Knight's Lady, page 10
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
“Aren’t all marriages? All worth having, in any case.”
Trefor was aware arranged marriages were common here, but he’d never thought they could be so blithely accepted by the bride. “No. Not my parents’, at least.” Never mind that Alex and Lindsay were not of this culture. As much as he’d learned about this place since last year, it was still nearly impossible to wrap his mind around the medieval attitudes of love and marriage. “They were in love with each other. Still are, I think. Neither was promised to anyone.”
Her smile was, he thought, a bit condescending. “You are from Hungary. I think the Continent is more permissive in these matters.” Her voice conveyed that she didn’t think much of such permissiveness.
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I don’t think I would care to be engaged to a stranger my whole life.” Nor would he have wanted Alex or Lindsay to choose his wife. Especially he wouldn’t want that.
She laughed. “Certainly not. I will be married for most of it.”
“A happy wife?”
“A wife, and therefore happy. He is rich, and he’s Scottish. There is nothing more to ask.”
“One might ask for respect.”
“He will respect me for being my father’s daughter. The Maclean is a great man, and I’m proud of him.” It seemed she thought these things were self-evident, and a puzzlement lit her eyes as she explained carefully to poor, clueless Trefor how things were and always had been.
Trefor next took a conversational risk, in hopes of finding out what she was doing talking to him alone in a remote corner of the castle where they both knew they would not be disturbed. “And what about the bedchamber? Do you think you’ll find happiness there?”
“Does anyone?”
“I would expect it.”
The puzzlement deepened. “With your wife?”
“Of course.”
For a moment it looked as if she would say something, then she changed her mind and turned toward the window to look out. Thinking. He let her spin out the thought in her head and waited for her to speak, and when she looked over at him again she said, “You have a great deal of faith in your future.”
That was news to him. “How so?”
“To be so certain the woman you marry will be suited to you so perfectly and will never change. Such a trap to be in if you discover she isn’t all she appears. No man or woman is so transparent that another can see what he or she will become.”
“The more reason to be careful whom one marries.”
“The more reason to not depend on marriage to fulfill one’s hope for love.”
“You’re advocating infidelity?”
Shoulders lifted in a gentle shrug. “It will be a fact of my life whether I advocate it or not. If I expect my husband to never stray I will surely be disappointed, and the more wealthy and powerful he becomes, the more likely and obvious the dalliances will be.”
Trefor hesitated before asking the bold question that leapt to mind but said it anyway. “And what about yourself?”
There was hesitation in her as well, then she said, “I haven’t the same faith in my future as you do. I cannot say.”
Trefor uttered a neutral grunt and examined her expression. She was more wise than the girls her age where he’d come from.
She continued, “The idea of giving my heart so permanently, to someone with so much power in my life... I don’t think I could do it.”
He said, “I suppose the trick is to try to grow in the same direction.”
“And which of the pair changes direction for the other?”
Now Trefor had to grin. All of a sudden she was sounding like the girls back home. “It can be mutual.”
“Can be and would be are two different things. What man would change himself for a wife?”
“I would. If I loved her enough.”
Her lips struggled with a smile, but she stifled it. He couldn’t tell whether she was intrigued by his personal confession or thought it was a lie. She said, matter-of-factly, without a hint of bitterness or even an edge to her tone, “Men never love. They covet. They lust. They respect. But love isn’t in them, though they would protest it is. Tell me, Sir Trefor, have you ever been truly in love?”
He thought of Morag, and for an instant thought he could tell her he was, but suddenly he wasn’t sure. The Bhrochan faerie woman had consumed his thoughts from time to time, like fire that burned all else from his mind. But there were other times when he never thought of her at all. Like now. He could easily push Morag from his mind and think only of this girl.
Or perhaps he loved his mother. Lindsay, only a year older than himself, was an issue he gnawed on frequently. His feelings for Morag paled beside the heart-stopping need he often had to know Lindsay as his mother, a need he figured would never be satisfied. So, in that sense, he’d not only never been in love, he’d never loved at all. The realization choked him and he had to clear his throat.
His answer was, “No. I’ve not met the right woman.”
“Good luck to you in your search. I hope your match is not living in Hungary, lest you never meet her at all.”
“And who’s to say she’s not right here in this castle even now?” His mouth shut hard. He had no idea why he’d blurted that.
A giggle burbled from her, and he was relieved to see she thought his comment a flirty joke. “Fate will say.”
I say. “Perhaps it will.”
Voices drifted up the stairwell from several stories below, and Deirbhile picked up her skirts to flee. With a quick curtsy, she said, “It has been a pleasure to pass the time with you, Sir Trefor, but I fear I have duties elsewhere just now.”
Trefor bowed and said quickly, “Indeed, I must watch out this window for a while, to make certain all is well with my boats below. God be with you, my lady.”
“And also with you, sir.” With that, she hurried down the spiral stair toward the voices.
