Knight's Lady, page 12
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
He looked around, as if expecting this to be a joke for which he would be laughed at later. Then, seeing no obvious witnesses, he blinked and stammered and hefted the sack on his shoulder for balance. “Oh, ye cannae be serious.”
“I am, quite.”
“But I cannae comply with your wishes, my lady. With all respect, it would be my life — or at least my health and livelihood — were I to take so much as a morsel into the dungeon.”
Lindsay nearly groaned. This wasn’t going to be so easy as she’d hoped. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
Fear drew his features taut, and he bowed even under his burden. “Nae, not even for a mistress so beautiful and filled with grace as yourself. Nothing goes to the dungeon, ever, but the gruel, If something rots, they get that. Naught else, by order of Himself. A standing order for as long as I’ve lived in this castle, which is all my life. Please don’t press me, lovely lady, for I would have no choice but to deny you.” He seemed truly distressed, and she believed he would have helped her if he weren’t certain of punishment for it.
“I see. Very well, then. Proceed with your duties.”
Unabashedly glad to be released, the boy spun and hurried on his way, even forgetting to excuse himself.
Lindsay would have to find another way to get food to Alex and Patrick.
She went to the bedchamber and found Reubair at his meal. The food set before her when she sat was still hot, of course. Steaming. But she didn’t begin eating right away. All she took was a draught of her mead. Then she said, as if deep in thought, “Those two prisoners the men brought in. Who are they?”
“What prisoners?” No tension in him; he really didn’t remember.
“The priest and that knight. The one wearing red and black. I expect they’ll bring a good ransom.”
“Oh, those.” He sat back and shook his head with an air of regret. “No. I’m afraid they’re worthless for that. The two from Carlisle will bring something, but that priest and his companion will more than likely die here in interrogation. Particularly the knight, who I’m told isn’t long for the world, in any case. They’re naught but robbers and worthless to anyone.” He grinned. “Like myself, but not nearly as successful.” A chuckle burbled up at his own joke, and Lindsay looked away.
She said, “That’s unfortunate. That you don’t think they’re worth anything to their people. I thought they appeared well-off. Or did your men dress them and give them horses to ride?”
Reubair laughed at that. “Certainly they did not.”
“Then I’m surprised you think they’re worthless.”
“As far as I know. they have no people to pay their freedom.”
Of course not. Patrick would never let on who they were. “It might behoove you to keep them alive long enough to determine the truth of that.”
Reubair grunted, perhaps thinking over her words. “What is it to you if they live or die?”
Lindsay shrugged and reached for a piece of meat to shred and nibbled a bit. As she chewed, she said, “They’re human. I know how low we are considered here, and I would hate to see them die for it unnecessarily.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table to look into her face. “Is that why you resist me? You think I despise your people?”
Blindsided by this turn in the conversation, Lindsay was at a loss for a reply. Had he really thought there was even a chance of her not resisting him when she was already married? In the same moment, her mind foundered as it cast about for a response that wouldn’t give away Alex’s identity. Finally, she said, “I resist you because I have no desire to be kept by you. I make my appeal because I have no desire to see men die for no reason. They have nothing you want. They aren’t your enemies. Why don’t you just let them go? It would be a Christian charity.”
“Oh, but they are my enemies. They tried to rob me. They’ve killed some of my knights. They are, by all that is holy, my enemies, and they will suffer for it. Perhaps they will die for it. But one thing they will not die for is their humanity. I do not hate them for that. I assure you.”
She wondered why he thought that would make a difference to her attitude toward him but decided not to press the matter. Best not to make him wonder too much about her interest in the prisoners. She admitted defeat with a shrug and addressed her meal in earnest. “Very well, then. But if they die and you later find you could have ransomed them for a high price, I’ll remind you I told you so.”
He sat back with a chuckle. “I believe I can withstand that.”
Foiled again. Lindsay would have to think of some other way to keep Alex alive. She scanned the table, looking for items of food she might smuggle out of the room in a kerchief, and hoped Reubair would have business to take him elsewhere before the valet came for the dishes.
Eight
Late on his third night on Tiree, Trefor again found Morag in his bedchamber. Stretched out on pillows before the fire, she wore a loose shift of embroidered linen that covered her body in gentle folds. The room was warm, for the fire had been built high, and a sheen of sweat glistened beneath the sheer fabric. Her nipples showed vaguely pink. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, but gazed into the fire as if reading it. Standing at the door he’d just entered through, he stared at her, saying nothing as he slowly closed the heavy chamber door behind him. Then he lifted the bolt across it. Trefor stared at her, breathless. “Who knows you’re here?”
With sleepy eyes she turned to him. “Nobody.”
“None of the servants have come in here to poke the fire?”
“Nae.”
“How come?”
Her brow crumpled. “They simply have not.”
He grunted, doubtful, but went to sit in the chair next to her and warm himself by the hearth. “Why are you here at all?”
She rolled toward him, and the wide, gathered neck of her shift fell low on her chest. He found himself staring for a glimpse of the body he already knew well and knew he could see again simply by reaching out to draw the fabric aside. But he gawked anyway, as if it were a contest to see what he could see. She said, “I missed you. I missed having ye between my legs.”
