Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  “Again, you put much credence in the ramblings of an old woman.”

  “How do you know?”

  He turned to regard her with no less intensity than he had surveyed Airdfinnan. “You have many questions for one pledged to surrender secular life for the cloister.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “I am curious.”

  “And I am disinclined to entertain you.” He pushed back from the ledge, ensuring that he was in the shadows of the forest before he stood. He offered her his hand. “You are late for your novitiate.”

  Jacqueline spurned his assistance, echoing his cautious retreat then rising to her feet unaided. “And I have only had half of the truth. Would you condemn me to never knowing the fullness of your tale?”

  “Readily.” He marched back toward his steed.

  She resisted the urge to swat him and trudged behind. “Then you are witless enough to deserve your fate, just as Rodney would maintain,” she charged, and won his attention in truth.

  He spun to face her so quickly that she nearly ran directly into him. He caught her shoulders in his hands and glared down at her. “You know naught of what you speak!”

  “And you clearly know naught of convents. Cloistered women are oft of influential families. Why, the abbess of Inveresbeinn is said to be a widowed cousin of Dugall, King of the Isles, himself. Though nuns surrender contact, all abbesses have correspondence with the world beyond the cloister walls.”

  Jacqueline lifted her chin in challenge, liking the rare sense of having surprised him. “Telling me your tale might lead to some aid in seeing Airdfinnan restored to you.”

  ’Twas a feeble argument. Though the abbess’s relations were a matter of fact, her inclinations were a matter of speculation. Jacqueline held Angus’s gaze, watching him weigh the merit of telling her what he knew.

  “You have no reason to aid me.”

  “Not if you continue to be so irksome.”

  Angus turned away, and Jacqueline was convinced for a heartbeat that he would tell her naught.

  But he began to speak, his words low. “My brother fell ill most suddenly. Ewen was some eighteen summers of age, healthy and hale on one day and shaking in his bed on the next. ’Twas thought to be an ague that struck him or some nameless illness, though the priest was quick to name it as the vengeance of God.”

  “For your father’s failure to depart on crusade.”

  Angus nodded. “In two days Ewen was barely recognizable as the man he had been. My parents were terrified that he might die, and there seemed to be naught any healer could do.”

  “So you pledged to crusade.”

  “’Twas a thin hope, but the only one we had.” Angus frowned, his gaze flicking to the keep out of sight. “I learned on my return that he had died but two days after my hasty departure.” His voice caught and he bowed his head, grieving.

  Jacqueline’s heart twisted with a sympathy that she knew he would not welcome. She did not offer it and likely sounded more stern than was her intent as a result. “And your father?”

  “Faltered with the loss of his son. ’Twas said he took the same illness within a fortnight.” Angus looked into the forest, away from Jacqueline. “He must have been dead before I even reached the shores of France.”

  He surely felt that he journeyed for naught. Indeed, it seemed that Angus had had little chance to influence his family’s fate. Jacqueline laid a hand upon his arm, half certain he would decline her touch but needing to offer solace all the same. He left her fingers there but ignored them.

  “And your mother?”

  He swallowed and kept his gaze averted. “’Twas said she was seized by madness and fled Airdfinnan in despair. She was later returned to the keep to be buried, having died of either her madness or her grief.”

  “’Tis tragic, but still, I do not understand why you claim they were murdered.”

  He slanted a glance her way. “I never guessed it, until I met a man in Outremer. His skill was in assassination, and, indeed, he earned much coin by his endeavors.”

  “But if he was known to be a murderer, then surely he would have been punished for his crimes.”

  Angus shook off her grip and paced a distance away. He leaned against a tree, folded his arms across his chest as he regarded her, his eye glittering. “Only if he were to be caught at his deed, or if his hand could have been proven to be involved. All knew his reputation by name, though few knew which countenance matched the name of his reputation, and, truly, a man of such skills was most useful in the complicated alliances of Outremer.”

