The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (14 page)

Tynan
had offered as much, and he knew full well what she had read between the lines
of their agreement. He had offered her heart’s desire, then snatched it away
for the sake of convention.

Rosamunde
would have her vengeance, to be sure. She might not share blood with her foster
father, Gawain, but she alone had claimed the legacy of the man who had been
the greatest thief in Christendom. She alone had begged Gawain to teach her his
cunning tricks, his means of deception, his art of thievery.

Tynan
might believe that his legacy was secure, but Rosamunde knew that legacies were
as oft stolen as inherited by law.

* * *

The
prospect of throttling Rosamunde offered more pleasure to Tynan than many
responsibilities he had faced of late.

The
sole exception was the night they had just spent entangled together. He had
known himself to be a knave of the worst order in deceiving her, but Rosamunde
was a madness within his very veins. He could not sleep, even knowing that she
was within the walls of Ravensmuir.

He
dared not let her guess how close he had come to swearing off Ravensmuir simply
to have her by his side. Had she not invited that traitor to the auction, he
might have lost his wits utterly.

The
solution was clear: Rosamunde had to leave. Tynan had to think clearly, for
matters grew complicated. The Red Douglas family and the Black Douglas family
grew ever more aggressive in their pursuit of power - and Ravensmuir was
directly in the middle of their ancestral lands. He would have to choose sides
soon, and he would probably have to secure that choice with a marriage.

It
would best be his own.

Tynan
did not have to like the truth of it. Even then, Ravensmuir would likely be
assaulted by the side he had not chosen, but at least he would have allies to
aid in its defense. He could not permit the destruction of his family abode -
Rosamunde would never understand his commitment to what she oft called a pile
of old stones, but Tynan could not deny it.

Nor
could he deny his sense of responsibility to his forebears. It was not sweet to
forgo the desires of his heart. There was a heavy stone in his chest that
seemed to grow larger the more vehemently he pushed Rosamunde away from his
side.

It
would be easier for both of them if she left Ravensmuir and never returned.

The
knock came again. Tynan swore, then shouted. “Enter!”

The
portal opened slowly. Tynan crossed the floor and hauled open the door so
abruptly that Alexander fairly tumbled into the chamber.

The
young man’s gaze flew from Tynan to Rosamunde, who had indeed displayed herself
like a courtesan, and he flushed scarlet. He stammered in the attempt to say
whatsoever he had come to say, his gaze remaining fixed upon Tynan’s face as
his own face grew more ruddy.

Curse
Rosamunde!

“What
is it? What ails you, Alexander?” Tynan forced himself to recall that Alexander
had seen five-and-twenty summers. He seemed so much younger than he was only
because Roland had indulged him overmuch.

But
then, what man could guess that he would die young?

“It
is James. He is here!”

Tynan
did not recognize the name. “James? Who is James?”

“Madeline’s
betrothed,” Rosamunde said tartly. “How like you to forget such a bond.”

Alexander
glanced to his aunt and nodded. “James is returned from France and comes to
claim Madeline’s hand. His father accompanies him, and there is much hustle to
make arrangements for the steeds and squires, seeing as the stables are so
full.”

“It
seems matters resolve themselves well.” Tynan granted Rosamunde an arch glance,
not hiding that he was pleased indeed with these tidings.

“Indeed,
what need to worry what Madeline desires,” Rosamunde said bitterly, then
strolled to the women’s chamber. The scent of her perfume lingered in his
chamber, tempting Tynan and doubtless informing any who might enter of her
presence the previous night. There was not a soul with perfume as exotic as
Rosamunde.

“But
what of the coin, Uncle Tynan?” Alexander demanded with some anxiety. “I shall
have to return Rhys FitzHenry’s coin to him if he does not wed Madeline, and
the castellan yet insists that Kinfairlie’s harvest will be poor.”

“You
will have one less to feed in the hall next winter, if nothing else,” Tynan
said. “And James’ family might be persuaded to pay a bride price. He has, after
all, taken overlong to return to wed Madeline and some compense could well be
expected for the insult.” He laid a hand upon Alexander’s shoulder. “I shall
see what can be done.”

Of
course, Tynan should have guessed that with Rosamunde involved, nothing would
be simply resolved. She returned slowly, swinging her hips as she strolled down
the corridor and he had a feeling that she brought unwelcome news.

“Madeline
is gone,” she said with no small pleasure.

Tynan
almost made an accusation he would have regretted, for Rosamunde had appointed
herself to guard the maidenly virtues of her nieces the night before.
Rosamunde’s sharp glance reminded him that he alone was responsible for her
abandoning her vigil.

Alexander
glanced between them. “But where could she have gone?”

“She
might be in the hall, or the kitchen,” Tynan suggested.

“Madeline
never would descend alone to a hall full of men,” Alexander said.

“Not
while they were awake, at least,” Rosamunde said. “She might well have fled.
She is a woman of uncommon confidence, after all, and she had cause to be
displeased with both of you last evening.”

“Fled?”
Alexander stepped back. “She has never traveled alone! She has no weapons. She
could be in peril!”

“If
she is gone, we will pursue her, of course,” Rosamunde said.

“Begin
a search of the entire keep,” Tynan instructed his castellan, who arrived just
then. “My niece Madeline is not in her bed.” The castellan nodded and darted to
his task.

“You
will not find her.” Rosamunde cast off her robe as she crossed the chamber. The
silk chemise clung lovingly to her curves, though her manner was far from
seductive. “Tell this James to be prepared to ride within moments. I shall lead
the hunt.”

“You?”
Tynan asked.

