Claire Delacroix (49 page)

Luc had none. And Luc had not raised a sword in over a decade. Brianna feared the lack of practice would not serve him well.

Even if his noble gesture had stolen her very breath away. She only wished she would have the chance to tell Luc as much.

Brianna clung to the edge of the stall and had to concede that Luc fought markedly well. His eyes flashed with determination, he parried and thrust with a vigor unexpected. His blade caught Ruarke on the elbow and that knight bellowed, no doubt more out of annoyance than pain. He dove after Luc once more and as they circled, Brianna had a dreadful glimpse of the fury burning in Ruarke’s eyes.

How could she ever have imagined there was any kindness in his heart?

Luc’s eyes, by contrast, were cold. He prodded Ruarke again and again, driving that man to retaliate with increasing vigor. Ruarke’s color rose hotly on his neck, but Luc repeatedly danced from the path of his sword with agile grace.

’Twas as though he deliberately provoked the better-armed man. Brianna glimpsed the shine of perspiration on Ruarke’s brow and recalled her sire’s complaints about the cursed weight of mail.

Luc was tiring his opponent apurpose. And Ruarke, with every passing moment, struck more vigorously yet with less accuracy.

Brianna clasped her hands together and prayed fervently for Luc’s success.

“I had expected you to be vastly more skilled,” Luc commented in an undertone that revealed no strain.

Ruarke’s nostrils flared. “I am a far finer knight than ever you might have been!” he retorted angrily. “For I am no coward!” And Ruarke punctuated his accusation with a savage slice at Luc’s knees.

The sweep of the blade came dangerously close before Luc stepped nimbly out of its path. He arched a brow at Ruarke, taunting him to repeat the deed.

Ruarke cursed and attacked with renewed vigor. They battled endlessly back and forth across the stable, and Brianna caught her breath when Luc faltered.

’Twas not her imagination that he parried Ruarke’s last thrust with less resolve. Was he more tired than she had guessed?

Ruarke clearly saw the same weakness. Brianna bit her knuckle in fear. Ruarke pounced upon Luc and, with a triumphant roar, drove his blade directly at Luc’s very heart.

“Nay!” Brianna cried as Luc not only took the blow, but
fell to his back. He sprawled in the hay and, despite Brianna’s fervent prayer, her spouse did not move again.

Luc’s very stillness made Brianna’s blood run cold.

Then she heard the scrape of Ruarke’s dagger upon its sheath.

“Do not touch him!” she cried, but that knight only spared her a mocking glance.

“ ’Twas to the death we fought, princess.” Ruarke chuckled as he stepped over Luc. “Be patient but a moment until I finish the deed.”

“Nay!” Brianna cried. She flung herself across the stable, uncertain how she would aid Luc but knowing she had to do something.

But in truth she did not.

No sooner had Ruarke bent over the inert Luc than that man made a marked recovery. Luc’s sword flashed like lightning. Brianna saw his eyes flash with determination, and he drove his blade into his opponent’s chest with sudden vigor.

Brianna gasped.

Ruarke stumbled backward, his fingertips touching the hilt of his own blade. “My blade,” he murmured unevenly. “Mine own blade betrays me.”

“As you have betrayed so many others,” Luc said flatly. He rose to his own feet and watched the other knight falter, a decided chill in his eyes.

“You, you have the Rose of Tullymullagh,” Ruarke muttered and clenched a shaking fist. “ ’Tis unfair, ’tis wrong, it should have been
mine
!”

Luc raised his brilliant sapphire gaze to meet Brianna’s own and her breath caught in her throat. “The Rose of Tullymullagh that was the greater prize could readily have been your own,” he said with deliberation. “Had you had the wits to pursue it.”

“Sentimental fool!” Ruarke looked at Luc in disbelief, then stumbled to his knees. He coughed, then gasped in pain as the blood coursed between his fingers. He paled, then fell bonelessly into a stall. The steed stabled there took but one look at the wounded knight beneath his own feet.

Then Raphael snorted and kicked Ruarke savagely in the head.

And the former champion of Tullymullagh was no more.

