Aileen paused at the open window. She took a heartening breath of the chill air, but drew back when she spied the Hawk striding across the bailey below. Her blood quickened as she followed his silhouette. He was well-wrought, this husband of hers.
What or who had they captured? The Hawk conferred with his men there in the shadows, oblivious to her regard, and she wondered what transpired at Inverfyre. There were more men than the three they had traveled with, perhaps another three in that same somber garb.
The troop of men turned as one, their path taking them quickly out of Aileen’s view. She moved to another window, then another, but could catch no further glimpse of them from her aerie.
It was fitting to imagine that she occupied an aerie. Was the Laird of Inverfyre not reputed to be a hawk himself, not unlike the hunting hawks in which he traded so successfully? She knew she had heard such a rumor, even at so distant an abode as her father’s hall.
She did indeed have a perch like that of an eagle’s nest. This chamber appeared to be at the summit of a tower which rose over a large stone keep. She noted—with some craning of her neck—that there was another row of windows between her own and the ground far below.
The keep was roughly square and the tower was built from the corner opposite the gatehouse. The hall appeared to comprise not only the base of the tower, but most of the wall extending to her right. There were battlements atop it, which extended fully around the square. To the left were kitchens and stables, and Aileen saw the silhouettes of tethered horses within the bailey.
There was no chapel, or at least, she could spy no cross on any roof. Should that have surprised her as much as it did? Aileen feared not.
Beyond the walls of the inner bailey was another ring of fortified walls, all wrought of stone and smooth of surface. There was not a speck of moss upon these stones. Indeed, the keep might have been conjured into being merely the day before, so oddly new did it appear to be. A river wrapped itself around the point where the tower was located, and the terrain plunged downward from the protective walls. She would not be able to discern much more until daylight.
Aileen turned to survey the room. It was sufficiently illuminated that she could see that there was solely the bed within it.
To be sure, it was a massive bed, cornered with great pillars and hung with thick curtains, its mattress piled with coverlets, cushions, and furs.
But it was a bed.
Was she to be the Hawk’s captive, kept solely to sate his lust or provide his heir? Men claimed wives for many a reason, but Aileen was woman enough to dislike that her spouse’s expectation might be solely for her womb’s fruit. Perhaps if she had been born a beauty, she might have years ago made her peace with being desired for her looks alone.
As it was, the prospect irked Aileen. Her old nursemaid would have said that she should have been glad to be desired at all, for a wench with a sharp tongue, a plain face, and a small dowry cannot set her expectations too high.
Aileen sighed and leaned against the window sill. She had long been convinced that a man would have to feel affection for her to take her to wife. In lieu of lust, in lieu of her already faded youth and fertility, she had expected love or naught at all.
Yet now she was a sorcerer’s captive instead.
Why had the Hawk not stolen some witless beauty? Why had he not seized some foolish lassie, who would have been glad of such a fate? Sadly, the Hawk had left her naught with which to injure him when he came to claim her maidenhead.
Doubtless, that had been his scheme. The man seemed to plan for every eventuality with fearsome ease, and was all the more frightening for his ability to hide his every thought.
Aileen shivered and cast a glance of trepidation over her shoulder to the silent bailey. What fate did the prisoner meet now? And how long before the Hawk came to have his due of her?
She did not doubt that he would deal with her next.
Aileen paced the chamber, leaving the shutters open so that the cold kept her awake. Still, the Hawk did not come.
She watched the sliver of the moon rise higher, watched the spill of its silver light across Inverfyre’s formidable walls.
Still, the Hawk did not come.
She unbound her hair and shook it loose, running her fingers through it as she watched the sentries endlessly walk the circuit of the high walls.
Still, the Hawk did not come.
She took off his chemise and chausses, half-certain that the garments were grimy enough to stand in the corner on their own. She enfolded herself in the fur-lined cloak, fretting about what he would make of her choice to wear only this.
