Claire Delacroix (21 page)

“You must be surprised,” Brianna whispered, then turned with a welcoming smile. “Enter!”

Aye, she was a rare one, Connor thought with a surge of pride. Brianna would cheat none of even the most simple pleasure. ’Twas as Father Padraig said—she had a heart that was pure.

And a compassion that knew no rival.

Connor coughed and donned a puzzled expression when the pair drew near. “Uther brought me soup earlier,” he began, then feigned astonishment at the confection proudly presented to him. “Cook! You outdo yourself in these times! Elecampane! ’Tis my favorite and you know it well.”

Cook beamed. “I hope ’twill lift your spirits, my lord.”

“Aye.” Connor accepted a pink sweet and rolled it around in his mouth. “I feel better already! Ah, Cook, your talents increase every day. Come, child, move these cushions that I might sit up.”

Cook snapped his fingers and the boy quickly ducked to aid Brianna. When Connor thanked the pair, they bowed low. Cook was positively radiant as he lumbered back out the door.

“Well done!” Brianna declared, claimed a sweet herself, then eased farther on to the massive bed. “Come, Father, tell me again of your travels in the East. Tell me about returning to Mother.”

“You have heard it oft enough,” he grumbled, as always he did.

Brianna smiled. “And I would hear it again.”

Connor returned his daughter’s smile, then settled back to recount the tale he knew—and loved—as well as his own name.

Luc was in a conundrum. He spent the day working diligently in the orchard, his thoughts churning as he sought some escape.

But there was none. Not only had Luc pledged to answer any question Brianna might ask, but he had given her his word
again
that he would confide this particular tale on the morrow.

And Luc Fitzgavin was a man who kept his word.

Even if the story of why he had abandoned his spurs was one he had never before shared. Nay, Luc had never even considered sharing it! The very prospect left Luc feeling as though he rode to battle with no ranks behind.

But he had granted his word.

Luc created arguments aplenty, but there was not a one that could counter that responsibility. He cursed his own weakness in the waning light of the afternoon, a weakness that had seen him grant such a pledge in exchange for a woman’s kiss.

For Brianna’s kiss.

Truth was, Luc was coming to desire the lovely princess. And ’twas not just because of her sweet kisses or the nectar of her lips.

Luc liked how Brianna’s eyes flashed, her cleverness, her
determination. There was something exhilarating about matching wits with her, for Luc could never be certain of reigning victorious.

’Twas more than intriguing. And Luc liked very much that her resolve was bent on ensuring the happiness of those she loved, even with a disregard for her own welfare.

He had seen enough of selfishness in his days.

Aye, Brianna was a woman unlike any Luc had met before. And her kisses were not to be spurned either.

Luc cast a glance to the keep where he knew she was, then frowned and turned back to his labor. Denis and the boys were busily gathering stones for the addition to the stables and the bailey was filled with activity.

But Luc missed a certain golden-haired woman. He told himself that he was just concerned for Brianna’s welfare and took reassurance in Gavin’s periodic appearances in the bailey. Hopefully, Brianna merely remained with her sire. ’Twould be like her, Luc concluded, to cheer that man in this trying time.

He hoped with sudden fervor that Burke was as protective of his princess as Luc knew he would have been in his brother’s stead. He recalled Burke’s indifference to the lady’s charms and was far from reassured.

Indeed, the request from Denis for advice distracted Luc from his thoughts at a most welcome time.

By the time the evening meal was called, Luc could not resist the lure of the hall any longer. He was certain ’twas only because he had need of a warm meal in his belly, but found himself anxiously seeking Brianna.

He wanted to be assured of her welfare, no more than that.

But Luc’s first glimpse of the lady made his heart thunder with more than relief. Brianna was already at the high table, resplendent in sapphire embroidered with gold. Though her
garb was rich, ’twas naught compared to her vivid beauty and Luc stood silently for a moment to watch her.

She was a veritable fairy queen.

Brianna’s grace was no less than Luc had first perceived and ’twas clear from her manner that she was in fine health as she had been earlier that day. Luc forced the tension to ease from his shoulders.

He watched as Brianna initiated conversation all along the dais, a perfect hostess, even in the face of trial. Her sire sat by her side, a small smile toying with his lips, his color markedly better than it had been earlier. Connor was once again the wise, if deposed, king. Luc was quick to lay the credit for the improvement in the elderly man’s manner at Brianna’s feet.

Dermot sat to Brianna’s left, Ismay upon his left, and even that man seemed to be contributing to the conversation. Ismay, Luc noted, seemed overly interested in the contents of her chalice.

But, like a moth to the flame, Luc’s gaze was drawn back to Brianna. The lady nigh sparkled—indeed, the mood in the hall was markedly lighter than when Luc had last crossed its threshold.

Gavin had absented himself, but Luc guessed a good measure of the change was due to Brianna’s efforts. To be sure, none had forgotten Gavin’s cruelty or the knight imprisoned far below, but some festivity at the board could lighten a man’s heart.