“You came all this way to get laid?”
She laughed. “Such a way you have with words, my love. And, aye, I wish to have you. Last night was a joy, and worth the travel.”
As much as he would have liked to believe she thought him a masterful lover and had made the effort to come to Tiree just to play patty-fingers with him, he could hear the tinny note of a lie in her voice. He hadn’t the patience for this game. “Why are you here, really?”
An irritated sigh deflated her, and she gave him a look. “Your destiny, Trefor. Ye ken your destiny is before you.”
So many women so interested in his future; he should be flattered. He could recall a time when no girl cared about his prospects, because everyone believed he had none. “There is no such thing as destiny. I told you that.”
“There is, I promise it. ’Tis fact that your destiny is to inherit the kingdom of the Bhrochan.”
That made him laugh. “The Bhrochan. And where is old Brochan going that I would have his kingdom?’
“I cannae say, because I do not know.”
“But you know I’m going to be their king.”
“Prince.”
“Ah. That’s what Brochan said. I didn’t believe him, either.” His patience with this was thinning. Now he wished she really had come here just to get laid.
She rose to her knees before him and leaned between his to kiss his unmoving mouth. “Believe it, my love. When the time comes to act, you will do exactly what Brochan says you will.”
“Which is what?”
“I said I do not know beyond that the result will mean more power and wealth to you than you’ve ever dreamed.”
“Convenient enough to say.”
She shrugged. “‘Tis the truth. Receive it or not: it makes no difference.”
Trefor liked the idea of great power and wealth. If his destiny brought him that, he might not mind it. He kissed her, then took her in his arms and slipped with her to the floor to undress her in front of the fire.
Once the shift was off her, and his own clothing was tossed aside, she said, “More to your liking than that silly mortal woman whose father is the laird here?”
Trefor paused in his attentions to the softness of Morag’s breasts, and looked into her face to determine the reason for this question. She seemed quite serious. He planted a kiss right at the center of her chest and relished the soft flesh against his cheeks, then said, “I wouldn’t know what hers are like.”
“Not as full as mine.”
“Not as available.”
“Is that all you care for?”
He leaned up over her on one palm and looked down at her face. Firelight flickered on it, brightening her hair to appear as if it were in flames, and for a moment he flashed on hell. He shook that off and said, “What’s Deirbhile got to do with anything?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. You think you’ve got the corner on that?”
A frown creased Morag’s brow, and he clarified. “I mean, you think you're the only beautiful woman in Scotland? Or even Tiree?”
“Nae. But I think most days I would be the only beautiful woman with whom you pass the time.”
“I can’t imagine you never talk to other handsome men.” Or have sex with them. But that much he didn’t want to know. She had a right to bang anyone she wished, but he didn’t want to hear about it. “I’m not your husband.”
“No, you are not. Nor do I truly care whether the wee princess’s breasts are more attractive than mine. I would only know whether my presence is desired, or if I should leave and not come hack. Are you planning on having her?”
He smiled, and wasn’t sure whether he was amused by her silly question or enchanted by the idea that he might one day find himself in bed with Deirbhile. “No. She’s the daughter of my host, she’s engaged, and as soon as I can get off this rock I’m going to Ireland and won’t be back this way until she’s quite forgotten about me.”
“She’ll want you when you become a prince.”
He snorted and buried his nose between her breasts again to blow noisily against her skin. Prince. Right. And it sounded more like it was Morag who wanted him for that. The thought was unappealing, for nobody liked being used, but for the time being he was happy to let her think he was stupid. He urged her legs apart and settled between them to enjoy her, then afterward fell asleep with her next to the fire and stayed there till morning.
***
Trefor never knew what Morag did with herself when he wasn’t around, and today he didn’t care. If she were discovered in his chamber by the servants there would he explanations needed, but he suspected she had put up a warding of some sort to keep them away. It surely wouldn’t take much effort to make servants forget to maintain the fire or make the bed in a guest chamber.
Trefor spent the day in the Great Hall, whiling away the hours in conversation with his host while his men spent their attentions on the ships in the harbor. The snow had stopped falling, but the harbor was still ice-locked. It could be days or weeks before the temperature would be enough for the ships to make their way through it. Frustration ate at Trefor, nibbling at the edges of his soul and making him not very talkative. He sat and listened to others go on in speculation about Robert’s progress in Ireland. With no communication in or out, and no new information, it was hash and rehash. Trefor chafed with the desire to fight in Ireland rather than talk about it.
Deirbhile sat next to him at table that day. Trefor flushed with pleasure, though he suppressed the feeling, as he always had with girls who were out of his league. The ones who made him feel like a rat in a maze, who paid him attention just to see how he would react, who expected him to blush and stammer and who always seemed disappointed or surprised when he didn’t. At the midday meal he kept a cool front.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said.
Trefor was not inclined to explain the quiet, which made him all the more silent. But he did say, “I've little to say.”