“Nay, ’twas you who was the fool, Ruarke de Rossiers,” Luc stated with quiet resolve. He shook his head, then strode to Brianna’s side.

“Are you injured?” Before Brianna could answer, Luc’s fingers were quick and gentle in her hair.

She caught her breath when he found the sore spot on her head. “ ’Tis but a small bump, Luc, and naught worthy of concern.”

“ ’Twas a fearsome crack,” he insisted, his gaze bright with worry.

Brianna smiled up at him. “It has been said that my head is wondrously hard.”

Luc smiled crookedly in turn. “Not by me.”

“And what of you?” Brianna asked, her concern no less. “I thought that blow a telling one.”

“Ah, but my lady wife ensured my survival.” Luc’s eyes twinkled, though Brianna could not imagine why. He reached beneath his tabard and tapped the spot with his fingertip where he had taken the blow.

The ring of metal was unmistakable.

Brianna felt her eyes go round. “The box with my dame’s letters!”

“Aye, though, there may well be no letters within its sanctuary,” Luc advised. He touched Brianna’s cheek as though marvelling that she stood before him. “I hope I am wrong,
for ’twas clear you looked forward to reading what she had written.”

Brianna ran her hands over his chest, still incredulous that he was not more sorely wounded. “The box took all of the strike? You are certain?”

Luc’s smile turned rueful. “No doubt there is a dint in it like the bruise that will blossom on my chest. The blow took the wind from me, that much is certain.”

“But no more than that,” Brianna breathed in relief.

“Nay.” Luc smiled down into her eyes. “No more than that.” The passion that suddenly shone in his eyes made Brianna’s heart pound. “You left before I could find the words,” he charged softly. “I should have never forgiven myself if you had paid a toll for that.”

Brianna did not dare to breathe. “What words?”

“I will have no doubt lingering in your mind, Brianna,” he said in a low voice. “Know this and know it well, for naught but love could have persuaded me to take your hand. I did not know its name so soon as that, but from the first moment we met, you intrigued me as never a woman had before.”

Luc smiled. “ ’Twas but a portent that you would seize my heart and make it your own.”

As Brianna watched, Luc dipped his head and brushed his lips across her knuckles, his bright blue gaze boring into her own. “I love you, Brianna. I swear it to you.”

His words rang with a conviction that could not be denied.

Before Brianna could catch her breath, Luc’s smile turned teasing. “Though, truly, I should not have been surprised that you would lay claim to my heart while I was so diligently seeking yours. You have a way of confounding expectation, my lady.”

Brianna could not halt her delighted smile. “As do you, sir!”

“Ah, then perhaps we should confound each other for a good many years.”

“ ’Twould only be fitting!” Brianna retorted with a grin and Luc gathered her close.

The door of the stable creaked open in that inopportune moment. “Why in the name of God are you folk making such a noise so early in the morn?” complained the tavern proprietor. “I know well enough that you have a ship to meet that sails with the tide, but is it too much to ask for a little consideration …”

The man’s words faltered as he evidently took in the sight before him.

Luc turned, Brianna’s hand clasped firmly in his own, and his voice rang with authority. “This man, one Ruarke de Rossiers, killed Connor of Tullymullagh, Ismay of Claremont, and a priest known as Father Padraig.”

“Mother of God!” the innkeeper whispered and crossed himself.

“He was once the champion of Tullymullagh and must have followed us here. He declared his intent to steal my wife and my steed out of some misbegotten conviction that they rightly belonged to him. There was naught I could do, of course, but defend my wife’s honor.”

Luc glanced at Raphael, then to the mark of his hoof upon Ruarke’s brow. “The steed, like many of his ilk, is somewhat temperamental.”

“Of course, my lord.” The innkeeper’s eyes went round. “What shall be done with him?”

“See that his body is sent to my steward Uther at Tullymullagh, complete with this tale. Uther shall see you duly compensated for your trouble.”

The innkeeper bowed low. “Aye, my lord! But what of you?”