Trefor watched her go, then turned his attention to the busy harbor where his men were repairing the broken mast on his boat. He glanced at the stairwell as the voices below faded, then away, and considered what an odd girl Deirbhile was. So young and beautiful, seemingly innocent, but at heart terribly cynical. He wondered if all girls in this century were that way. He’d seen plenty of whores here, and many faerie women, but this was the first he’d ever spoken so candidly to a human girl of Deirbhile’s rank. She wasn’t at all like what he’d expected of the sheltered daughter of a wealthy laird.
He glanced over at the stairwell again and wondered. As he wondered, a warmth settled in his heart.
Seven
Lindsay was let alone at night, though she slept in Reubair’s chamber. The first night she was kept awake by the certainty of hearing the creak of the cabinet bed door, waiting for her captor to take advantage of his prize. Alert for the sound of footsteps in the room outside, she waited. But the door stayed closed and the night was quiet.
Oddly, when she realized he wasn’t coming there was a vague sense of disappointment, but she shook it off. So vain of her, she thought, to be offended that he didn’t force himself on her. And so... nuts, as Alex would have put it, to be disappointed in such a thing. The man had kidnapped her and imprisoned her. Then he’d chained her naked to a rock, to be gawked at by passersby. She hated him. She’d always disliked him, but now he deserved her hatred and it filled her. Every bit of her soul despised him and wanted him dead. She longed to kill him herself.
Although, there was that he hadn’t touched her. He’d never touched her, nor even attempted it.
When she finally slept, and slept through the morning, she went undisturbed until she herself opened the door of her bed and found the morning well on its way to midday. Reubair was not in the chamber, but she figured he was somewhere close by. She glanced around the room before venturing from the bed, then shut the door behind her softly. She checked to be sure the tie at the neck of her shift was secure.
The table was set for two, but no food had arrived. Clothing lay draped over a rack near the fire, and she went to examine the dress. It was different from the one she’d had on the night before — more fancy — and the silk undergarments were clean. On inspection, she discovered they were newly sewn. They’d never been worn, and the stitching had not settled in or the hems flattened. Before donning them, she washed up in the bowl and dried with a soft linen towel. She’d thought her own household had been plush, relative to most who lived in these times, but Reubair’s castle showed her that one didn’t have to be royalty to enjoy extreme wealth.
It made her wonder why Reubair bothered raiding worthless little villages in the Borderlands. Fun? Certainly not much profit, relative to this. Perhaps the comfort of this place was another aspect of the same principle of magic that accounted for the lack of even the smallest speck of dirt on the knights who had brought her here. Iain, for instance. As a raider, working for Reubair last summer in the north of England, Iain had been barely distinguishable from his filthy and ragged human compatriots, including herself. But here in Reubair’s hidden Irish lands he was nearly regal and utterly spotless, his mail so shiny it might have been crafted from silver. Reubair himself had changed; he nearly glowed with the magic he’d denied in England. She wondered whether it was a willful change, or if merely being here made the difference.
Just as she was struggling one-handed with the buttons on the sleeves of her dress, Reubair entered the room. She turned to address him, but changed her mind and only gazed blandly, waiting for him to speak. His head tilted in a look of appraisal, then without a word he stepped forward and took her arm to help her with the buttons.
Her first urge was to pull away, but she decided against it. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to say why, but it just didn’t seem the thing to do at the moment. She watched his fingers slip the buttons into their holes and noted his hands were strong and slim. Funny how she’d never seen that before. A callus marred the large knuckle of his right index finger. It was where his sword hilt rested; she’d blistered there enough times to know all about that. Her own sword callus was smaller, more prone to further irritation, but his appeared sturdy. As if it went clear to the bone and had been there since childhood.
Then she caught herself staring and looked away, embarrassed. She thanked him in a mumble for his help.
“The midday meal will arrive shortly. You’ve slept through breakfast,” he informed her.
“I’m not very hungry.”
“You will be once you’ve smelled the dishes I’ve had readied. My cooks are the best to be found in these lands, and even the worst here will outshine the best among humans.” He gestured for her to have a seat by the fire.
It seemed that by a change of clothing she’d transformed from a captive held in a servant’s bed to the lord’s guest. It didn’t matter much to Lindsay they were alone; she could take care of herself and wasn’t afraid for her reputation or her person. Not after what Jenkins had done to her and what she’d done to him in response. She now faced Reubair as the Countess of Cruachan, wife of Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil and knight of the Scottish realm in her own right.
Perched in a chair by the hearth, she now found herself noticing the way his blond hair shone in the flickering of the fire. Had she ever seen that before? Had it ever been anything but a dull mess before? Today it was so blond as to be nearly white, shiny, and sleek, and the long ends of it drifted in the draft created by the fire nearby. The delicate tips of his ears poked through the fine strands ever so slightly, curving forward as if pricked to hear her every word. She found it pleasing.
His attempts at conversation faltered, and finally stopped, for it was only small talk and she wasn’t listening, in any case. She snapped out of her reverie and looked into his face.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
Her mouth twisted to a wry smile. “Home, perhaps? Where I should be but am not.” Of which she should have been thinking, but had not, and the realization made her ashamed. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks warmed,
“This is your home now.”