Still, the Hawk did not come.
Aileen eyed the bed, inviting and plump and undoubtedly warm, then turned her back upon it to watch the moon. She counted stars. She paced the chamber again and again, but still the Hawk did not come.
She tried the latch upon the door though she already knew it was fastened against her. She pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear some sound from the hall below, and thought she could discern the echo of contented snoring.
Still, the Hawk did not come.
She dared to feel the bed and discovered the mattress was plumper and softer than she had dared to imagine. She yawned, feeling the ache of a long day’s ride in her buttocks. There were wolf pelts upon the bed, their thickness tempting her to snuggle beneath them. She pushed away from the lure of the bed to pace anew and still the Hawk did not come.
She stood at the window until she was certain she had frozen in place.
She turned slowly then, considered the bed, and resolved that the Hawk could have his way with her while she slept. She was too exhausted to be vigilant any longer.
Aileen dropped the cloak as she crossed the chamber, climbed into the bed, and fell asleep nigh as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The Hawk came to his wife’s chamber shortly after that, and gazed long upon his sleeping bride. He had not the heart to wake her, though, and did not wish to startle her. He was exhausted by the prisoner’s stubborn refusal to reveal nothing and vexed by his own refusal to endorse torture.
He tucked her more fully beneath the pelts and kissed her brow lightly. She nestled more deeply into her bed and he thought that perhaps she smiled.
The possibility cheered him.
He left her reluctantly and locked the door after himself, descending to the chamber below on quiet feet.
A courtship, it seemed to him, was best pursued before the lady had fallen asleep.
A ray of sunlight awakened Aileen when it landed surely upon her face.
She sat up, astounded to find herself still alone, and quickly checked the mattress to see whether her spouse had sampled her while she slept. She had slept like a corpse, dreamless and deep, so exhausted had she been. Anything could have happened during the night and Aileen suspected that she would not have awakened.
There was no blood on the linens and she was reassured. She was restless, though, certain that her maidenhead would not be long intact. She explored the chamber in the morning sunlight and discovered that there were hooks upon the posts of the bed. She found a linen chemise of such fine weave it fair stole her breath away. It was a lady’s garment, finely embroidered around the neck, and if not left for her use, then she would claim it anyway.
Had it been here the night before? She could not have said.
She donned the chemise, and the sheepskin boots left beside the bed. The shearling lined them still, and they enclosed her legs to the knees in soft warmth. Their soles were of leather and they looked both newly wrought and sturdy. They fit her perfectly.
Had they been fashioned while she slept? Had the Hawk conjured them with a spell? Or did the Hawk’s sorcery allow him to foretell the size of his bride’s feet?
Hung from another hook and nigh obscured by the drapes was a simply cut woman’s gown of woad-dyed wool. Aileen accepted this gift, as well, her spirits bolstered by the fact that blue was a hue which favored her well.<
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Had the Hawk chosen this color specifically for her? Aileen smiled to note that the hem had been let down—a fold line lingered where the new kirtle had been hemmed afore. His sorcery was not infallible, then! That was most encouraging.
A fur-lined tabard lurked behind the gown, its silken exterior lush with embroidery. It fitted over her hips and laced snugly through the waist.
Aileen was delighted. Though she had no stockings, bath, or jewel, she felt garbed richly indeed.
She threw open the remaining shutters, running from one to the next. She had heard water the night before and now could spy the river far below the tower. It was partly hidden by the gorse clinging to the steep slope that tumbled down from the high wall. On the opposite bank, hills rose sharply, trees clinging to their precipices. Aileen recognized this as a defensible site.
She crossed the chamber again and looked over the bailey. She spied now a jumble of huts between the walls of the keep, the village of Inverfyre. She spied a mill upon the river, its wheel turning merrily and heard the distant laughter of children.
Her lips twisted. Dark-haired children, perhaps, who did not know their father’s names?
