The Warrior Bride (29 page)

The tiny girl stumbled forth on wooden legs. Lord Robert lifted her onto his lap, where she sat stiff as a spear and stared up at him with eyes as round as guinea eggs.

He smiled down at her, then lifted his gaze as his sister urged Catherine toward a high stool.

The girl’s pink mouth was pursed, but she did as told.

Climbing reluctantly onto her perch, she pushed her hands rapidly beneath the table, then turned to glare at Rhona.

“I trust you have become acquainted with my dear sister,” said the marquis.

Rhona pulled her attention from the girl. “Yes, my lord,” she said, and turned her gaze toward the elder woman.

The other lowered her eyes demurely and lovingly stroked Catherine’s hair. Fine and long, it gleamed red in the candlelight, but the girl’s mouth remained pursed, and her eyes smoldered.

“Lady Irvette is baroness of Hanstone,” said the marquis and set Edwina on her feet. The girl scurried like a field mouse over to her high chair, then scrambled onto the seat and rolled her eyes from one adult to the other while Colette hurried forward to fit a wooden tray into its place in front of her.

“Learn what you can from her,” Robert suggested to Rhona, “for I fear she will soon be leaving us.”

“You needn’t worry immediately,” murmured Irvette, glancing with concern at Colette’s progress with the tray. “I am planning to stay a bit longer.”

Edwina’s round eyes got rounder, but Catherine’s expression remained unchanged.

“Indeed?” said Lord Robert. “And to what do we owe this privilege, sister?”

“To Catherine,” Irvette said, and smiled reassuringly at the girl. “It seems she is not yet prepared for me to leave.”

“Ahh,” said the marquis, and motioned to Reeves for the first course.

And so the meal began, but Catherine refused to eat, Lady Irvette barely spoke, and the marquis rambled on about wines and spices and the time he had spent at court.

The dining hall was large and well furnished. A host of ancient weapons adorned one wall. Rhona did her best not to admire them, but it would seem so much better to hold one in her hand and challenge all corners than to sit here in silence and try to untangle the nuances that flowed around her like spoiled wine. Was there a reason for her presence there, or was this naught but a waste of time?

After supper, the baroness insisted on taking the girls to bed herself, thus Rhona was left alone with the nobleman. He was richly dressed in a scarlet doublet with slashed sleeves. His tunic was the color of the evening sky. It too bore the stylish slashes, and about his neck he wore a heavy pendant of gold. He smiled over his goblet at her.

“How refreshing it is to have a maid like yourself at my table,” he said.

Rhona lowered her gaze to the pewter plate she’d just used. Claronfell, it seemed, spared no expenses on its guests. “You are too kind, my lord.”

He relinquished his wine and leaned closer as if to share a secret none other was privy to. “My sister is a boon with the children, but what with the sadness of the past several months…” He sighed. “She does not lighten the gloom as you do.”

“She seems a godly person.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” he agreed and, smiling, reached for her hand. “Perhaps you would like a tour of the gardens.”

“‘Tis kind of you to offer,” she said and, tugging her fingers carefully from his, rose to her feet. “But it has been a long day, my lord. Perhaps I should bid your daughters good night and find my own bed.”

He chuckled as he stood up.

Irritation rippled up her neck, but she had carefully replaced her dirk in its place in her girdle. It was allowed, after all, since even Claronfell did not supply its diners with knives. “Why do you laugh, my lord?”

“Simple pleasure, I suppose,” he said, and raised his hand palm up to indicate that she should proceed him from the room. “I hope you do not resent me for enjoying your presence.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

“After all, you are quite a surprise.”

She passed him, finding there was little room between him and the table, so that her skirt brushed his legs. “A surprise? How so?”

“Well, unless I forgot, your father is not a handsome man.”

She scowled and he laughed again.

“No need to look so uncertain, my dear. I am but saying that you are quite striking. Not beautiful exactly, but…” He paused. “Handsome. Like the warrior queens of yore.”

She stared and he chuckled again.

“You needn’t look so worried. I am not about to devour you, child.”

“Nay. Of course not,” she said.