“My ship leaves this morn, with the very tide, as you
say.” Luc turned and offered Brianna his hand. “Shall we, my lady?”

Brianna smiled and clasped Luc’s hand within her own. “Of course.”

Brianna did not take well to the sea. Indeed, she turned pale as soon as they left the port and Luc spent the better part of the day holding her tightly while she vomited over the ship’s rails.

He was not about to lose his bride now.

By nightfall, Brianna was weak but claimed she felt better. Luc carried her to the hold below, where one end had been left for them, the only paying passengers on this late season journey. The two palfreys and Raphael were tethered in makeshift stalls at midship and the captain had gruffly provided a curtain of sorts across the nook Luc and Brianna made their own.

Luc did as well as he was able to see to his lady’s comfort. One lantern hung from the beam overhead, a veritable nest of cloaks surrounded her. The lady had charmed the ship’s cook, even in her state, for that man brought her a hot cup of broth.

Once ’twas clear Brianna would hold the soup in her belly, Luc doffed his own clothes and curled his heat around her. Brianna cuddled against him as Luc reached for his satchel. He dug out a particular metal box and laid it in his wife’s tiny hands.

She cradled it and slanted a glance his way. Brianna wrinkled her nose. “I am almost afraid to open it.”

“ ’Tis yours alone,” Luc assured her quietly. “Whatever it contains.”

Brianna ran her fingers over the new mark on its lid and smiled up at Luc. “My dame wanted you alive, make no mistake,” she teased.

They exchanged a warm smile, then Brianna pried open the box. Luc hoped against hope that she would find some missive from her mother there.

But the pair caught their breath as one at the treasure revealed. ’Twas marvelous, far more beautiful than Luc could ever have expected.

The Rose of Tullymullagh.

’Twas a crucifix wrought of amber and set in gold, of a size that would nestle easily in Luc’s flattened hand. Two rounded golden stones made each short arm, four equally large formed the long. Amethysts and pearls shone throughout the setting, and at the juncture where the arms met lay a ruby.

A blood red ruby the size of a man’s thumb. ’Twas wondrously made, the craftsmanship superb, and Luc was awed that any man could be granted such a gift of kings.

Brianna touched the gem with trembling fingers and Luc heard her tears. “My sire was killed for this,” she whispered unevenly.

“Nay!” He closed his hands over hers, his tone prompting her to meet his gaze. “Your sire was granted this,” Luc corrected firmly. “As a token of esteem from an elderly couple who loved him as their very own. That is how and only how you must think of this prize.”

Brianna smiled through the mist of her tears and ran her hand over the amber. “I do like that tale better.” She traced the setting around the ruby with a fingertip. “They must have cared for him deeply.”

“As he cared for you.” Luc assured his lady. “Your sire wanted to ensure you had it as your own, no doubt that ’twould become an heirloom to be prized.” Brianna glanced up at him once more and Luc smiled. “Though indeed, its symbolism of that love is the more powerful legacy.”

Brianna held Luc’s gaze long and slowly her sadness
eased. Luc glanced to the box, yet within her hands, and frowned at a glimpse of parchment. “Look! There is something else beneath it.”

Brianna looked in turn, her tiny fingers trembling as she unfolded not one, but two sheets of vellum. The ink was faded, but still the script stretched from edge to edge, and ’twas clearly from an educated hand. She turned the fragile pieces in her hands, scanning them with evident anticipation.

And Brianna crowed with delight when she found what she sought.

“Luc! ’Tis signed by my dame!” She turned shining eyes upon him, and he smiled at her delight. “These are letters in her hand to my father!” Brianna shook her head and surveyed the contents of the box once again. “I never would have expected to have such a treasure, let alone the Rose of Tullymullagh itself.”

“Nay,” Luc corrected quietly. When Brianna looked at him in confusion, Luc grinned. “The Rose of Tullymullagh,” he murmured with intent, “is mine alone.” Brianna giggled as Luc bent and kissed that very rose so thoroughly that she could giggle no more.

’Twas no laughing matter for a man to claim his lady’s heart for his very own.

No less to grant her the custody of his heart in exchange.