  “How would he know of your brother’s murder?” Jacqueline could not understand the connection between Angus’s family and this man. “Surely he could not have been responsible?”

  Angus shook his head. “He knew naught of it, and I never told him what I recalled. ’Twas he who had the need to boast, for he had finally been caught, and he desired to have another respect his cleverness before he was executed.”

  “A man unworthy of attention.”

  “But interesting all the same. He told of his favored way of dispatching a man. He was enamored of poison, though it grants a painful passing to whosoever ingests it. By dint of his experience, he had calculated how much of any given poison would make a man ill but not kill him.”

  “Truly? But why?”

  “There are poisons, he told me, which gather in a man’s innards—the first measure makes a man ill. The second measure adds to the first, and makes him more ill. This man could adjust the portion so that it took six, eight, even a dozen measures for there to be enough within his victim to see him finally dead. In this way, the poison masked the murder, by appearing as an illness that defied treatment and grew increasingly worse.”

  Jacqueline, though appalled that any person could be so cruel, was fascinated by this gruesome tale. “But how did he make his victim willingly ingest poison?”

  “He was fond of presenting himself as an ambassador of sorts, offering a gift of food from the one who had hired him to the intended victim. Though often a rich gift—some sweet dates, or candied elecampane from France, marzipan from Constantinople, a potion to ensure a man’s vitality, even an unguent for the victim’s skin—it held a hidden barb, for it had been treated with the toxin.”

  “And the victim took another measure of it every day,” Jacqueline concluded in horror. “Thinking he adorned himself or indulged himself. ’Tis wicked indeed!”

  “Aye. And this killer took delight in the small touches, in the victim, for example, understanding finally the truth of the gift when ’twas too late to change the outcome.”

  Angus continued. “’Twas in his description of the symptoms of various poisons—supplied for my benefit, that I might recognize such a trick if ’twere ever practiced upon me—that I saw my brother’s symptoms. Indeed, this man was not alone in knowing his craft, for another had done the same to my family.”

  “But who? But how?”

  Angus smiled coldly. “’Twas only then I realized the import of a gift brought to Airdfinnan shortly before my brother fell ill. ’Twas a basket of figs, a rare treasure in these parts indeed, brought to my father as a peace offering from another chieftain.”

  “From Cormac MacQuarrie,” Jacqueline whispered.

  “None other. My father loved figs, though my brother also adored them. My father surrendered the gift to Ewen, like the indulgent father he was. Thus the poison stole another victim than the one intended.”

  He offered Jacqueline his hand and took the remaining step to Lucifer. He might have been wrought of stone for all the emotion he showed, though Jacqueline now understood that such impassivity was a sign that he was sorely troubled.

  “You have had your tale and you have seen Airdfinnan,” he said curtly. “Now I will take you to the cloister.”

  Jacqueline moved reluctantly, disliking how determined he was to see her gone.

  Indeed, just as matters became interesting. The prospect of recounting her rosary in silence for
years and years seemed somewhat pallid in comparison to murders and blood feuds and vengeance and battles.

  And intimacy.

  ’Twas only her innate dislike of half a tale, Jacqueline was certain. Aye, her inquisitive nature did not sit easily with the fact that she would probably never know what would come of Angus’s quest for justice.

  Which only made her doubly determined to learn as much as she could now. “Why do you surrender me as your hostage?”

  Angus fitted his hands around her waist and lifted her to the saddle. “Because I see that capturing you achieves little but involve you in a struggle that has naught to do with you.” He granted her a grim look. “My quarrel is with Cormac MacQuarrie and thus with his heir.”

  Jacqueline frowned and glanced back toward the keep. “But there is one thing that I do not understand.”

  “What?”

  “How is it that Clan MacQuarrie does not occupy Airdfinnan? If indeed Cormac was responsible for these two deaths, why did he not claim the keep?”

  “How do you know that he did not?”

  “I knew naught of Airdfinnan. And we have never visited there.”

