Claire Delacroix (27 page)

Brianna shrugged and dropped her voice, resolving to leave Luc’s suspicions out of this discussion. “She was besotted last eve.”

Ruarke shook his head. “And missed her step, like as not. I tell you, Ismay has never been a woman with her wits about her. Was Dermot not close at hand to keep her from such foolery?”

“Ruarke! You must not speak so ill of the dead!”

The knight grinned roguishly. “I am but bored to tears, my lady, and hungered beyond all.”

Brianna could not help but smile in return. “ ’Tis fortunate indeed that I considered that possibility this morn.” She crouched beside the knight and pulled back the linen to reveal the contents of her basket.

The aroma rose from the fresh bread secreted there and
Ruarke’s smile flashed wider even as his belly growled. “You are an angel of mercy, my lady,” he declared, then reached for the bread like a starving man.

Brianna was startled by his enthusiasm. “Have they given you
anything
to eat?”

“Naught.” Ruarke made short work of the bread as Brianna wished she had thought to ask Cook what food had been brought to the dungeon. She had assumed Gavin would not deny the knight the simple grace of a meal.

It seemed Brianna had much to learn of men and their ways.

Luc’s tale wound into her ears once more, and Brianna knew she had never believed such cruelty possible before this day. But there was no doubt that Luc told her the truth, for the telling had been painful for him.

Could she have continued, with the bitter burden of such experience upon her heart? Brianna did not know. The uncertainty made her admiration for Luc grow an increment more.

She noted Ruarke’s glance expectant upon her and forced herself to think of something to say. “Then, you must not eat too quickly,” she counselled. “Look, there is a rind of cheese below and a few apples from the garden.”

“Is there wine?” Ruarke demanded, peering into the basket with obvious anticipation.

“Nay.” The knight’s face fell and guilt suffused Brianna anew. “I did not imagine that you had naught to eat at all,” she explained hastily. “I thought only to bring you better fare, some of Cook’s fine bread instead of the rough biscuits and cheese.”

Ruarke’s lips twisted. “ ’Tis a prison I inhabit, my lady, not a tavern.”

Brianna flushed at his gentle chastisement. “I did not understand,”
she said quickly, then forced a smile. “On the morrow, I will bring you more.”

Ruarke snorted and glanced around the cell. “If the cur keeps his word, then on the morrow I shall be free,” he muttered darkly, then glanced at Brianna and smiled apologetically.

“Then, of course, you would not have to sully your shoes by coming to this place,” Ruarke amended and reached to cover Brianna’s hand with the warmth of his own. “It ill suits you to be here, though indeed, I appreciate your presence.”

Brianna stared at Ruarke’s hand and marvelled that she felt naught. His flesh was no less warm than Luc’s, his tone no less confidential.

But it still left Brianna completely untroubled. Perhaps she was not merely awakened to the touch of men in general, but to one man specifically. Brianna bit her lip, for there was a matter deserving of reflection.

She looked up to find Ruarke’s regard bright upon her and smiled more genuinely. ’Twas reassuring, at the least, to see Ruarke returning to his usual charming manner.

“What other news do you bring from the hall?” he asked with characteristic cheer. “Share with me all of the gossip, even that which you fear is wildly untrue.”

“Let me look at your eye first,” Brianna suggested with a smile. “Is it painful?”

The knight shrugged. “ ’Tis my pride that is most sorely wounded,” he admitted, then grinned crookedly. “Have you a salve for that, my lady fair?”

The guest chamber at the priory was simply furnished, the bed hard, the linens stiff. It had been farther than Luc anticipated to Endlist Priory, one look at Brother Thomas convincing
Luc that Raphael needed a rest before repeating the journey.

All the same, he was restless at the delay. Luc lay in the darkness, listening to the rain, studying the ceiling.

And thinking of a certain beguiling woman.

’Twas true the lady Brianna had a rare effect upon Luc. They were not dissimilar, they two, both resolved to keep their promises, to care for those they loved, to uphold honor and justice. Even Brianna’s thoughts seemed to follow a similar course to Luc’s own. He had been startled when Brianna asked him of compromise, for Luc’s own thinking had veered in the very same direction.

Aye, ’twas more than desire for Brianna at work in this, though Luc’s desire was greater than any he had known. Kisses were one matter, but ’twas unthinkable that he dishonor the lady with any greater sign of his admiration.

Which made Luc consider an old conviction. He frowned and folded his arms behind his head, unable to clear his mind of Brianna’s tale of her parents. They had been happy in their marriage.

With only the example of Gavin before him, Luc had never considered the possibility that marriage might be a happy state. ’Twas clear the match from which he had sprung had not been a merry one and even his fleeting experience of Margaux had convinced Luc that he could never have borne the bickering of that match.

But Brianna did not bicker. And Brianna knew what wrought a happy match. Luc had never followed his father’s example in any facet of his life—why should he assume that he must do so in marriage?

Pyrs had never seen value in marriage, or indeed in women. Tyrell had faced an arranged match without complaint, Gavin had made a muddle of two marriages. But Luc had a choice.

He had a chance for something much better.

