.
“It is large!” he said, his voice echoing. “These windows are enormous. No wonder the cost of glass was so high. But the view is a marvel. Come and see!”
The castellan held his ground. “I shall wait until the morrow, my lord.”
A chuckle resonated in Alexander’s voice. “Surely you cannot be afraid? It is innocent maidens who are said to be in peril of the affections of fairy courtiers.”
Anthony sniffed. “Of course, I am not afraid, my lord. I am simply cautious.”
“There is nothing in here, save an old straw pallet. Do you think it is the one the girl slept upon?”
“I could not begin to speculate, my lord.” Anthony drew himself taller. “Indeed, I would suggest that you
not touch it, my lord, as it may be filled with vermin.”
“Ha! They would be intrepid vermin who managed to climb to this chamber and subsist upon no food at all.”
Anthony held his ground, clearly persuaded that such bold vermin did exist and in fact occupy that chamber.
“And which window, I wonder, is the one at root?” Alexander mused. “Not that there is likely any merit in the tale, of course. This is but a large disused chamber.” He appeared on its threshold, beaming with pleasure. “We shall have it cleaned on the morrow. Perhaps I will ask my Uncle Tynan if the price of glass has become less than it was.”
Anthony cleared his throat. “If I might remind you, my lord, the treasury of Kinfairlie is not as blessed with coin as it might be.”
“It fares better now,” Alexander said mysteriously. Vivienne saw only the flash of his smile before he looked back at the chamber. “Indeed, this will suit very well.” Then he granted Anthony the confident smile which usually made the sisters suspect that he had a scheme. Before Vivienne could wonder at its cause, Alexander strode down the stairs, calling to the elderly castellan to hasten himself.
Vivienne was left alone, opposite the chamber that contained a portal to some other realm. Though she was sorely tempted to enter it immediately, instead she slipped down to the hall again. She complained to her sisters of a fierce chill and summoned a shiver most readily. She loosed her sneeze and her three sisters were quick to pronounce her in need of a hot posset.
Once Vivienne had the steaming cup in her hand, she returned to the sisters’ chamber and retrieved her favorite boots. They had been a gift from her Aunt Rosamunde and their red leather was lavishly ornamented with embroidery just below her knees. They were also lined with rabbit fur and very warm. Her finest chemise of sheer linen was an obvious choice, as she wished to impress her fairy lover with her finery. It was cut full and gathered at the neck on a drawstring, as was typical, but was distinguished by sleeves fitted from elbow to wrist and secured with dozens of tiny buttons made of shell.
It was no small feat to don the chemise without the aid of one of her sisters or their maid, but Vivienne managed the deed.
She then donned her favorite kirtle, also a gift from Rosamunde, which was wrought of silk woven in two shades of emerald. The sleeves were slit from the shoulders to reveal the chemise and trailed to the ground, while the hem pooled upon the floor. The hem and neckline and sleeve edges were all graced with intricate golden embroidery. The men in her family had called it a most impractical garment, while her sisters openly coveted it. Vivienne then made a bundle upon her pallet, so that her sisters would think she had burrowed deep into her covers.
For luck, she flung her fur-lined cloak over her shoulders, for Madeline had taken that same cloak and worn it on her adventure. Madeline’s journey had ended well, and Vivienne liked the notion of the cloak bringing good fortune to its wearer.
It was always thus in old tales.
As prepared for a quest in the realm of fairy as she could be, Vivienne took her posset and a lantern and climbed the stairs.
The key shone in the lock of the portal where Alexander had left it. The massive door opened with the barest touch of Vivienne’s hand; the hinges did not so much as squeal. The chill fingers of the wind swept around her, and the night sky was visible through the three large windows on the opposite wall. Vivienne blew out the flame on her lantern, letting the stars light her path. She had a flint and would save the oil in case she had dire need of the light.
Vivienne took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. She closed the door behind herself and leaned back against the door. She could hear the sea and smell its salt on the wind, and might have been alone on a precipice. The familiar sounds and smells of the keep were lost behind her, as if she were far above the concerns and realm of mortals. She could easily believe that this was a place between two realms, that this hushed chamber was a threshold to adventure.
Though she considered each of the three windows lingeringly in turn, she could not discern which one was different. In truth, part of the issue was that she could not bring herself to draw near any one of them. Vivienne had never had any tolerance for heights, she had never been able to leap from the tallest step, or jump into the sea with her siblings. She knew the height of this tower too well to risk so much as a single downward glance from its windows.
Vivienne sat down on the pallet, sipped her posset and studied the windows more intently, even as she willed the erratic pace of her heart to slow.