  “Which does not preclude the estate being held in trust by another. There is naught to say that revenue from Airdfinnan does not flow to Ceinn-beithe, or that missives are not exchanged.”

  Jacqueline frowned, for her parents were not secretive people and she could not imagine that she would not have heard of such a thing if ’twere true. But then, she had no evidence to present to this skeptical knight. “I am not certain—”

  “Nay? Think of it,” Angus commanded sharply. “If Cormac had boldly seized the keep, he doubtless would have been reprimanded again by the King of the Isles, perhaps more severely and at greater risk to his own wealth. Perhaps he would have lost Airdfinnan and then Ceinn-beithe as well. By allowing an apparently indifferent trustee to administer the holding, and one who insists that he but awaits my return, Cormac would have control of Airdfinnan without the king fearing his loyalty.”

  Angus silently challenged her to quarrel with that. “’Tis so diabolically clever that ’tis nigh admirable.”

  Jacqueline pursed her lips and considered the matter. “But truly, it could have been anyone who sent the poisoned fruit to your father, anyone who wished to see Cormac blamed for the result. ’Twould have been all too easy to blame Cormac, if his oath of vengeance was well known.”

  “You have great faith in the honesty of men, a faith that I no longer share.”

  “Nonsense. This is not Outremer. Who holds Airdfinnan?”

  ‘The MacQuarrie clan, as I have explained.”

  “Nay, who administers it?” Her own words were tinged with impatience. He reached again for the saddle. No incompetent rider, Jacqueline encouraged the steed to step away again. She smiled with feigned innocence. “Who is this apparently indifferent trustee?”

  Angus was not fooled. Nay, he fairly growled his response, even as he snatched at the saddle again. “Father Aloysius.”

  Jacqueline blinked. She urged the stallion to trot in a circle around the knight, taking delight in infuriating Angus as he vexed her. “A priest?”

  “Aye, a priest and abbot of the local monastery. He took command of Airdfinnan after my father’s demise to ensure that ’twas not lost. Cease your game and bring that steed to a halt here!”

  “That explains all!” Jacqueline declared, ignoring his command. “All one must do is explain the truth of the matter to Father Aloysius, for surely a man of God will not uphold any gain made by such deceitful means. You said yourself that he but awaits your return!”

  “But—”

  “But there is the weakness of your explanation!” Jacqueline declared. “Surely no trustee would willingly hold an estate that had been treacherously won—and no priest would deny you once he knew you returned in truth.”

  “Jacqueline, cease this nonsense!”

  Jacqueline did not cease. “Nay, I am not convinced that ’twas Cormac MacQuarrie behind this matter, but whoever ’twas can be most readily found once Father Aloysius joins our course.”

  “Our course?” Angus glowered at her.

  “Aye, our course. All we have to do is have an audience with the man. I am certain that all can be quickly set to rights.”

  “We will do no such deed!” Angus jabbed one finger through the air in Jacqueline’s direction. “You are bound for a convent, and I am bound for Ceinn-beithe and thence to the court of the King of the Isles!”

  “Nay, I am going to aid you.”

  “Nay, you are not!”

  Angus lunged forward for the reins just as Jacqueline touched her heel to the stallion’s side. Lucifer cantered in a broadening circle and tossed his mane impatiently.

  “We shall talk to Father Aloysius!” she insisted.

  “We shall not,” Angus raged. “I will not be so foolish as to approach those gates, not without an army at my back!”

  “Then I will do it for you,” Jacqueline retorted. “There is no need for warfare when a simple discussion will suffice. I am certain ’twas no more than a misunderstanding.” She gave Angus a hard look. “And I can well imagine that you may have lacked some diplomacy in your earlier appeal.”

  His expression turned thunderous, but Jacqueline was not afraid.

  “Truly, Angus, let me see to this matter for you. I shall plead your case and Airdfinnan will be returned to you and then I shall retreat to the convent as planned.” She smiled pertly, but Angus lunged after her.

