Claire Delacroix (35 page)

“Uther has a protective eye.”

“Aye. He does indeed.” The monk nodded solemnly.

But Luc was puzzling the matter through. “Connor must have surprised someone in the chapel yesterday.”

“It could well have been so.”

“Gavin insists that two masked men cast ashes into his face and shoved past him when he approached the chapel. ’Twas just moments before he found Connor.”

The monk heaved a sigh. “Then Connor’s prize is gone.”

“If ’twas still there.”

“What do you mean?”

Luc’s gaze trailed to Tullymullagh’s tall keep once more, then ran across the walls with their gaping holes. To leave such a task unfinished spoke of the leisure of an undeserved trust.

Or an empty purse.

“Would Connor have sold the Rose?” he asked abruptly.

“Nay! ’Twas not his intent.”

“But what if the exchange could bring the completion of Tullymullagh?”

Brother Thomas’ mouth opened and closed, then he frowned. “But Tullymullagh is complete.”

“Three holes there are in the curtain wall.”

“But surely that is damage from the attack?”

“Nay, their incompletion was key to Gavin’s victory.” Luc leaned closer to the monk, his certainty growing. “To build a keep of stone takes a fierce amount of coin. What if Connor sold all but the Rose, but had to part with his prize or else see his life work incomplete?”

“He would have chosen Tullymullagh,” Brother Thomas said without hesitation. “ ’Twas all to him. And to see his daughter housed in this keep would mean more to him
than to see some trinket, however beautiful, in her possession.”

Luc shook his head. “And if the Rose was indeed sold, then Connor may have died for naught.”

Brother Thomas’ lips thinned. “Nay, ’twas not for naught. By the expression upon his face, I have no doubt he knew those who besieged him. That was why his attackers deemed he had to die.”

“Whether they had the Rose or not.”

The monk only sighed, the weight of the world’s sorrows clearly heavy on his shoulders.

Luc leaned closer to the monk, intent on having the one answer he needed beyond all. “Brother Thomas, who else knew the truth of the Rose of Tullymullagh?”

The monk’s expression turned to one of frustration. “I do not know! There were tales when Connor first came home that he had brought great wealth. Such rumors even came as far as the priory. And there were whispers of one Rose of Tullymullagh, though I knew not what ’twas before he showed me. ’Twas shortly thereafter that Connor publicly called his daughter the Rose and no doubt deliberately sent rumor in a new direction.”

He sighed and frowned. “It could have been anyone, anyone about in those days with their ears open.”

“And someone Connor knew,” Luc frowned. “This, then, must have been what Ismay knew.”

“Lady Ismay of Claremont?”

“Aye, aye, on the night she died she informed me that she knew something about the Rose of Tullymullagh that all others had forgotten. She was drunk and I thought—”

“You thought she told a tall tale,” the monk interjected, then patted Luc on the hand. “ ’Twas a reasonable enough conclusion.”

“But she died that very night,” Luc repeated, his certainty growing that Ismay had not wandered off the orchard wall by accident.

The monk’s eyes went round. “Someone guessed that she knew.”

“Or feared that she would tell.”

Luc pushed suddenly to his feet, a whispered conversation echoing in his ears. Someone had pledged to make the Rose his own, regardless of the cost! What if they assumed Brianna knew the truth about the Rose? A new sense of urgency clenched Luc’s innards. “I must seek Dermot.”

“Ah!” Brother Thomas caught his breath. “There is one with a taint upon his name.” He lowered his voice. “No one knew who he was or whence he came when he appeared to bid for Ismay’s hand.”

Luc’s lips tightened grimly. “And the lady herself told me that he was not what he seemed.” He inhaled sharply, hating that he had not seen the truth in time. “I should have listened to her!”

“You could not have guessed, my son.” Brother Thomas lay a reassuring hand upon Luc’s shoulder. “Now go, go and set a watch upon this man.” He drew himself up proudly. “I shall endeavor to discover where he was, both when Lady Ismay died and yesterday morning.”

“I could do that.”

“Nay, Luc.” Brother Thomas winked. “ ’Tis my role, after all, to console the bereaved.”

“He does not seem markedly bereaved,” Luc commented as he collected flagon and chalice.

“And that, in and of itself, is of interest,” the monk murmured. “We had best arrive in the hall separately,” he counselled before setting off toward the keep, his robes flying with purpose.

Brianna awakened when the keep was silent. Darkness had flooded her chamber, the warmth of the wine still coursed through her veins. ’Twas her second night of knowing her father lived no more and time had not made the truth easier to bear. She lay there, wishing she could see the stars, and wishing even more strongly that she could see them with Luc.

Brianna had missed him. She smiled sadly at how he would tease her for such an admission and wrapped her arms around herself.

In the darkness, ’twas easy to admit that Luc
was
her favorite.

Brianna stared at the ceiling. Her father’s chamber was above her own room. Indeed, the great pillared bed in which she had been conceived now rested directly overhead. When Brianna was young, her dame had virtually held court in that bed, they had played there. Indeed, once, Eva had even had Cook bring the three of them breakfast there. Those days had been happy.

But now, Brianna was all alone.

The truth plunged through her heart with the surety of a knife, a knife as keen as the one that had stolen her sire’s life away. She felt alone as never she had before, and the pain of Brianna’s loss was greater than she had ever known. She felt the tears begin to flow and did not know how to stop them, did not know how to contain her grief. When her dame died, Brianna and her sire had consoled each other.

