The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (9 page)

“And
he agreed to this?” Madeline asked.

“Of
course.” Rhys held her gaze. “No man of merit strikes his lady wife, for any
reason.” A little of the stiffness seemed to ease from her shoulders. “The
mortal man agreed to the father’s demand, seeing no reason why he would so
abuse his beautiful bride. And so they were wed, and so they had sons, and good
fortune, and bountiful crops and many sheep to call their own. It was said by
all his neighbors that the man had been blessed indeed on the day that he wed
this bride.”

Rhys
sipped of his ale, aware that Madeline had eaten nothing and had had little to
drink. Her hand seemed to tremble within his own, as if he had snared a wild
bird, and when she pulled her hand this time, he released his grip. Did she
understand that he meant to reassure her with this tale?

“That
cannot be the end of their tale,” Vivienne charged.

“Far
from it, for there was an oddity about the man’s fairy wife. Perhaps because
she was immortal, perhaps because she had a touch of the Sight, they tended to
disagree on occasion. First, she laughed at a funeral, laughed with such gusto
that her husband felt compelled to tap her on the shoulder and demand that she
be quiet. She fell silent for a moment, and then she said ‘That would be the
first strike’. The man was appalled by what he had done, and he resolved to be
more careful in future.”

“But
he was not,” Elizabeth guessed.

“She
wept at a wedding,” Rhys agreed with a nod. “Wept as if all the merit of the
world were lost in the forming of this union. And the people gathered there
looked askance at her manner, and the man finally lost his temper. He tapped
his wife on the shoulder and bade her be quiet. She fell silent for a moment,
and then she said ‘That would be the second strike’. And she did not speak to
him for days, for she loved him as much as he loved her, and she feared that he
would compel them to separate for all eternity. Matters went well for a number
of years, their sons grew ever taller, and their sheep more numerous.”

“And
then?” Vivienne demanded.

“And
then?” Elizabeth asked.

“And
then a child was drowned in the very lake from which the fairy woman had come.
It was a child known well by the couple, a lovely child greeted with fondness
at every door. But when the truth was learned, and the people gathered at the
shore of the lake where the child’s body had been found, the fairy wife sang.
She did not sing a funeral dirge, she sang a song of joy, as if there was a
matter to celebrate instead one to mourn.

“As
the people turned from her in disgust, her husband grew impatient yet again. He
tapped her on the shoulder, told her that the song was not fitting, and bade
her be quiet. She fell silent for a moment, and then she said ‘That would the
third strike’. She kissed her sons and caressed her husband’s cheek, and then
she walked into the water. She disappeared beneath the surface, lost to him for
all time, deaf apparently to his weeping entreaties. And so they were parted,
just as the fairy king had foretold.”

Both
girls looked disappointed with this ending, but Rhys lifted a finger, for he
was not done. “But it is said that she never forgot her sons or her beloved.
Some people say that she would return to that stone on moonlit nights, that she
would meet her husband there, and they would sit, an arm’s length apart, and
talk. Others say that she visited her sons in their dreams, and that she
imparted all her knowledge of healing herbs to them. They became a family of
famed physicians, who still can be found beside that lake, to this very day.”

Vivienne
sighed with satisfaction. “What fortune you have, Madeline, to wed a man who
can tell a tale so well.”

“And
one descended from fairies!” Elizabeth enthused.

Rhys
glanced down the table and thought he could supply the endorsements of the
other two sisters. Annelise had been reassured by his insistence that Alexander
not repeat this foolery of an auction, while Isabella seemed content that Rhys
and his bid had been responsible for a wedding.

Madeline
alone remained unpersuaded of his merit. Rhys had charmed the sisters, but not
his bride.

“I
think it a sad tale,” she said with disapproval, her hands folded tightly
together in her lap.

His
bad fortune, it appeared, had not fully changed. But Rhys, like the man in his
own tale, did not surrender the challenge of winning his lady’s desire so
readily as that.

* * *

Chapter Three

Madeline
thought she might scream in her impatience to be gone. It seemed to take the
assembly half the night to tire of Tynan’s wine and ale. Madeline contrived to
hide every sign of her desire to flee.

Rhys
did not speak to her directly again, but the heat of his thigh was close to her
own and she could fairly hear him listening to her breath. Though he glanced
across the hall, apparently unconcerned with her, Madeline knew that she held
his complete attention.

It
was more than disconcerting.

Worse,
since his tale of the water fairy, Elizabeth and Vivienne appeared to be
charmed by Rhys. Isabella, who always favored a celebration over quieter
moments, anticipated the wedding with glee. Even Annelise, who was slow to take
a liking to strangers, looked upon Rhys with favor since he had insisted that Alexander
not auction more of the sisters.

Only
Madeline seemed to have eyes left in her head, or wits between her ears. She
would flee, she would flee so far that they would never hear tell of her again.

“Are
you well, Madeline?” Vivienne asked for what must have been the seventh time.
“You are so quiet this night.”

Knowing
full well that Rhys listened to their conversation, Madeline wished her sister
could have let the matter be. “I am always so demure,” she said with a
sweetness that should have warned her sister.

Instead,
Vivienne laughed. “You? I should think not!”

Madeline
grit her teeth and kicked her sister beneath the table. Vivienne kicked her
back, hard enough to leave a bruise upon her shin.

“How
amusing you are, Vivienne,” Madeline said firmly. “We all know that I am the
quiet one of the family.”

Vivienne,
blissfully oblivious to the message Madeline was trying to send, giggled so
hard that she could barely speak. “You? You talk more than all of us put
together! Remember how our old nursemaid used to say as much?”

“I
have forgotten the chatter of that madwoman,” Madeline said firmly.

