Claire Delacroix (67 page)

And ponder it, Burke did.

He stared after Alys, stunned that his pursuit could have gone so amiss. Stolen kisses and ready compliments had won the affections of more than one lady in Burke’s experience.

Trust Alys to be immune to his charm.

Burke scowled and kicked at the stones in the bailey, glowering
at his surroundings. Curse his facile tongue for abandoning him in a moment of need! All would have come aright if he had been able to summon the right words, but Burke had not been able to see beyond Alys’s many charms.

And he knew that two graceful insteps and the sweet softness of her kiss would not satisfy those three qualifications for his love. Alys spoke aright—she was not a tower to be besieged but a quest that proved most challenging to win.

Even as Burke paced the stables, another knight rode far, far to the east of Kiltorren. His party closed upon Warwick, a last stop before returning to Normandy, the keep’s silhouette rising against the darkness of the sea. The sun was sinking low in the west, the first stars beginning to twinkle overhead.

Millard de Villonne doffed his helmet and let the warm breeze ruffle his hair. He deliberately dropped back from the group of knights, abandoning the rumble of their conversation, as he tipped back his head to study those stars.

He needed a moment to call his own, a moment to face his disappointment. His nephew looked after him, but Millard deliberately ignored the boy.

Yet again Millard had gone abroad, yet again he had sought some glimpse of the woman who still held his heart. Yet again Millard had found naught of her. Each time his feet touched upon a new shore, his hope was rekindled and his love seemed to burn with a new flame. This time had been no different—either in that kindling or the fact that he had found naught of his lady.

Millard closed his eyes, the starlight an unbearably vivid reminder of one magical night, a night some twenty years in the past.

She had whispered to him that night as they lay together and watched the stars wheel overhead, and he could still hear the soft conviction of her words. She had confided, with the
trust of a young first love, that a world with such marvels as those stars could only be a perfect place.

A lump rose in Millard’s throat at the recollection, for their world had proven far less than perfect.

Millard had never imagined, especially not that night while he was caught in the fullness of the lady’s love, that he would live out his days alone. He had never imagined that the starlight would grant his last glimpse of his lady, that the dawn would steal her away from his side.

Forever.

Millard frowned and forced his eyes open, determined not to dwell upon his loss, and did so just in time to see a star shoot across the heavens.

Like an impulsive child, he dared to wish upon it.

Millard wished with all his heart that he would find some hint of his Isibeal’s fate, some sign of what had become of her. No less, he wished for that sign before he returned once more to the hollow echo of his own massive hall.

’Twas nonsense, yet just the act of wishing made Millard feel younger than he had these many years. ’Twas unlike him to be impulsive, unlike him to indulge in foolishness.

Perhaps his lady love was closer than he thought. Isibeal had been a great one for whimsy. Millard shook his head at that and gave his steed his spurs, bracing himself for his nephew’s anxious and irritating demands.

Nay, Millard’s world was a far cry from perfect.

’Twas best he reconcile himself to the truth of it.

By the evening repast, Burke had devised his new line of attack. Alys had, after all, told him that the truth of a man’s character lay in his deeds.

’Twould be deeds then she would witness in plenty.

“Burke!” Deirdre cooed when he first set foot in the hall. “I have not laid eyes upon you all of this day.” She hastened to
his side, casting a sharp glance to Malvina. That girl smiled and scampered to Burke’s other side. Deirdre laughed, the sound high and false. “Indeed, I feared you had abandoned our hospitality.”

Burke saw his opening and did not intend to waste it. He looked to the lady of the keep and let his eyes narrow. “Indeed, I must admit I had considered it.”

“What?” Malvina choked.

“What?” Deirdre squawked. “You said you came to Kiltorren for a bride. You have yet to choose either of my daughters!”

“Aye, but matters here have changed, and I must reconsider my position.”

Burke seated himself at the board and—intent on letting Deirdre panic as long as possible—smiled a greeting at shy Brigid. She was already seated, though she said naught to him. Her eyes widened at this fleeting attention, then she went back to staring at her entangled hands.

“Reconsider?” Deirdre repeated, looking most distressed.

Cedric made his entry at that point, booming a greeting to one and all. “Ah, Burke! You join us again. Deirdre was most concerned about you.”

“So she has said,” Burke acknowledged.

Deirdre crossed the floor and seized her husband’s elbow. That man looked alarmed when she nearly dragged him toward Burke, no less when her voice dropped to a hiss. “He means to reconsider his suit,” she confided. “For once in your life,
do
something!”

Cedric granted his wife a surprisingly harsh look and she flushed slightly. Then he coughed, smoothed his tabard, frowned, went to the board, and took his seat. The women hastily dropped into their places, Deirdre all ears. The wine was poured, the meat and bread served. Burke decided, for the moment, to leave the issue of Alys’s attendance aside.

Indeed, his plan should see all set to rights.

Finally Cedric looked to Burke when it seemed he had no other options for delay. “Why would you reconsider?”

Burke smiled, nodding when a servant offered him a chalice of wine. He acted supremely unconcerned, knowing full well that it would drive Deirdre to a frenzy. She was already tapping her fingers upon the board with impatience.

’Twas a kind of vengeance, Burke thought, for all that woman had done to Alys.

“I must think of progeny,” he said carefully.

“Both of my daughters are young and healthy,” Deirdre asserted. She snapped her fingers. “Stand up, girls, turn around! We shall call a physician, if need be, to satisfy your concerns.”