It was a moonless night, the perfect night for a nefarious deed. The hidden man shifted his weight off his damaged leg by force of habit, ensuring it would be as rested as possible when the moment came to move, and remained still and silent. His scheme was perfectly wrought.
Despite his resolve, guilt pricked at him as he waited. It was not in his nature to deceive, or even to wreak vengeance, though circumstance had driven him to do both.
He had told Alexander the truth, though he had not confessed all of it by any means, and the truth was not all his own. And indeed, not all he had said was the truth. He had no ambitious cousin, for example, though his brother was ambitious enough for an entire family. He had no intent of wedding Vivienne before a priest and witnesses on the following morning.
He did, however, have need of a son.
The bells of the chapel in Kinfairlie village rang, then tolled the hour. Midnight. He tensed as he listened, fearful that all might not be as Alexander had pledged.
But it was. A hue and a cry were raised on the far side of the keep, and he heard the sentries race to that point.
With nary a moment to lose, he stepped out of the darkness and flung his grappling hook skyward with practiced ease. It caught and held on the parapet on the first try, and the scratch of its movement across the roof was lost in the din of Alexander’s distraction.
He took a deep breath and swung himself into the air, wincing as his left boot collided with the wall. He gritted his teeth, ignored the pain, and climbed, his heart thudding with trepidation.
For truly, the most difficult part of his task lay ahead of him. He had seduced no woman but his late wife, and Beatrice had been willing.
Vivienne might not be willing. After all, the man who scaled Kinfairlie’s tower, unobserved on that moonless night, was not Nicholas Sinclair.
And the woman he meant to bed and kidnap this night was the only person in Kinfairlie who knew the truth.
Through the haze of dreams, Vivienne heard the bells in Kinfairlie village toll midnight. Her posset had put her to sleep, whether due to its heat or its ingredients, she could not say. She was warm within her cloak and comfortable upon her pallet and she spared only the barest sleepy glance at the windows.
And then he came.
She sensed his presence, like a prickling along her spine. She knew he arrived, knew with a certainty that should have been alarming for its vigor. She turned and opened her eyes and saw his silhouette against the window. He was wreathed in starlight, his fair hair gleaming with an unnatural light.
He had come for her. Vivienne did not dare to breathe.
He paused for a moment, the night sky framing his silhouette within the frame of the window, against the greater darkness of the chamber. She knew his gaze grew accustomed to the shadows, she knew he sought some hint of her location, or even of her presence. He was large, larger than her brothers, larger than any man she had ever met.
She liked that he was tall. Vivienne was tall herself and did not find comfort in standing beside a man shorter than herself. It was petty, to be sure, for a man’s measure lies in his spirit, but still she was glad to find her destined partner taller than she. She liked that his shoulders were broad and his hips were lithe. She liked that he was wrought lean but muscular, and she liked the golden glint of his hair.
Nicholas had had blond hair, Nicholas who had so cruelly cast her aside when she refused to surrender her all in exchange for another of his empty promi
ses.
Perhaps she had found Nicholas alluring because she had known her destined lover would have hair like spun flax. Perhaps some knowledge of her fate had led her so close to making a fool of herself.
It did not matter, not any longer.
Vivienne stirred without intending to do so and the straw of the pallet rustled. He pivoted, listening, and she felt the weight of his gaze as keenly as a touch. No doubt he could see clear through to her pounding heart, for fairies were said to have uncommonly keen vision.
No matter, for Vivienne had nothing to hide.
“Vivienne?” he asked, his voice low and rich.
She shivered in delight that he knew her name, that he had anticipated her presence. He must have spied her through the portal between the realms. Her skin tingled with new awareness, her other senses awakened in the darkness that foiled her sight. The night was as velvet against her skin, the fur lining of her cloak was soft against her chin.
“I have awaited you,” she whispered, her voice uncommonly hoarse. She reached for the lantern and fairly spilled the oil in her haste, then fumbled with the flint.
He was beside her in the blink of an eye, the warmth of his hand covering her own. “Strike no light on this night,” he urged. His hand was strong, far larger than her own, so large that her fingers were fairly swallowed in his grip.
Yet his clasp was gentle. His heat loomed beside her, the scent of his skin making Vivienne’s pulse quicken. His thumb slid across the back of her hand in a caress and Vivienne was certain her heart could pound no louder.
“It is the flint and the rasp,” she guessed, barely able to reason beneath his disarming touch. In every tale she knew, fairies spurned metal. “You cannot bear its presence, of course.”
“It is the light,” he murmured. “I would discover you with keener senses than mere sight.” And he kissed her then, claimed her lips with a demand that startled her with its vigor. Vivienne gasped and her hand fluttered against his chest.
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 4