He sighed. “Mayhap you have heard rumors of my… reputation.”

She said nothing.

“I do not deny that I was not always…” He paused again, searching for words. “I was not the perfect husband,” he said. “But I cherished my wife, and she me, I think.”

“I am certain she did, my lord.”

He smiled warmly, as if lulled by her assurances.

“You will find Edwina in the nursery,” he said, and stopped as he swung open a heavy timbered door.

Inside, the room was as black as pitch, but for the light the marquis lifted high. The tiny girl snatched her finger from her mouth and lay huddled alone in bed. She looked no larger than a hare with her eyes gleaming in the candlelight and her knuckles white as she clutched her blanket to her chin. She said nothing. Indeed, if she could speak at all, Rhona had no proof of it. Then again, mayhap she was too young to have learned the Gaelic. The enormity of Rhona’s ignorance suddenly came crashing in on her, but Lord Turpin was staring, so she crossed the room and awkwardly patted the girl’s shiny head.

“Good night, Edwina.”

There was no response, but Lord Robert seemed unperturbed. His candlelight flickered on a pair of crossed broadswords that adorned the wall above her bed. It might be that the marquis favored weapons even more than she did.

“And what of Catherine?” asked Rhona. “Does she not share the nursery with her sister?”

The marquis lifted the candle as if to search the shadows, but Lady Irvette spoke up from the hallway.

“Catherine sleeps in the chamber down the hall.” “Oh?” said Rhona. It seemed strange, for the room was large enough for several children. “May I bid her good night?”

“I fear she is already asleep,” said Lady Irvette and smiled wanly.

“I would not awaken her.”

There was a moment’s delay. Was there tension in the air? ”Then of course,” said the baroness, and led the way down the hall. She said not a word as she raised the bar that held the door shut.

“It is locked from this side?” asked Rhona.

Lady Irvette glanced worriedly toward her brother.

He shrugged, pleasantly. “Sometimes she wanders unknowing from her room at night.”

“She walks whilst she sleeps?” Rhona asked.

“If it is sleep it is an unnatural one,” murmured Lady Irvette, and made a furtive sign of the cross against her chest.

“Unnatural?” Rhona asked. “How so?”

“I…” She paused and lowered her eyes. “I cannot say exactly,” she said, and without another word pushed the door open. Her candle flickered in the draft.

Inside, the chamber was dark, pierced only by the wavering shaft of light, but in that slim illumination, Rhona could make out Catherine’s face.

She lay on her side with one hand cradling her cheek.

Her rose- tinted lips were slightly parted, and she looked, Rhona thought, like a small sleeping angel. Whatever troubles caused her to wander the halls at night were not bothering her now.

They stood in silence for a moment, but finally Lady Irvette spoke. “I’d have a word with you, if you’ve a moment, brother dearest,” she said.

“Certainly, sister,” he said and, bowing masterfully, left the room. In a moment the doorway was empty.

“So you are another of my father’s whores.”

Rhona speared her gaze to Catherine. The girl lay as she was, but her eyes were open now and her small mouth was sneering.

“Why do you feign sleep?”

“You’ll not last the week,” said the girl.

“Why?” Rhona asked, but a shadow crossed the threshold and Catherine’s eyes fell immediately closed.

“Come along, my lady,” said the marquis.

Rhona went a bit shakily. She had hardly hoped to be met with huzzahs and kisses, but neither had she expected to be threatened by a child half her size.

The marquis closed the door behind them and escorted her down the hall to her own chamber. A candle flickered beside her bed.

“Here you are then, lass, safe and sound.”

She tried not to scowl, but it had been an odd day and her mind was atremble. “My thanks, your lordship.”‘‘There is no need for such formality.”

“What would you have me call you?” she asked, and lowered her eyes, trying to emulate the delicate baroness.

“We shall see,” he said.

She raised her gaze to his, and he only smiled.

“Such a sweet thing you are. I hope you will not be frightened alone in your room this night.”

“I’ll try to be brave, my lord.”

“No need for that, lass.” He moved the slightest bit closer. He smelled a bit like old whisky. Not an unpleasant scent, but not altogether soothing. “I am just down the hall.”