She
granted him a contemptuous glance that he knew he deserved. “Of course. You
could not be expected to leave Ravensmuir.”

“But
what about me?” Alexander demanded. “I will go! It would be my fault if any
harm came to her.”

“You
may come if you desire. I will pursue Madeline either way.” Rosamunde sat on
the far side of the pillared bed and donned chausses that had been made for her
in the manner of men’s garb. Few men though had chausses wrought of such fine
leather as these.

“Perhaps
you should go,” Tynan said, his thoughts upon Rosamunde’s safety as well. “You
began this trouble, and it makes sense to me that the two of you should see it
resolved. I will ensure Kinfairlie’s security in your absence.”

Alexander
straightened. “We shall need fast horses.”

“We
will have six black destriers, the finest stallions from Ravensmuir’s stables,”
Rosamunde interjected crisply. She laced a fur-lined black tabard over her
chemise, its surface graced with golden embroidery. She had donned her black
boots and hefted her fur-lined cloak over her arm.

Tynan
regarded her in astonishment at this command, no less when she smiled sadly.

“That
is the price of being rid of me forever, Tynan, and we know you desire no
less,” she said. She brushed past him without another word, without a parting
caress, without a backward glance.

The
stone in his chest became so heavy that it fairly took him to his knees. Tynan
understood then that Rosamunde would never return to Ravensmuir, that she would
never grace his bed or laugh in his hall again. Though he had demanded as much
of her, the prospect was more grim than ever he might have imagined. He
supposed that he would have years to grow accustomed to her absence.

“Is
something amiss, uncle?” Alexander asked.

Tynan
gripped the younger man’s shoulder. “Prepare yourself to ride, Alexander, for I
doubt that Rosamunde will delay her departure for any man.”

* * *

In
the end, they were six, upon those stallions Rosamunde had demanded. Rosamunde
led the company, and was joined by the sole remaining man of her crew, one
Padraig who wore a golden earring and said little. Alexander rode with them, as
did James. Vivienne demanded that she be permitted to ensure the welfare of her
closest sister - though Tynan suspected the girl wished solely to participate
in a quest reminiscent of an old tale.

There
remained but one steed without a rider when Elizabeth insisted that she be
allowed to be the sixth. Tynan was inclined to deny her, though he had always
had a weakness for the girl’s charm. He argued that she was too young, at only
twelve summers.

Elizabeth
flushed crimson but lifted her chin and informed him that she was old enough to
be wedded and bear babes of her own, a detail he would have preferred to have
lived without but one whose truth could not be denied. She also declared that
the spriggan accompanied them, dangling as it did in the horses’ tails, and
that she was the sole one who could see the creature.

Even
Tynan could not find an argument against that, though he bade Alexander take
great care with his sisters.

In
a trice, the party was gone, the steeds fairly flying through Ravensmuir’s
gates, their ebony tails flowing like dark banners. Tynan watched until the
dust of the road swallowed their silhouettes, but his beloved never so much as
glanced back.

* * *

In
the same moment that Ravensmuir was roused to seek Madeline, she lay on the
moor far to the south of that keep. The mercenary atop her did not move.

Indeed,
Kerr did not make a sound.

His
was a curious manner of assault. Madeline opened her eyes cautiously, for still
she was trapped beneath him, cold mud against her cheek and chest. She
listened, but Kerr did not seem to breathe.

Something
warm trickled onto her throat. Madeline touched it and found vivid red blood
smeared across her flesh. She yelped and recoiled and Kerr shifted. She glanced
over her shoulder in fear of his retaliation.

Kerr’s
eyes were wide open. He stared into the distance unblinkingly. There was a
knife lodged in his throat, a knife clearly responsible for the blood that
flowed over her.

Kerr
had not assaulted her, because he was dead.

There
was a dead man atop her, and it was his warm blood that flowed over her own
skin.

Madeline’s
composure abandoned her utterly. A horrible choking sound came from her throat.
She struggled beneath the weight of the corpse in a panic, wanting only to flee
as far as possible. She began to weep when she could not dislodge Kerr’s body
from atop her, though her frenzy seemed only to embed her more deeply in the
mud.

“Do
not scream,” Rhys commanded. His words were so stern and her astonishment at
his presence so complete that Madeline froze, trembling. “We shall never find
the horses if you do, my lady. They are sufficiently frightened already.”

Madeline
gasped as Kerr was hauled from her back. Rhys removed the knife from the man’s
throat and matter-of-factly slit Kerr’s throat more thoroughly. He kicked the
corpse aside, wiped his blade and replaced it in its scabbard, then offered
Madeline his gloved hand. All of this he achieved with a familiar competence
that Madeline found both reassuring and somewhat troubling.

She
swallowed her scream with an effort, though she could barely summon a word to
her lips in her shock. “You, you...”

“I
can throw a knife well enough, it appears.” Rhys spoke so calmly that he might
have been admitting an affection for ale. He reached down and seized her hand
when she did not immediately accept his aid. He pulled her to her feet with a
sure gesture and held her hands fast within his own.

He
was dressed as afore all in garb of darkest midnight and his manner was stern.
The leather of his gloves was thick but had softened with use and taken the
shape of his hand, a strong hand that she could feel gripping her own. Madeline
found herself grateful for his steady support.

Rhys
gave her a hard look. “Are you injured?”

Madeline’s
mouth worked, and she realized that she was quivering to her very marrow. She
shook her head when words failed her and Rhys appeared to be relieved. She
fought to compose herself.

Surely
the man deserved no less for aiding her in such a timely fashion?

Her
gaze fell upon the dead man, and she shuddered again even as she looked away.
“How oft have you slit a man’s throat?”