Claire Delacroix (3 page)

And if all three brothers failed, the rulership of Tullymullagh could revert to her sire. Aye, ’twould only be sensible, if the conqueror died and Connor had pledged fealty to England’s king.

Perfect.

Brianna’s maid burst from her chambers in that moment. Fenella was the dark-haired daughter of a distant cousin, sent to Tullymullagh a year past to learn matters of a household. She was perhaps overly inclined to giggle, and one to give too much credit to news gleaned in the kitchens.

But now, her dark eyes were wide with uncertainty, her expression distraught. “My lady, is it true?”

“Aye, Fenella,” Brianna admitted, slipping an arm over the girl’s shoulders when they sagged with defeat. She felt a surge of confidence in her fledgling plan and gave the maid’s shoulders a minute squeeze.

“Do not fret, Fenella,” she declared. “They may have claimed Tullymullagh, but we are not defeated yet.”

The hope that dawned in the maid’s expression was all the encouragement Brianna needed. She would win her way in this—for her father and all those who looked at him for protection.

’Twould only be right.

November 1171

L
uc Fitzgavin came to Tullymullagh under protest, his displeasure with that fact rising with every mile of the road that passed beneath him. ’Twas true that Gavin not only knew the perfect bait to lure his eldest son, but only the manipulative old mercenary had had the audacity to use it. The Welsh barony of Llanvelyn hung in the balance.

Again.

Indeed, Luc told himself that he would not have left Llanvelyn for any lesser price. He refused to consider either how his restlessness had grown in recent years or how much he had enjoyed the long voyage to Ireland.

Luc had pledged, after all, to live a simple life at Llanvelyn for the rest of his days. He was quite certain he only answered his father’s bidding to set matters to rights. And this time, Luc intended to see the seal of Llanvelyn safe within his own hand before he returned to his chosen home.

On principle alone, Luc was prepared to dislike everything about Tullymullagh, no less its spoiled princess. But the first sight of Tullymullagh’s high square tower awakened an unexpected admiration within Luc.

’Twas a feeling he would have preferred to be without, and it did naught to improve his mood.

But Tullymullagh—oblivious to Luc’s desires—remained perfectly nestled in the green hills of the valley. A river wrapped around its curtain wall, as though the keep were one with the land and had always been there. The tall tower stretched to the sky as though it would etch the clouds with the cross on its summit. The mist was rising from the river, wreathing the walls in gossamer, and the sunlight, piercing through the mist like a spear, painted rainbows in the air.

Luc could not help but be impressed. He had seen many keeps in his days, he had called many his home, but he had never glimpsed the like of Tullymullagh.

As he eyed the majesty of the keep, Luc became aware of the simplicity of his own garb, his lack of retinue, the humbleness of his steed. Luc had no sword, no mail, no fine tabard upon his back.

For the first time in eleven years, Luc felt the absence of all he had cast aside.

But that was nonsense! He had made a choice and he would live with it! Luc scowled and dug his heels into his palfrey, refusing to think about the spurs that no longer adorned his heels.

This Tullymullagh would show its weakness soon enough. Was its princess not a woman who could see no further than her own entertainment? Aye! What manner of woman would summon all to do her bidding on a matter of such ridiculous whimsy as
marriage?

Luc snorted. Marriage, after all, was at the root of all of his father’s troubles. Three sons borne by three different women, all manner of difficulties throughout the years. Far too much trouble for a sensible man. Women were a delight, but Luc had seen enough to know that marriage was for fools.

Fools like Gavin Fitzgerald.

Nay, the sooner Luc found his misguided sire and obtained
Llanvelyn’s seal, the sooner he could return to the simple life he knew he craved.

Time did not reveal the flaws Luc was certain Tullymullagh must hide. The high vaulted hall was simple, yet gracious; the richly embroidered tapestries hanging on the walls were beyond elegant. The stone fireplaces at either end of the hall were carved with marvelous skill, the linen adorning the dais table was rich.