“My husband lives. My home is wherever he is.” A pang of longing pierced her heart, and tears rose to her eyes. She fought them back and succeeded. Reubair had never seen her cry, and she was determined he never would.
His face clouded over with anger, and his voice went low. Venomous. “You’ll be widowed soon. I swear it.”
“You sound as if I should want it.”
“You should, for it is inevitable. And preferable, all things considered.” He gestured to the room. “See what you will have. That mean little island keep can’t possibly compare to the wondrous life I offer.”
It was true. No matter how cozy Alex might one day be with the king, the lifestyle on Eilean Aonarach and Cruachan would never be as lush and comfortable as this. There was also that with some hints here and there Reubair’s magic might produce wonders to measure up to life in the twenty-first century. Properly preserved food, hot showers, central heat... it could happen here.
Lindsay shut her eyes against the thought, and a flush of shame came over her. Her loyalty was to Alex, not to her own comfort.
Food arrived, carried on a large platter by the human servant she’d seen yesterday. He placed it on the table, then exited without a word or a glance. The meat smelled wonderful, and there was a fruit pie of some sort. It smelled tangy, but she didn’t recognize it. She and Reubair moved to the table to eat, giving pause to the conversation while he filled her plate. She tasted the pie and still couldn’t recognize the fruit. It was a berry of some sort, but larger than any she’d ever seen. Smooth like blueberries, but not nearly as purely sweet. As if they’d been crossed with something tropical. Pineapple, perhaps. Or mango. But that was impossible.
“This is delicious.” Her resistance to her captor and her determination to hate him were no match for just how delicious this pie was. “What is it?”
“You wouldn’t know it, I’m certain. It only grows here.”
She noticed his plate held only the meat dish. “You’re not having any?”
“I’ve no sweet tooth, but I understand you like a bit of fruit or honey with your meals.”
Lindsay fought back the surge of flattery that he’d taken note of her preference. So she liked a sweet with dinner. Big deal. She ate the pie and pretended she didn’t care what he thought. Easy, since she didn’t care what he thought.
Reubair said, “I’ve given you free movement within the castle.”
That caught her attention. “Free movement?”
“You can go anywhere you like.”
“Except home.”
“You are home.”
She emitted a snort of disgust and continued with her meal. They ate in silence after that.
As soon as she was finished, she rose from the table and announced she was going for a ride. The protest never came, not even a warning that she shouldn’t try to escape, and Reubair only gave her a bland stare as she looked to him for resistance. There was no resistance at all, even as she moved toward the door. She donned his offered cloak and exited without hearing so much as a murmur. This couldn’t be good.
It was easy enough to find the stable, for it wasn’t far from the keep entrance. A saddled horse waited for her there, held by a squire waiting patiently for her arrival. Definitely not good. She didn’t know whether Reubair had a communication system in place, or if he’d just guessed well and ordered the horse in advance. The squire was impervious to her enquiries on the subject, so she figured she’d never know. She mounted and rode toward the portcullis.
It was no surprise she never found it. Though she was certain she remembered the rather direct route from the stable to the gate, and several times glimpsed the guard towers from a distance, she was never able to come upon them. Each time she turned a corner and expected to find herself in the outer bailey, instead she found herself somewhere else. Up an alley, or headed back the other way in the main street. Soon her bearings were in such a confusion she wondered if she could properly find her way back to the stables.
But just as that thought occurred to her, she looked up and found those stables. As if a request had been fulfilled. If technology and magic could sometimes be confused, they could be compared, and she wondered whether the communications technology of her own century paled in comparison to what she was witnessing among the faeries of this century. Reubair must think of her as a terribly cloddish human, and just then she was inclined to agree.
Not that she cared what Reubair thought. Or ever could care. She turned to leave, in search of the portcullis again, but reined in once more as she realized it was hopeless. She was never going to find the exit.
“You had to know there would be no escape.”
Lindsay jerked with a start and turned to find Reubair sitting his horse to her right. She hadn’t heard him approach and didn’t know how he’d managed to sneak up on her like that. “You’re right. I should have known.”
“You will learn.”
A shiver skittered along her spine. No, she wouldn’t learn. Either she would escape or she would keep trying until she was dead.
***
A shout went up from a distance, and Lindsay turned to listen to the commotion coming from the direction she’d guessed was the portcullis. Someone — a large group, it sounded like — had arrived at the castle. Reubair raised his head to listen as the gate ran up, clanking and rattling with chain against wood, and urged his horse in that direction. Lindsay followed.
“If I go with you, will you also find yourself circling back away from the gate?”
“Come with me and find out.”
Lindsay followed, just to screw with him and see if he would lead her to the exit. He glanced back at her and rode more slowly, and she understood she wasn’t going to see the gate, with or without his help. She also understood the answer to her question was “No.” Had he gone to the gate, she could have followed him through it. Now the trick was to get him to lead her through.
Voices in the distance rose in joyous reunion, and some also in abject grief, and Lindsay gathered that the arrivals were returning knights who had been gone a long time.