“How
could you? She was the one who said that you had boldness enough for all eight
of us and to spare!”

Elizabeth
hooted. “Remember when she tried to gag you to make you silent for a morning?”

Madeline
felt her color rise at Rhys’ sidelong glance. “I do not recall.”

“How
could you forget? Truly, Madeline, you are not yourself this night.” To
Madeline’s disgust, her sister tapped Rhys upon the arm as if they were old comrades.
“She must be simply astonished, sir.”

“This
night’s circumstance is certainly an uncommon one,” Rhys acknowledged.

Vivienne
smiled. “Oh, but I assure you that my sister is always more vivacious than
this. She is practical, but also outspoken. You can rely upon Madeline, sir, to
tell you her thoughts but also to be of aid.”

“Vivienne!”

Rhys
sipped of his ale and Madeline could have sworn that he smiled. “There is
nothing akin to the teasing of a sister,” he said so softly that Vivienne could
not hear him.

Madeline
was surprised to find his tone of rueful affection such a perfect echo of her
thoughts. “You must have sisters yourself.”

A
shadow touched his face and Madeline found herself intrigued. “Four I had,
once,” he admitted and looked away.

“How
can you not have such sisters any longer?”

Rhys
stared across the hall for a long moment, as if he had not heard her. “They are
all dead, my lady.”

Madeline
was shocked. He said nothing more, but his grim countenance was enough to tear
at her heart. “I am sorry.”

“As
am I.” He brushed his fingertips across her hand and Madeline felt a warmth in
her belly, though whether it was due to his gentle touch or his confession, she
could not say. She felt a flush stain her cheeks and dropped her gaze to hide
her awareness of him.

Then
she wondered whether his confession was truth, or a falsehood intended to
soften her resistance to him.

Vivienne
was suddenly attentive again, as if sensing that she had missed something.

“Perhaps
I am slightly more quiet than usual,” Madeline said, “because I have never
experienced the eve of my own wedding afore.”

Vivienne
sobered at that. “Oh, but you must not fret about the morrow, Madeline. You
will be the most beauteous bride that Ravensmuir has ever seen, I know it well,
even if Uncle Tynan does not see fit to surrender more pearls for the hem of
your kirtle. The blue samite suits you so well. Rosamunde speaks rightly when
she says all will be perfect.”

Madeline
bit her tongue lest she comment that the appearance of her wedding day was not
uppermost in her concerns. It was her intent, after all, to let Rhys believe
her amenable to this folly.

“Then
I am reassured,” she said stiffly. She took a sip of her ale lest she say more.

“You,
the quiet one,” Vivienne murmured, then shook her head. “I should tell
Alexander of that jest.”

“Perhaps
it is concern with wedding a stranger that has stolen the lady’s tongue,” Rhys
suggested.

Madeline
felt her color rise that her fear had been so clearly identified, no less that
it had been so named by the one who should have known her least of all.

“No
less a stranger of such dark repute,” Rhys amended and Madeline knew she
flushed crimson.

Vivienne’s
eyes widened. “Is there truly a price upon your head?” she asked with an
admiration that was certainly undeserved.

Rhys
only nodded.

“Of
course, you are unjustly condemned,” Vivienne said with conviction. “And the
king will pardon you and beg your forgiveness and it will be as romantic as an
old tale. Rosamunde knows you, after all!”

That
Rosamunde knew all manners of scoundrels and rogues made this endorsement less
compelling than Madeline would have preferred.

Vivienne
chattered on, much enamored of the tale she wove. “Perhaps Madeline will even
have to ride to the king’s court to beg his clemency.”

Elizabeth
shivered in delight. “Would that not be a marvel?”

Rhys
seemed to be fighting that smile again.

“It
might be folly.” Madeline could not keep silent any longer.

Vivienne
frowned. “How so?”

“Perhaps
the king has named the crime rightly.”

“Perhaps
he has,” Rhys agreed so easily that the matter could not particularly concern
him.

“Then
it would scarcely be sensible to not feel some trepidation in wedding such a
man,” Madeline said more sharply than she had intended, then struggled to
compose herself. “Might we discuss some other matter? The rain, perhaps?”

“It
rains, as always it does in spring,” Vivienne said dismissively, then leaned
toward Rhys again. “Are you guilty of treason, sir?”

“Vivienne!”

“Surely
you desire to know the truth of it?” Vivienne asked with scorn that one sister
reserves solely for another. “You are to wed the man, after all.”

Madeline
bit her tongue so that she did not insult her spouse. She felt him watching her
and feigned a fascination with her napkin. His gaze was so intent that she
feared he had guessed her plan to flee.

“Perhaps
the lady is unconvinced that I will surrender the truth,” Rhys said with care.
“To tell a falsehood would be a much lesser crime than treason, after all.”

Vivienne
looked much impressed by this reasoning, though Madeline fought to hide her
surprise. How could this stranger guess her thoughts so readily, when her
entire family seemed unable to comprehend her?

“A
traitor in our very ranks,” Vivienne said, again showing unnecessary awe. “But
why was the charge made against you? Do you mean to unseat the king? Will you
be captured in the night and dragged to the gallows?”

Rhys’
eyes narrowed slightly. “You need not fear for your sister’s safety in my
company. As for the accusations against me, I have found that a dangerous
repute keeps wolves from one’s door.”

“How
reassuring,” Madeline said, and took a quaff of ale. Vivienne turned to answer
some query from Alexander and Madeline bristled beneath the full weight of
Rhys’ attention.

* * *

“Are you fearful?” Rhys asked so quietly that none could hear him save Madeline
herself. She was irked that he should be the one to show her compassion and
found anger claiming her tongue, despite her intent to be demure.