  “You will do no such thing!”

  Jacqueline clicked her tongue and drove her heel hard into Lucifer’s side. The steed took off like the wind. He was not a small beast and she nigh lost her seating, so unaccustomed was she to riding sidesaddle.

  But she held on with a vengeance. She would see this repaired, she would see Angus regain his rightful holding, for she had perfect faith in her ability to discuss matters reasonably with a priest.

  “Jacqueline!” Angus roared far behind her.

  But he would see the merit of her plan soon enough, Jacqueline was certain. She simply could not retire to the convent without doing her part to ensure that justice was served. And this, she knew, could so readily be set to rights.

  Jacqueline took the downward course of the larger path, Angus’s cries fading behind her. At the main road, she halted the destrier just long enough to fling her leg over the saddle and arrange her skirts, then urged him onward.

  She admitted to herself that this was far more exciting than recounting her rosary or even discussing the lessons of the Good Book with Ceinn-beithe’s priest.

  Angus swore as Lucifer’s hoofbeats faded. Jacqueline was the most irksome woman who had ever drawn breath and if ever he caught her, he did not know whether he would kill her or kiss her senseless.

  Obedience. Ha! She would never manage to keep that oath. She was not remotely biddable, she did not even cede that there was any other point of view than her own, she was impulsive and a threat to the clear thinking of men everywhere.

  Or perhaps just to Angus’s own.

  And his steed was a faithless wretch, one that should have been sold in Sicily when he had the chance, or left for the wolves. Angus marched through the undergrowth, his cloak catching on burrs and branches, reached the road in a fury, and was not surprised to find it empty.

  Even the dust raised by the beast’s hooves was settling. He bellowed one last time but knew she would not heed him now. He could not run faster than the destrier when that beast desired to race.

  He should never have let her brush him. Therein lay his error, for now Lucifer would permit Jacqueline to ride him.

  Although the alternative was sobering. She was a vexing creature but he was glad that Lucifer had taken to her—’twas reassuring to be certain that the steed would not permit her to slip from his back.

  And she was a skilled horsewoman. He had naught to worry about on that score.

  Angus returned to their vantage poi
nt stealthily so that he would not be spotted by a sharp-eyed sentry. He lay on his stomach and had not long to wait before an unmistakably black steed galloped toward the bridge. The sunlight glinted golden in the rider’s hair when she halted the horse with a flourish before the guards.

  Angus was surprised and oddly proud as he watched Jacqueline. Lucifer was no means small and by no means un-opinionated. The stallion stomped and tossed his head, but she reined him in with impressive assurance.

  There was far more to this seemingly demure maiden than met the eye.

  Angus watched as she apparently declared her mission and the guards discussed their course. ’Twas only a moment before both she and the horse were led across the planked bridge and swallowed by the gates of Airdfinnan.

  ’Twas then he shivered with dread. He had no doubt that Jacqueline would blurt out the truth of her mission, much as she had just declared it to him. Angus feared she would learn her own folly in the worst way possible.

  Too late he realized that if ’twere convenient for him to be dead, ’twould also be convenient for any who claimed to know him—or worse, supported his cause—to be dead.

  His blood ran cold at the prospect He could not let Jacqueline die, not for her attempt to ensure Airdfinnan was restored to him.

  Angus sat back, leaning against a tree, shrouded by shadows, while he considered his choices. There was no possibility of leaving Jacqueline within those walls. She was astute and would not take long to discern that she was within a den of thieves. Perhaps she would be more circumspect in claiming her intent.

  Perhaps not. Angus could not fault her for not believing his skepticism, for he was not the most charitable soul alive. Indeed, he could not fault her for believing that right would prevail despite the odds.

  But he had led her to this place, and he did not imagine that ’twas anything other than her desire to see justice meted out that had her charging to his defense. In better circumstance, he might have found it amusing that this maiden saw fit to defend a knight twice her size, but not on this day.