Claire Delacroix (25 page)

But Luc’s gaze had drifted past Brianna’s shoulder and his gaze sharpened. He frowned at the river coursing below, as though uncertain of what he saw there.

Brianna turned to look, but Luc immediately stepped closer and gripped her shoulders. “Do not look, my lady!”

But Luc did not move quickly enough to prevent Brianna from seeing the body broken on the rocks below.

Nor from recognizing it.

“Ismay!” Brianna gasped. “She fell! Luc, we must aid
her! Who knows how long she has lain there? She must be injured—”

“My lady!” Luc interrupted Brianna tersely. She met his steady gaze and saw a hint of the truth there, though it made her blood run cold.

“Would you fetch the priest?” he asked with quiet certainty. “ ’Tis all Lady Ismay needs now.”

Brianna felt the color drain from her face. She blinked back tears of shock, looked to the left and the right, as she struggled with her realization.

Ismay was dead.

“Father Padraig,” she confirmed in a voice too small to be her own.

“Aye,” Luc agreed. He gave Brianna’s shoulders a minute shake, his voice dropping lower. “And, my lady, do not look back when you go.”

Brianna nodded, appreciative that Luc tried to protect her from another glimpse of Ismay’s broken body. Indeed, she wished belatedly that she had heeded Luc’s advice to not look at all.

For ’twas an image that could not be dismissed. ’Twas not the way she wanted to remember Ismay, not at all.

Brianna nodded again, feeling her tears rise, then slipped from beneath the warmth of Luc’s grip to do his bidding. She knew she did not imagine the weight of his gaze upon her as she made her way across the bailey, but she did not look back. And she did not stop until she found Father Padraig already awake in the hall.

As Brianna walked, then ran, across the bailey, Luc could not tear his gaze away from her departing figure. Even when she disappeared, the lady remained at the fore of his thoughts. He wanted more than the lady’s kisses, that much was certain.

Aye, Luc wanted more even than
four
kisses.

He realized that he had never confided in another soul these past eleven years as much as he had confessed to Brianna in a few days. ’Twas the way she listened, the way her eyes sparkled, the way she made each word seem of import.

’Twas the way she
cared
.

Luc turned back to watch the river churn around Ismay and let unexpected relief roll through him. ’Twas a relief born not only of knowing the telling of what had happened to Tyrell was over, he realized, but that ’twas shared. He had given voice to all his frustration and hurt, and the task had been easier than anticipated.

Indeed, Luc felt markedly lighter as a result. The world seemed full of possibilities he had barely glimpsed before.

For bringing the tale to light had made it seem less dire. Luc stood and questioned whether he had given his experience more than its due. ’Twas true enough that he had made a decision while he was riled and stubbornly clung to that choice even after the pain of his loss had faded.

Luc’s lips quirked despite himself. ’Twas a move not uncharacteristic of another determined soul he knew.

In that moment, the priest erupted from the keep, Brianna in his wake, Connor and Gavin, Uther, Cook, and the entire household trailing sleepily behind. The arrivals streamed across the bailey and lined the wall, each peering to the body fallen in the river below.

Father Padraig vaulted the wall with unexpected agility and scrambled down the muddy river bank. Luc was quick on his heels once he noted that Brianna hung back from the wall. It pleased him disproportionately that she heeded his advice on such a small matter.

The angular priest bent over Ismay just as Luc reached the bank, then closed his eyes in acknowledgement of her state.
The rain had wreaked havoc with what remained of Ismay’s kohl and the dark line had spread down her cheek. There was a hint of carmine lingering upon her bottom lip, though her face was pale beyond all.

What had possessed her to leave the hall the night before and wander through the shadowed garden? She must have been pickled indeed to have climbed the wall without realizing the peril of what she did.

And she had more than paid the price for her recklessness.

As Father Padraig began to intone last rites, Luc could not tear his gaze away from Ismay’s impassive features. Would Tyrell have expected Luc to spurn all in the wake of his death?