“Have you been thinking hard about our conversation yesterday?”
It took him a moment to remember which bit of conversation she meant, then he said, “About marriage?”
“About love.” She shrugged. “And about marriage, suppose. About having a balanced life.”
That concept made Trefor smile. Wife and mistress equals balance. What a guffaw that would have brought in his own time! “Having cake and eating it, too.”
Deirbhile grinned. “Indeed. I would say that loving one’s wife or husband, and expecting that love to be returned, would be like having and eating. With two pieces of cake, one can have one and eat the other.”
Trefor sucked on the inside of his lower lip as he puzzled over this girl. What was she up to? Once more it felt as if she were hitting on him. Yesterday he’d thought it was a bit of naive teenage flirting. But now he thought maybe it wasn’t. He said nothing, but looked into her face for answers. She looked straight back at him, and it was unnerving. This girl didn’t seem a teenager. She was as worldly as any woman he’d ever known, and this felt like a genuine pass. Big trouble.
“Why marry at all, then?”
“Why, for children, of course. Legitimate heirs. And for property. A good match, to someone of means, is worth far more than love.”
Trefor frowned, and had to think a moment to grasp what she meant. To him, a “good match” was always for love. But she was talking about money. Influence. To her, marriage was for social advancement. Upward mobility. “You would marry a man you found repulsive if he were rich?”
“If he were rich enough and not so repulsive as to cause nightmares. And if he were in a position to benefit my father’s standing with the crown.”
“And your fiancé is all those things?”
“Geoffrey is terribly rich; his father is influential. But whether he is repulsive or not is to be seen. I’ve never met him, and have no idea what he looks like.”
“You’ve never asked?”
“They say he’s handsome, but they would say the same if he were a humpback troll with a bleary eye and no teeth, lest I protest the marriage. What I’m told is of little consequence, since I will learn the truth soon enough.”
“And you will give him legitimate heirs.”
“Of course.” She glanced around to be sure she was not overheard but lowered her voice anyway. “I don’t expect I’ll take a lover until my children are grown. If luck is with me, I may even outlive my husband, though he’s not so much older than myself that it would be a certainty.”
Trefor thought he’d seen jaded women in his life, but this one had him speechless. Furthermore, he found himself disappointed to realize she wasn’t making a pass at him. Not unless she was making plans for twenty years down the road when her legitimate children would be grown. His mouth opened to crack a joke about that, but he changed his mind and shut it.
It was probably a good thing the girl’s father interrupted. “Sir Trefor! When you get to Ireland, say hello for me to the wee folk there!”
A surge of apprehension made Trefor give Maclean a sharp glance. What did he know about the wee folk, and why did he think Trefor knew any of them? Had someone seen his ears? He touched a finger to the bandanna-covered hair at the side of his head, but, no, his ears were well covered. The laughter of the others around the table gave him to know his host had been joking. He laughed with them, but his heart wasn’t in it. “The wee folk, you say?”
“Aye, lad. Were you to find yourself in the mists and come across some of the fey, give them my regards and tell them I could use a bit of luck. Or gold, if they’ve any to spare.”
Trefor knew all about faerie luck, and it amused him to think how surprised Maclean would be to learn how close he was to one who could provide it. But he kept silent about his skills and replied. “In the mists? Fog? What’s there?”
“Why, the lands, of course. Hidden faerie lands that go on and on but cannot be found on any map, for no human has ever seen them.”
Another of Maclean’s guests said, “Or them as have, have never returned. Stolen babies and such.”
Trefor blanched. Stolen babies.
Maclean allowed as that was true and nodded vigorously. “Like death, no man has ever returned to tell the tale.”
“Then how does anyone know they exist?”
Maclean snorted. “Why, ’tis common sense. Those who never return must have gone somewhere, aye?”
Trefor had been around enough to know that “common sense” was one or the other, but never both. However, this idea intrigued him. “You’ve heard stories?”
“Of course. They say to never go into the mists in Ireland, for ye may not come back. The wee folk hold sway there, and they protect their domain with magic.”
“Naturally.”
“No man can know what goes on there.”
Trefor’s thought was that he could know. He knew things most men didn’t. Curiosity kicked to life in him. He’d seen where faeries lived. The Bhrochan lived underground; he wondered why. Did they also have lands aboveground? He burned to ask Maclean but knew he would get no satisfactory answer. Even if the laird knew, he would find Trefor’s questions suspect. Too much familiarity with the fey might get him kicked off the island, if not arrested and put in the gatehouse. He said, “Then I wouldn’t care to seek them out to give them your regards, would I?”
Maclean laughed. “And that would be the joke, lad.”
Trefor laughed for the sake of form but wasn’t terribly amused. This guy didn’t know half of what he was talking about, and this talk skirted uncomfortably close to things Trefor didn’t wish to address in the company of humans.
Deirbhile said, “You didn’t know of the faerie lands?”
“Until now, no.”
“That surprises me. You seem the sort of fellow who would know all that was knowable of them.”
Again, a skittering of alarm chilled his spine. What did she see in him? “In what way?”