Indeed, this tangible reminder of all he had abandoned made simple, charming Llanvelyn seem a paltry prize. Luc cursed his own traitorous thoughts and scanned the contents of the hall with disapproval.

There had to be some slight he could dislike.

Certainly, the lines of knights, even their squires and pages, were outfitted in fine fashion. Their armor gleamed, and their tabards were lavishly embroidered. Luc supposed they were all pledged to his sire’s hand, regardless of what loyalty they felt within their hearts. His sire, however foolish with women, was not one to be remiss in matters of such tactical import.

Just the thought of his father was a welcome reminder of how brutal the nobility could be, regardless of how fine their quarters. Luc, scanning the hall for some sign of Gavin, still did not see the man. ’Twas no coincidence that his sire avoided him thus far, Luc knew well enough.

Gavin would see his own desire fulfilled first. The nobility, after all, cared for themselves alone. Luc’s lips thinned.

If naught else, ’twas clear that if this Princess Brianna desired attention, she had gained her full measure on this day. Not only was the hall packed to capacity, but all were garbed in their richest finery. Damask gleamed on all sides, the lustre of silk shot through more than one garment, feathers
bobbed and jewels flashed. Though Luc’s simple clothing was his best, it paled in comparison.

But he did not care.

He
would
not care.

Luc spotted the familiar crest of Montvieux and guessed that his brother would know Gavin’s whereabouts. As he strode across the hall, Luc noted that Burke had changed little over the years since last their paths had crossed. Broader of shoulder than he had been all those years past, with a few threads of silver at his temple, Burke had, if anything, grown yet more handsome.

Which was reassuring. This troublesome princess would not be able to resist Burke, Luc decided. She would take one look at the three of them and melt with desire for the noble, chivalrous, prosperous Burke. Then, Luc would settle the issue of Llanvelyn with Gavin and head home in short order.

To ensure the sheaves were stacked properly. Luc pushed that prospect of delight from his mind, and looked hopefully for his father’s shadow behind the favored son. He was only to be disappointed.

But Burke smiled and closed the distance between them, lithe grace in his every step. “Greetings, Luc, ’tis long since we have met.”

“Indeed.” Luc shook the proffered hand. His brother’s grip was sure, and he felt again that old admiration that Burke had steered his course well through waters Luc had chosen not to navigate. “How fares your dame, Margaux?”

“Well enough. And Llanvelyn?”

Luc nodded. “The season was a good one. Have you seen Gavin?”

“Not yet this day.” Burke turned his gaze, assessing as he glanced over Luc’s garb. “I could lend you a tabard, if you desire.”

Luc shook his head stubbornly. His linen shirt was clean,
his green wool tabard and darker green hose were unadorned, but suited his life well. His leather boots were rougher than Burke’s, which doubtless had been fashioned in some Italian city, but were functional.

Even without spurs.

“There is no need,” Luc declined firmly, refusing to give any credence to a whisper in the back of his mind. “I am what I am. The woman might as well see as much.”

Burke smiled wryly. “And may the best man win her hand?”

“And may
you
win her hand,” Luc corrected, seeing no risk in letting his true feelings show. “And quickly, if you please. Llanvelyn awaits my return.”

Burke frowned. “I understood there was a steward there.”

“Pyrs died two years past.” Luc’s words were curt, the only sign of how deeply the old man’s passing had affected him.

Burke watched him for a long moment, but Luc frowned and looked again for his father.

“And you have no regrets in the choice you once made,” Burke finally commented, his idle tone not disguising his interest.

“I?” Luc shook his head and his words were emphatic. “Nary a one.”

A gleam of appreciation lit Burke’s eye. “Who would have imagined such a simple life would suit you?”

“It suited my mother and her family well enough.”

“Hmmm. So, here you stand, garbed like a farmer amidst wealth and privilege, untroubled by the disparity.” There was a note of mild wonder in Burke’s tone. “You are a nobler man than I, Luc Fitzgavin.”

Luc smiled. “I doubt that.”