Undoubtedly, the lands were too wild for the village to be outside the walls completely. It certainly looked untamed. The dark green of the conifers became more sparse in the distance, with those trees with barren branches gradually becoming dominant. She could spy a ribbon of bright new green, probably the course of the river that leaped below her windows, winding its way downward through the hills.
This keep was sited on the cusp of the north. Aileen imagined that on a clear day, she might be able to see all the way to Stirling, to the lands held by the king and his forebears. Her heart ached with unexpected loneliness, for this land was wild and unfamiliar, as unlike the verdant valley of Abernye as any place could be, and the refuge of the king’s court seemed so far away.
A rattle at the door made her jump. She spun to confront whoever came, not knowing what to expect and having nothing with which to defend herself.
She did not expect the rosy-cheeked young woman who peeked around the edge of the door. “Good morning to you, my lady Aileen!” The woman, a few years younger than Aileen, smiled pertly, then bustled into the chamber. She seemed untroubled that Aileen gave no reply.
She was not as slender as Aileen—indeed, she was quite buxom. Her hair was a reddish hue and her eyes were such a dark brown that her lashes seemed to be wrought of gold. She set down a steaming bucket of water with a thump, placing a bowl beside it and several cloths as she briefly rubbed her back. She appeared on the verge of laughter, her eyes twinkling in a most merry way. Her expectant and welcoming manner coaxed an answering smile from Aileen.
“I had hoped that you were yet sleeping, so as you could have a hot wash upon awakening,” she said, then shook her head. “It is a filthy business, riding in haste for days and nights on end, and one can only expect such foolery from men. Even if you are not black and blue from his lairdship’s pace, you might favor a good hot rub.”
“Indeed,” Aileen managed to say. “Your thoughtfulness is most welcome.”
“And you all dressed for the fair, as my mother would say, with nary a scrub behind your ears.” She winked even as she scolded Aileen. “From whence have you come, Lady Aileen? What would your mother have to say about your deeds this morn?”
Aileen smiled despite herself. “My mother would have said little, but my nursemaid would have tweaked my ear.”
“And rightly so!”
“But I was too impatient to linger abed.”
“Aye, and a healthy urge is that. I have no respect for women who lie abed all the day long.” She clicked her tongue. “I told his lairdship that you would be cold, that I did, but he insisted ’twould not be safe to be leaving a brazier burning here with none to watch it. There is sense in that, even if all in the kitchens were certain he would warm your bed himself!” There was no malice in her manner and she laughed outright when Aileen blushed. “I will not be asking after your sleep on the night of your nuptials, upon that you can rely.”
She gestured impatiently to the bucket. “Do you mean to leave the water turn cold? Ignoring a courtesy is as good as spitting in the eye of the benevolent one, that is what my mother used to say, and she had more sense than most.”
Aileen quickly unlaced the tabard that she had only recently fastened. “Forgive my rudeness, but who are you?”
The maid laughed, which made her ample bosom bounce merrily. “Nissa Macdonald I am, and you are Aileen Urquhart of Abernye sure as I know my own name.” She snapped her fingers. “Come, come, shed that garb. Though it was surely meant for you, it will be all the warmer once you are clean.”
“Was it meant for me?” Aileen asked.
“Ah yes, indeed.” Nissa nodded. “His lairdship had a number of us stitching into the night so as you would have garb for this day.”
This was most intriguing. Aileen had not guessed her spouse was so thoughtful—or perhaps he only wanted her garbed more suitably to meet his household. Certainly, he was a man who left no detail to chance. The water was yet blessedly hot and the soap Nissa had brought had a pleasant scent.
“Make it ourselves, we do,” she acknowledged when Aileen complimented her upon it. “And there is enough of it that a body need not be cautious with its use.”
With that, she worked up a sumptuous lather upon Aileen’s skin and set to rubbing her. Aileen’s flesh was quickly pink from her rough cloth. Indeed, Nissa scrubbed her back with such a vengeance that she could not remain silent.