“Mother!” Malvina protested, Brigid naturally so appalled at the very idea that she was scarlet-faced and silent.

But Burke frowned in thought. “ ’Tis not what troubles me,” he confessed, waiting until the whole family leaned closer. “I worry that there may be a taint in the lineage of Kiltorren, a weakness that could pass to my own sons.”

“Alys!” Deirdre muttered through gritted teeth.

Burke looked up, as if surprised. “Nay, Alys seems to be the only one spared of this trouble.”

All four looked blank.

“What do you mean?” Cedric asked, Deirdre’s piercing glance no doubt prompting his question.

“ ’Tis most odd, for there seems no good reason for the ailment at all.” Burke scanned the hall at his leisure, as if he sought the proper words, knowing that the entire family hung on his every breath. “Has your family ever been cursed?”

Cedric frowned, but Deirdre shook her head. She fired a glance at her spouse and he shook his head in turn.

“Has any forebear died unshriven?”

They shook their heads in unison, their expressions perplexed.

“Heretics in the family?” Nay again, much as Burke had
suspected. “Pagans? Any who broke a pledge before the Lord?” They were completely puzzled by this point, but Burke leaned back and fingered his chin like a man powerfully concerned. “Yet there ’tis, all the same. Most troubling.”

And he began his meal.

“There
WHAT
is?” Deirdre demanded shrilly. “What is it that you see?”

Burke glanced up, considering each of them in turn. “ ’Tis astonishing that you all are completely unaware of it,” he murmured, knowing full well they all would hear his words. “Nay, it can be no good omen.”

They waited with bated breath.

Burke sipped his wine, then set his chalice down firmly. “Perhaps I erred in coming to Kiltorren,” he pronounced. “Perhaps I should not have sought a bride here.”

“Nay!” Deirdre cried. “There can be no mistake, there is no mistake. You have but to tell us of our omission and we shall see it set to rights, I grant to you my word.”

Burke shook his head. “Nay, it cannot be fixed so readily as that.”

“We shall see it repaired, whatever it is!” Deirdre insisted.

“Aye, your will shall be done!” Cedric assured Burke. He patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Any matter of import between men of honor can be resolved.”

Burke tried to look surprised. “Indeed? You would endeavor to set my concerns at ease?”

“Of course!” Cedric boomed. “You have but to tell us of the trouble.”

Burke toyed with his food, admitting in his heart just how much he was enjoying this. ’Twas doubly pleasing in that it might benefit Alys.

He sighed, then slanted a glance to Cedric, lowering his voice as he leaned toward that man. “I am concerned at the import of a family that shuns their own blood.”

Cedric blinked. “We shun no one.”

A flicker of anger lit within Burke that they still could not see their omission, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Indeed? And I had thought Alys your niece.”

“Alys!” Deirdre laughed in her relief and sat back. “Alys hardly counts!”

Burke frowned at his trencher and pushed it away. ’Twas no lie that he had lost his appetite. “You see?” he murmured to Cedric, not managing to veil the anger in his tone. “There ’tis again.”

Cedric’s eyes widened in alarm. “It is true that the child is blood,” he admitted heavily. “But—but …”

“But she requests the labor,” Deirdre interjected.

“She expects it,” Malvina added.

“Indeed, Alys understands that ’tis only fitting she toil to earn her keep within Kiltorren,” Deirdre said. “ ’Twas beyond good of us to take her in, and the girl understands the cost of that. ’Tis her willing contribution to the prosperity of the keep.”

Burke was stunned that the woman could make such arguments without hesitation.

The very fact made him burn with fury to see Alys’s circumstance changed. “ ’Tis unfitting for a child of the house to labor like a serf—and yet more unfitting that none of you finds the matter troubling.”

Burke shoved to his feet as they stared at him in stunned silence, and his words were briskly spoken. “ ’Tis clear I erred in coming to Kiltorren. My apologies for wasting your hospitality.” He bowed to his host and hostess. “I shall leave at first light.”

Of course Burke had no intention of doing any such thing, at least not without his Alys—who admittedly seemed somewhat disinclined to accompany him as yet.

But the family of Kiltorren did not even guess his true intent.

Burke made it halfway across the floor before most of the shocked foursome behind him leapt to their feet.

“Wait!” Deirdre cried.

“Aye, halt,” Cedric echoed.

“Do not leave me, Burke,” Malvina cried.

Deirdre found her feet when Burke hesitated, and she fairly flew across the floor to his side. Her features were drawn with anxiety, her smile that of one eager to please.

“I must thank you,” she declared breathlessly. “You are right, we have been wrong. I cannot imagine how we failed to see our error! We shall restore Alys to her rightful position. Please, sir, will you reconsider your departure?”

Burke barely managed to hide his smile of satisfaction. He frowned deeply to cover his response and scanned the four hopeful faces. “I do not know. ’Tis so unseemly …”

“I shall cease Alys’s labor,” Deirdre promised. “Save as a maid, of course.”

Burke arched a brow and that woman recanted.

“Of course you speak aright. She shall have only such duties as are fitting.”

“Duties like Malvina’s,” Burke suggested softly.

Hatred flashed through Deirdre’s eyes. She smiled hastily, though the light of her smile did not reach her eyes. “Duties such as Malvina’s,” she agreed through teeth Burke guessed were gritted.