Luc knew his friend would not.

’Twas time he made a change.

The priest’s “amen” hung in the air as boys bearing a litter drew closer, then the priest closed Ismay’s widened eyes. Luc watched him mark a cross on the fallen lady’s pale brow. The track left a dry line for the barest moment before the raindrops washed the symbol away.

“ ’Tis a sign,” Father Padraig muttered, his glance rising ominously to those peering over the wall. His voice grew louder. “ ’Tis a sign that the hand of God takes retribution for the wages of sin.”

The priest looked both grim and smugly satisfied when he turned his regard upon Luc. “I was not the only one who noted her wayward manner in the hall last eve, ’tis clear, for the eye of the Lord is ever vigilant.”

Luc could not bring himself to speak poorly of the unhappy woman who now lay dead at their feet. “Ismay may have overindulged in the wine,” he conceded when ’twas clear the priest expected his agreement.

“May have? She did—and I can only guess where such weakness of the flesh did lead in the end!” Father Padraig
spun and flung his hands into the air for the benefit of his audience. “Gluttony! Pride!
Fornication
!” Father Padraig hissed the last word, his eyes blazed, then he looked coldly back to Ismay. “You see the Lord’s judgement before you.”

The boys came to an uncertain halt beside Luc, the priest glancing to each of them in turn. “I shall expect you immediately at the Mass. We shall have need of every voice to intercede in prayer for Lady Ismay’s immortal soul.”

“Aye, Father.” The boys nodded agreement, clearly uncomfortable in the priest’s forbidding presence.

Luc stepped forward and directed them with the litter. He lifted Ismay’s broken body from the cold riverbed, considered the chattering souls lining the wall above, then cast his own cloak across Ismay as a shroud. There was little to be done for Ismay, but he suspected she would have been appalled to be viewed in such a state.

The cold rain soaked his tunic in a heartbeat, but Luc savored the chill tingle against his flesh. He was
alive
.

And time ’twas he did something about the matter.

“Someone must ride to Endlist,” Father Padraig asserted as they all began to climb up the bank. He punctuated his words with a solemn glance to Luc. “The monks at that priory have always dressed Tullymullagh’s dead.”

“Where is it?”

Father Padraig lifted a lean hand and pointed back to the north. “The road winds past that hill, and there a trail breaks to the right. Two miles down the track is the priory that Connor’s father endowed.”

Luc impulsively decided that he would perform this errand. The opportunity to indulge his newfound vitality was irresistible. “I will go.”

Father Padraig nodded once, then gestured regally to the litter as he reached the wall. His voice rose as he addressed
the assembly. “This sheep stumbled from the path of righteousness last eve and paid a toll for her wandering ways.”

The household fidgeted like errant children caught at some prank.

“ ’Tis a
sign
that the eye of the Lord is upon us. ’Tis a
sign
that sin will not be left unaddressed.” The priest cast a quelling glance over the dampened assembly. “Come to the Mass. We shall raise our voices together in prayer for Lady Ismay’s immortal soul.”

The priest swept across the bailey, the village church his obvious destination. The boys carrying Ismay’s litter trudged behind, every inhabitant of Tullymullagh fell into step after the sad party.

The rising sun made an orange streak through the dreary grey clouds, the silhouettes of the party etched dark against the heavy sky. Connor offered Brianna his elbow and the pair took their place at the front of the group.

Luc watched the lady and savored the quickening within him at the sight of her. He felt as though he had slumbered since Tyrell’s death, or at least, buried himself in obscurity, but now Brianna had awakened him with a vengeance.

Dermot pushed past Luc, his features as expressionless as a mask. Ismay’s own accusations against her spouse echoed in Luc’s ears once more.

What had Ismay recalled about the Rose of Tullymullagh that all others forgot?

Would Luc ever know?

L
uc caught up to the ostler just outside the stable doors. “Have you a swift steed I might ride this day, Denis? Father Padraig requests I ride to Endlist Priory and I would make haste.”