“I would be clean, not devoid of flesh!” she protested.
Nissa laughed again. “You do not have so many bruises as I feared. My laird must have been careful with his prize.” She pinched Aileen’s buttocks then, playful and irreverent.
Aileen did not know how to respond. She had never known such ready familiarity from servants before.
Nissa seemed to guess as much, for her sure gestures faltered. She nibbled on her lip in her uncertainty. “Did I do something amiss, my lady? You might have guessed that I have never served a noblewoman, for I have only ever served at Inverfyre.”
“Are there no noblewomen here?”
“Some women come from the village to serve and a few of us live here, but there are no ladies.”
Aileen was startled by this, then realized she should have expected little else in an abode of fighting men. She smiled and decided she might as well be honest. “Truth be told, I have never been pinched by a maid afore, Nissa. You surprised me.”
Nissa flushed crimson and apologized profusely. She knotted her hands together, the very image of contrition. “You must tell me, my lady, when I err.” She glanced up, sincerity in her eyes. “I should like to serve you well.”
“I will,” Aileen agreed, touched by the girl’s earnest manner. “Though I must admit that I am not accustomed to having my own maid either. We shall find our way together.”
They shared a smile and Aileen realized she might glean a good bit of information from this talkative maid, far more certainly than her spouse was likely to share.
Here was the opportunity she had not even realized she sought!
Aileen rubbed herself all over with the dry cloth as she considered how best to ask what she wanted to know. “You seem fond of your laird,” she finally said, keeping her tone neutral.
“And why not?” Nissa hastened to dry Aileen’s back.
“He is oft called the Hawk. That might leave a soul afeared.”
“Though not a bold bride raised in Abernye and said to be skilled with a bow,” Nissa teased, then leaned closer when Aileen glanced up. “It is said that when my laird claimed Inverfyre, he attacked his opponents with the ruthlessness and cunning of a hawk. Many are the tales of his victories, though there is not a one of them fit for a lady faint of heart.”
“But why Inverfyre if it was so hard won? Could he not have set his ambitions upon another holding?”
“Inverfyre was rightfully his own.” Nissa nodded. “Aye, his mother, Evangeline, was the daughter of the sixth son of the founder of Inverfyre. Though Lady Evangeline was driven from her abode, she vowed she would return with her son to claim his birthright.” Nissa smiled with pride. “He did not wait for his mother, not our laird—nay, he claimed his due with his own blade and rightly so. He is a warrior valiant and true.”
Aileen laced her tabard. “Is the keep newly built then?”
“Of course! For eighteen years, there have been stonemasons from over the sea by the dozen, laboring even as the holding was regained, and they are not yet done.”
She guided Aileen to the window and pointed. “The walls were wrought first—indeed, when I came to serve in this hall, there was no hall. We all slept beneath wooden canopies in the bailey, while the sentries paced the top of the battlements. One never knew when the cursed MacLarens would rally and attack. That was only six years past.” She gathered up the cloths with satisfaction. “And now, just as the prophecy predicted, peace has come to Inverfyre.”
“What prophecy?”
It was apparent that Nissa had been waiting to be asked. She beamed before reciting the verse.
“When the seventh son of Inverfyre,
Saves his legacy from intrigue and mire,
Only then shall glorious Inverfyre,
Reflect in full its first laird’s desire.”
“And the current laird is indeed the seventh son born in the line of Magnus Armstrong,” she continued, even as Aileen’s heart nigh stopped in recognition of that name.
She spun to face the maid. “Not Magnus Armstrong!” she cried. This was the name that had filled her thoughts when the Hawk kissed her. “The founder of Inverfyre was Magnus Armstrong?”
“Indeed, he was. I see that you have heard tell of his exploits. Now, there was a man who spawned a hundred tales.” Nissa smacked her lips with satisfaction. “Though the most wicked of them all was the tale of his wives.”
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 73