Burke’s gaze was steady as he smiled slightly himself.
“The most astonishing thing is that you begrudge me naught.”

Luc shrugged easily, never having seen any reason to be jealous of his brother’s many accomplishments. “We are different men, Burke, born of different women, raised in different ways. ’Tis only good sense that our lives should differ as well.”

“Once they did not,” Burke noted softly. Luc stiffened at the reminder and looked away, but Burke would not leave it be. “You could have won all I call my own by now, or perhaps more, if you had not given up your blade.” A lump rose in Luc’s throat but he kept his expression grim. “Luc, you have to know that your talent was rare,” Burke added.

“Perhaps.” Luc cleared his throat. “But ’twas not a life that suited me as well as it evidently does you.”

“Is that the truth?” Burke glanced away, dissatisfaction in the line of his lips. ’Twas not an expression Luc had seen upon Burke’s visage before, but a fanfare of trumpets sounded before he could ask after it.

The assembly turned as one to face the dais. Tullymullagh’s elderly steward appeared at Luc’s elbow, tsking under his breath. “Quickly, quickly! Over here, both of you. Now, where is the third? There must be a third!”

The steward clucked his tongue, anxiously eyeing the assembly. The crowd fell back behind the two brothers, just as that sought-after third man joined the pair, his russet hair gleaming.

Rowan. Luc flicked a curious glance to his youngest brother, as tall and handsome as ever. Luc was surprised to see that Rowan’s usual cavalier smile was lacking.

’Twas clear that Rowan was here against his own desire, as well. Luc’s lips thinned at the reminder, and he folded his arms across his chest at the inconvenience wreaked upon them all.

“There!” the steward crowed. “Now, come along, come along, we must not keep Princess Brianna waiting on this day of days.”

She
could not wait, but they had been compelled to travel long and far to serve her will. The spoiled princess of Tullymullagh had indeed made all dance to her willful tune.

Luc imagined a sullen and demanding woman, pointing petulantly to all she desired and winning it each time. She was likely ancient and unable to make a fitting match in any way other than this frivolous game. Or pretty but with the wits of a stone, insistent that all made her the center of attention.

The center of attention she would evidently be on this day, at least. Luc folded his arms across his chest and impatiently waited out the moments until he could consult with his sire.

The minstrels plucked a tune and every head lifted in anticipation. A bevy of maidens burst into the hall, spilling flowers to the left and the right, their hair bedecked with ribbons. New garments for this very day, Luc concluded, disgusted with the cavalier waste of hard coin.

“The lady Brianna,” bellowed the steward, “Princess of Tullymullagh!”

With that, the most beautiful woman Luc had ever seen stepped through the portal into the hall. The princess smiled shyly as she descended the stairs from the solar. She stepped on to the dais with the grace of a swan, and Luc’s protesting thoughts screamed to a halt.

Luc stared, for he could have done naught else.

Brianna was the perfect, tiny fairy queen of Pyrs’ bedtime tales. Luc had never imagined that such beauty could exist outside of fanciful stories and was clutched with a desire so primal that it curled his toes.

Indeed, the admiration flooding through Luc put his response to Tullymullagh to shame.

Luc’s heart began to pound as he sought some flaw or hint that he had named her wrong. But nay. The lady Brianna’s face grew only more fair as he looked longer upon it. Her hands were as delicate as butterflies, her skin as creamy as new milk. Her smile was heart-wrenchingly innocent, her cheeks flushed slightly with attention of all fixed upon her. Her green surcoat was laced tightly at the sides and revealed her slender curves.

Luc could imagine her curled up to sleep in a flower bud all too readily.

She was not at all the woman he had anticipated.

Luc swallowed and reminded himself that
this
was the selfish woman who would make them all do her bidding. No doubt her temperament was an unattractive one and her heart as dark as her face was fair. She would be selfish and indulged, slow of intellect. This was not a woman given to conversation or likely even one who would permit her loveliness to be marred by the rigors of childbirth.