Denis’ brow worked for a moment as he thought the matter through. “ ’Tis not far, but to make it there and back with speed and Brother Thomas in tow, you will need a strong mount, indeed.”

“Brother Thomas?”

“Aye, ’tis always he who stitches the shroud.” Denis’ glance was telling. “He is a most
ample
man.”

“Ah.” Luc nodded understanding. “Will I need two horses?”

Denis shook his head. “Brother Thomas insists upon riding pillion.” The men ducked beneath the dripping portal of the stables and were welcomed by a skittish snort.

Luc glanced up to find the great dapple grey destrier housed in a stall halfway to the back eyeing them warily.

The ostler evidently noted the direction of his glance. “Raphael would be a good choice, if indeed he would bear you.”

Raphael flared his nostrils as though expressing his opinion
of that. Luc’s mouth went dry. He had not ridden a destrier since the day that Tyrell died.

Indeed, he had refused to do so.

But now the prospect was tempting.

“Would his knight not be troubled by the intrusion?” No knight whom Luc had ever known had suffered another man to ride his warhorse. ’Twas imperative that there be a great bond betwixt the two, for they oft had only each other to rely upon to survive.

Denis shook his head and his brow gathered darkly. “ ’Tis the trouble. Chevalier Gaultier is dead this last month and none has been able to ride Raphael in his stead.”

“Gaultier was killed in the assault of Tullymullagh?” Luc guessed and Denis nodded sadly.

“Aye, and a tragic waste ’twas. Never have I known a knight of such gentle strength. Gaultier had ridden years past with my lord Connor in Outremer and had come here in search of peace.”

“They must have been of similar age, then.”

“Aye, Gaultier told me once he had seen fifty summers, though he was hale enough still.” Denis’ expression turned grim. “And he was a man who could be relied upon, unlike some others hereabouts. When Tullymullagh was besieged, he rode out in our last defense.”

“ ’Tis a daunting task for a man in his winter years.”

Denis’ disapproval was clear. “He was not a man to shirk a duty, however grim it might have been.”

“Yet Tullymullagh’s champion was not to be found on that ill-fated day,” Luc said quietly, guessing the reason for the ostler’s displeasure.

Denis snorted. “Not he!”

Luc felt a surge of irritation that this Ruarke had abandoned his rightful duty, not only leaving an older man to do
his labor, but returning jubilantly when all was over and done.

Denis took a deep breath. “ ’Twas a wicked day, I tell you. Gaultier was struck down early, but Raphael stood over him, defending his master from further harm. They had ridden long together, those two, and the steed did his utmost. Sadly ’twas too late for Gaultier by the time Raphael had his relief.”

Denis leaned against the stall and considered the stallion, who watched them both with open distrust. “And now I have a fine dapple grey stallion, bred of champions and worth a king’s ransom, who will not permit another to draw near him, save myself. And even I, he will only tolerate to bridle him and lead him to run in the bailey.”

Denis swallowed and shook his head. “I fear he misses Gaultier overmuch.”

The destrier blew out his lips as though he would agree with this sentiment. His gaze landed anew upon Luc and there was a light in his eye that put Luc in mind of a steed he had once known better than himself.

“I once rode a dapple grey stallion,” Luc admitted.

“Aye? What happened to him, sir?”

Luc frowned and fought the constriction in his throat. “He died too soon, Denis.”

And Luc had never taken another steed because there could be no other who could compete with the affection he had had for Grisart. There was no denying the crystal clarity of the truth. Indeed, Luc had not wanted to care for another creature the way he had cared for that steed.

But he had resolved this day to lay the past to rest.

Before the ostler could ask another question, Luc lifted a brush from the shelf and stepped into the destrier’s stall with purpose. Raphael looked over his shoulder, his gaze assessing,
but Luc murmured soothingly to him and lifted the brush to his haunches.