“I will surely sleep better knowing ‘tis so.”

He eyed her carefully. “I look forward to getting to know you, Lady Rhona. I think you are a rare woman.”

“You flatter me, my lord.” “I try.”

She glanced up sharply, and he laughed as he bowed. “Good night, lass,” he said and turned away.

Although Rhona carefully studied the layout of Claronfell on the following morning, her day did not go much better than the last and the next still no better. She found no opportunity to safely investigate the manse. Reeves acted as if Rhona had come to burgle the spice chest. The marquis did his best to seduce her. Colette shamelessly teased Lachlan-not that Rhona cared. And the lassies watched her as if she were a slavering wolf, though she rarely saw them, for when they weren’t in the small, high chapel with Lady Irvette “where nothing was between them and God,” as the baroness informed her, they were closeted away in the nursery. Rhona had wandered into it once.

“Hurry up!” Colette had been saying. “Correct your stitches afore-”

She’d jumped nervously when Rhona entered, then executed a bow and turned to help the girl with her embroidery.

Perhaps Rhona would have stayed, but Edwina’s wide eyes seemed to welcome her no more than her sister’s narrow gaze, and if she were asked to join them, the truth would be out. She had fled the room in a matter of moments.

But on the third day Lady Norval left Claronfell for the village, and since the marquis was still about, this seemed the ideal time to draw the girls out of themselves. When Rhona ventured into the nursery, however, she found the room empty.

She considered asking about their whereabouts, but she did not altogether trust Colette. She was too bonny, too pert, too perfect. And if the girls were where they were not supposed to be, she dare not cause trouble for them.

Eventually she found them in the stable.

They sat in the dirt like two wayward urchins, their hands soiled and their shoes muddy. They were playing with twists of straw that vaguely resembled steeds.

“So there you are,” Rhona said. She thought her tone was lilting and gay, but the girls reared back in unison as if flogged by the same whip. And in that instant Lachlan stepped out from behind a stall, a straw horse in his own capable hand.

“Ye’ve frightened’ em,” he said, then leaned a brawny shoulder against the wall and glanced down at the girls as if they shared some secret to which she was not privy. “But ye needn’t fear, lassies, she’s not so fearsome as she appears.” There was humor in his tone, but Catherine wrapped her arm about her sister’s shoulder, pulling her to her feet.

“I’m not afraid of her,” she said, backing away and tugging her sister with her. “Even though she be Satan.” And with those words she broke and ran.

Rhona felt her face redden, but she could do little more than stare after them. Lachlan did the same, startled from his leisurely stance to watch them fly toward the house.

“I’ve no idea why I worried,” he said, not losing his rough accent. “For it’s a way with the children, you ‘ ave.”

“She’s not a child,” Rhona said, feeling flushed.

“She’s the devil incarnate.”

“Truly?” He gazed after the girls as if deep in thought, then turned that same expression on her. ”And ‘ ere I be thinkin’ that she reminded me of another I know.”

Rhona drew herself up to lambaste him, but the truth of his words seared her. Maybe this Catherine was not so different from herself

“You play the guitar beautifully, dumpling.”

The solar was filled with candlelight this evening. It glowed off the women’s flaxen hair and gleamed like sunlight on the copper strings of Rhona’s tall, slim necked instrument. She set it aside and grinned at the foolish endearment. It seemed at times that there was happiness everywhere, and never more than when they’d christened each other with ridiculous pet names. “But not so well as Tart,” she said.

The three of them laughed in unison, but a draft wafted mysteriously into the chamber. Chill it was, and somehow frightening.

“What was that?” Rhona whispered.

“‘Tis Grandmother. She warns us of something.”

“Aye.” A man stepped into the doorway, His face was shadowed, but his intent was not. Evil exuded from him.

Rhona reached for her weapon, but no sheath adorned her hip. Indeed, there was naught there but a silver girdle against the rich velvet of her gown. And in that moment her sisters screamed.

Rhona awoke with a start. Reality came more slowly, but she breathed deeply, settling her mind.