Brianna glanced at Luc and smiled, her entire face brightening when she spied him. Luc stared back at her, snared by her regard, his heart thumping painfully.

And he thought unexpectedly of Pyrs. The memory of their last venture into Llanvelyn’s gardens together pushed its way into Luc’s mind uninvited. There had been no swaying
the older man from the walk, no matter how painfully he coughed that day.

They had gone because ’twas of such import to the man who had asked so little of Luc, even while he gave so much.

Pyrs had made his way painstakingly to a gnarled ruin of a tree and commanded that Luc look upon it. Luc had, seeing in its blackened heart the tale of the disease that had struck it dead. He had turned to Pyrs, uncomprehending their pilgrimage to this place.

Luc could still recall the resolve burning in Pyrs’ tired gaze. “I had not the wit to see what ailed it,” the older man had confessed. “By the time I cut out the illness that milked its will to survive, ’twas too late.”

Pyrs had fixed Luc with a demanding glance, one that insisted Luc see the import of his words. “You must have the courage, Luc, the courage to cut deeply when a wound embitters the heart. You must remove all of the poison that taints the future. And you must do so afore ’tis too late.”

At the time, Luc had assumed Pyrs was confessing guilt for letting any plant falter beneath his fastidious care, but in this moment he wondered. Had Pyrs been granting Luc more personal advice?

Had his loss, the same loss that made him abandon his spurs, embittered Luc’s heart? He did not know, but he was suddenly afraid it might be so. Luc stared into a lady’s eyes, distance obscuring their marvelous color, and wondered.

Perhaps Pyrs had seen aright.

Before Brianna could invite him to the high table, if indeed she intended to, Luc sat down hastily at the closest table. He needed a moment’s solitude to reason this matter through.

Luc glanced to the dais and acknowledged the rare compassion that Brianna carried. He had seen ample evidence of it in the sympathy she extended to Ismay, indeed, in the
understanding she showed of her own father’s history in Outremer.

He instinctively knew that Brianna would not judge him or his decision harshly. And that was the only certainty Luc needed to make his choice.

After all, one could not be too careful with one’s own heart.

The wine was good, the meal better, the companionship fine, and Luc savored them all in the wake of his decision. He felt more at ease than he had in years and more alive. More than once, Luc caught himself glancing to the high table.

The candles were burning low when an overwhelming fog of musk and ambergris surrounded him. Luc coughed, certain there had been no harlots at Tullymullagh, then met the unsteady gaze of the Lady Ismay.

“Aye, here you are!” The kohl with which Ismay had outlined her eyes had run slightly in the heat of the hall, half the carmine from her lips graced the cuff of her chemise. Her cheeks were flushed, her veil askew, and she was far from a fetching sight.

She wavered slightly on her feet, the ruby contents of her chalice slopped over one side, then she winked at Luc. “I have been seeking you, Luc Fitzgavin,” she confided unevenly.

Luc could not imagine why. “Indeed?”

Ismay leaned toward him and lowered her voice, a drunken and aged would-be seductress. Her kirtle gaped open to grant Luc a view he would rather have been spared. Luc knew ’twas deliberate that both chemise and kirtle were unfastened, just as he knew that the tired breasts revealed would not have incited lust in any healthy male.

’Twas an awkward moment.

“Oh, aye.” she purred. “ ’Tis clear enough that you are a man who sees a task completed.” She hiccuped. “A man who does not back down before a challenge. An
effective
man.” Ismay slanted a killing glance toward the high table, before smiling once more at Luc. Luc had but a moment to consider how he might best escape her amorous intent before the lady stepped closer.

Inadvertently, Ismay trod on the dirtied ends of her trailing sleeve. She lurched suddenly forward. Her eyes widened as her wine took to the air, she wailed, and she toppled.

Luc could do naught but catch her before she hit the stone floor.

Ismay swooned in his arms and one breast burst free of her chemise. Her besotted smile turned to a parody of coyness and Luc fairly dumped her on to the bench beside his place. He hauled her kirtle hastily over her nakedness and heartily wished he were anywhere else in Christendom.

Luc looked around for relief, but Dermot had disappeared. Uther was carrying a candle toward the stairs, while Connor and Brianna embraced, clearly before the old king retired.

And no one took any note of Luc’s plight at all.

He fell upon Ismay’s now-empty chalice like a drowning man seizing upon a straw. “I shall fetch you some more wine, Lady Ismay.”

But the lady propped her elbow on the table, thunked her chin into her hand and eyed him dreamily. “I have no more need of wine, master Luc. What I need is a man’s love.”

’Twas truly an inopportune moment for Dermot to be absent.

“Come.” Ismay patted the bench beside herself. “Come and talk with me, Luc, for I am in dire need of companionship.”

Luc could not be rude. He could not walk away, yet he
could not take the seat beside her. Mercifully, the bench on the opposite side of the table had become vacant, so Luc sat there.

He turned the chalice restlessly in his hands and silently begged Dermot to make all haste.