This time, though, Brianna was alone with her loss.

But she did not have to be alone. There was one man in this keep who endured similar losses, yet remained strong. There was one man who had pledged to win her heart, who she knew would protect her from harm. It could be no coincidence
that he was the only one Brianna knew for certain had not harmed her sire.

Brianna suddenly wanted to be with Luc, her need for his company so strong that it could not be denied.

She was out of bed and on her feet, swinging her cloak over her shoulders and making for the door in the blink of an eye. Fenella, she noted, did not even stir at her departure.

Brianna would have been surprised to learn that Fenella’s eyes flew open as soon as the chamber door was closed once again. Indeed, that maid departed not long after Brianna, although she did not follow her lady.

Nay, Fenella had other fires to feed.

Luc was certain he dreamed.

He laid in the stable loft, staring at the roof. He was frustrated, having learned less than naught these two days. Though at least he had this space to himself once more and would not disturb anyone’s sleep with his restlessness. The other stable was sufficiently complete that Denis had dispatched the squires to slumber there, purportedly to guard the steeds.

How annoying that Dermot had spent the entire evening drinking in the hall! He had even bedded down there, so besotted that there could be no mistake that he truly slumbered.

Luc knew he had Brother Thomas to thank for that certainty. The monk had not only “consoled” Dermot, he had ensured the man’s chalice was consistently full.

And Dermot was apparently not a man who held his wine well.

But was he a murderer?

Luc had been puzzling and dozing for so long, the stable was filled with such familiar warm sounds, that he could not
gauge how much time had passed. He thought he heard the creak of the doorway opening, and sat up suddenly, but only silence carried to his ears.

Until the faintest echo of a footfall sounded on the ladder. Luc eased to his feet and silently donned his chausses, his gaze fixed on the place where the ladder entered the loft.

Did someone think Luc knew more than he did?

His heart pounded at the prospect. Luc poised to attack, sliding against the wall that would be behind the new arrival. Another creak sounded on the ladder. Everything within him tensed in preparation.

He sagged against the wall with relief when a familiar crown of golden hair snared the moonlight. “My lady! What are you doing here?”

Brianna spun to face Luc so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, for she was not yet on the floor of the loft. Luc lunged forward and caught her elbows, moving her away from the ladder with lightning speed.

He felt her tremble against him and gathered her closer.

“You should be in your chambers!” he charged. “Asleep and with your maidens.” Anger rolled through Luc as he recalled an important detail. “Indeed, the dark-haired one pledged to keep you in her sight! Where is she?”

“Luc, do not blame Fenella,” Brianna murmured in haste. She impaled him with a watery glance. “I left while she slumbered. I—I so wanted to talk to you.”

Brianna wrung her hands together as though she feared he would deny her this and Luc’s anger faded to naught.

“We can talk on the morrow,” he assured her gently, unable to keep himself from pushing a tendril of hair from her cheek with one fingertip. Brianna’s vulnerability made him wish he could make this all come right. “You have need of your sleep now.”

“I have need of your comfort!” the lady declared, much to Luc’s surprise. “Please, I beg of you, let me remain.”

There were men aplenty who would have taken advantage of that offer, Luck knew it well. He stared at the woman before him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her complexion unusually pale. She looked so unlike the strong and defiant woman he had come to admire that Luc wanted only to console her.

And if any took issue with her spending an evening in the stables in his company, Luc would be quick to defend the lady’s honor. She was to be his wife, after all, and by dint of her father’s approval, Luc already felt the lady was his responsibility.

He would not let either of them down.

“Of course,” he said softly and noted how her shoulders sagged. Brianna trembled once more and Luc feared suddenly that she caught a chill. ’Twas too damp after all the rain.

Luc hastily scooped up his cloak and settled it over her own, drawing Brianna away from the draught from below. “Are you cold?”

“To my very bones,” she acknowledged, then shook her head with dismay. Her fingers clenched Luc’s own. “Luc, I cannot believe he is gone! How did you bear seeing Tyrell die? How did you forget the sight?”

Not for the first time, Luc wished Brianna had been spared the sight of her father’s demise. It had not been easy for him to look upon the fallen man and he could well guess how the recollection would haunt Brianna.

“You will never forget,” he whispered. Luc brushed a fingertip gently across Brianna’s cheek, unable to resist the urge to gather her into the circle of his arms. “But ’twill become easier to remember, in time,” he added softly, just as her first tear fell.

It splashed against his wrist. A second followed quickly, then a third, the first evidently having opened the floodgates. Luc’s hand rose of its own volition to cup the soft curve of Brianna’s jaw. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, even as Brianna fought against the flood of her tears.

“ ’Tis impossible to believe at this moment,” he murmured, hoping his words would reassure her, “but trust me, my lady, trust me in this. The pain will ease.”

“I do! I do trust you!” Brianna choked back a sob and shook her head as though she knew not what to do with herself. She looked into Luc’s eyes and he glimpsed the fullness of her pain. “Luc, help me, please. I have never felt so alone.”

Luc grasped her chin firmly between finger and thumb, compelling the lady to hold his gaze. “First, my lady, do not fight your tears. That was my mistake. It only makes matters worse to trap your sorrow inside.”