’Twas not only a time to heal, to put the ghosts of the past behind him, and to start anew. ’Twas time to take a chance.

’Twas time, Luc resolved, to make a certain defiant princess, one with fire in her eyes and honey in her kisses, laugh aloud.

And preferably
before
the infinitely eligible Burke returned. He rolled to his feet and paced the narrow room, anxious to be on the road to Tullymullagh as soon as humanly possible.

The sun was sinking low when Brianna climbed the stairs from the dungeon, its light a dull glow behind the low clouds. She hesitated in the corridor betwixt dungeon and hall, struck by the silence in the bailey beyond. Brianna crept stealthily to the portal and stared out into the bailey, Ruarke forgotten in a heartbeat.

There was not a single soul within eyesight.

And a metal box still pressed against Brianna’s belly. She yet carried her cloak.

’Twas as though the moment had been made to serve her end. Aye, this might well be Brianna’s first and possibly her only opportunity to see her sire’s mission accomplished.

Luc was gone, much of the household were involved in arranging for Ismay’s funeral, the stableboys were evidently off at some task for the ostler. The partially completed addition to the stable stood silent in the rain, temporarily abandoned.

Not wanting to waste time, Brianna cast her cloak over her shoulders, hauled up the hood, and dashed out into the drizzling rain, her fingers working busily at the knot of her sash.

Brianna knew the perfect place to secrete her mother’s letters so that no one would ever be able to steal them away
from her. Connor would be relieved to know all was secured. Brianna would be quick about the task.

And if anyone saw her in the bailey, she would declare that Ismay’s death had put her in mind of her mother’s passing and that she had felt the need to offer a prayer by her grave.

’Twas perfect.

Brother Thomas took to the respite from his vow of silence like a fish to water. Indeed, the monk barely paused to draw a breath as he recounted anecdotes all the way to Tullymullagh.

Denis had made no jest, for Brother Thomas was of considerable size. It had taken no small effort to get him perched on the pillion behind Luc’s saddle.

Raphael had been decidedly unimpressed with the result.

Mercifully, Brother Thomas had not seemed to note the steed’s haughty manner. The monk chattered like a veritable magpie as the road unwound before them, each curve bringing yet another tale or memory to his lips.

When Tullymullagh’s keep rose from the horizon, Brother Thomas dropped his recounting of distant gossip. “Ah, Connor has done himself proud with this structure, that much is certain. And look how the high wall is progressing! Indeed, there was no more than the keep itself when last I came this way eight years past. Is that a cross on the top of the tower?”

“Aye. I believe there is a private chapel there.”

“Magnificent!” Brother Thomas tapped a finger on Luc’s shoulder. “ ’Tis the example of faith set by Connor and his sire before him that ensures the prosperity of their holdings.”

Luc cleared his throat carefully. “You do realize that Tullymullagh was captured?”

“Pshaw!” Luc caught a glimpse of Brother Thomas’ plump fingers waving dismissively. “Invaders come and invaders go. ’Tis the burden of Ireland to be plundered time and again by foreigners consumed by greed. ’Tis only a matter of time before this Gavin Fitzgerald makes his way back to Wales.”

“And what of his sons?” Luc could not help but ask.

“Ah! We shall aid the lady Brianna in making a true man of whichever one she chooses, despite his sorry lineage.”

Luc deliberately bit his tongue at that, though he could not completely suppress his smile. They crested a rise, the village spread virtually before their feet painted in the silvery hues of the incessant rain.

Brother Thomas let out a little cry of delight.

“They have extended the mill! ’Tis a great sign of prosperity. And look! There is a new gatehouse rising high over Tullymullagh’s own gates.” The monk clicked his tongue with approval. “ ’Tis a fine estate that Connor has built upon his sire’s lands. Indeed, the old man would be proud beyond all.”

“You seem well acquainted with Tullymullagh,” Luc commented. “Are there often dead to be dressed?”

Brother Thomas chortled. “Nay, not so many as that.” The warmth of his bulk leaned closer. “But I was raised in Tullymullagh. Indeed, my sire was once the miller, God rest his soul, and despaired of me.” The monk laughed aloud. “Ah, I was a challenge to him, that much is certain.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had no aptitude for his trade. My sire, he could fix any device with only a glance upon it. He could not understand how I, his own son, could not fathom the most simple mechanism.”

The monk’s tone turned thoughtful. “ ’Twas to his tremendous relief that my younger brother shared his aptitude.
Indeed, when last I was here, Matthew was running the mill himself with great success.”

“Your sire has passed away?”

“Aye, both my parents. Taken in the winter of a decade past, ’twas hard upon the elderly and the weak.” Brother Thomas cleared his throat. “But Matthew always did our sire proud.”

“You must visit him while you are here.”

Brother Thomas’ tone brightened. “Aye, aye, that I must! His wife, fine woman, makes the most splendid dumplings that ever have crossed my palate. And she has a nose for a tale, that much is certain. Oft is the time that my old recollections of who is related to whom and what tale was whispered years past shed light upon current circumstance. What goes around does eventually come around, you may be certain of that.”