The Rose Red Bride JK2 (42 page)

“I think the maid makes good sense, Arabella,” Henry mused, though Vivienne doubted that his concern was for the children. “A fine plump bed will suit me well this night.” And he winked boldly at Vivienne as his wife preened, oblivious to his averted gaze.

The two squires nudged each other, then leered at Vivienne, and she guessed that she had truly underestimated the perils of this circumstance.

* * *

Vivienne was gone from her hiding place.

Erik was disquieted by this fact, though there was no sign of her. She might have never been at Blackleith, and her absence had Ruari fretful as well. The horses had returned to the stable from the hill and stood shivering in the rain.

Erik left Ruari outside of Blackleith’s hall. It was overly quiet in the village and he feared what he would find within the hall itself. Ruari stood guard at the portal, and nodded once before Erik slipped into the smoky shadows of the hall.

Not a single torch burned in the great hall, though there were embers glowing still in the fireplace. It was beyond quiet, as if no one was within these walls. No child sobbed or laughed, there was not so much as a breath of some soul sleeping. Fear seized Erik’s heart and he wondered what Beatrice had done with their daughters.

Had she fled south with them, never to be found again?

“I thought you might yet live,” she said so unexpectedly that Erik jumped.

He saw her then, seated in the otherwise empty hall, a cup before her on the board. She was as lovely as ever she had been, though her lips pinched as they once had not done and her eyes seemed more shrewd.

But perhaps he had not seen the truth before him.

Beatrice smiled, as if there had not been so much time and treachery between them, then took a sip from the cup. “The Earl of Sutherland is not a subtle man, at the best of times, and he has asked some pointed questions of late.”

“Where are Mairi and Astrid?”

Beatrice’s smile broadened. “I am surprised that you have any concern for them. Does not every man desire a son?”

“They are my children and you have no right,” Erik began but Beatrice interrupted him.

“It is the last of the wine.” Beatrice rose and strolled toward him, the cup in her hand. She offered it to him. “Do you wish a sip?”

“You greet me solicitously indeed.”

She grimaced. “I suspected that you lived. I feared you to have returned when I saw Ruari. It was inevitable you would battle Nicholas for Blackleith, and just as inevitable that you would triumph.”

She regarded him and he could not guess her thoughts. “You have always had a cursed talent for survival, and Nicholas, despite his many graces, is less of a swordsman than he might be.” She laughed without mirth. “At least with the blade he would raise against you.” She saluted Erik with the cup, then sipped of its contents deeply, watching him over the rim. “How much more interesting it would have been if you had battled Nicholas for me.”

Erik snorted. “Why would I fight for the regard of a woman who cares only for herself?”

Her eyes flashed and he thought that she might strike him. Instead she studied him and grimaced. “You would strike terror into any maiden’s heart, with what has become of your face. Praise be that you will never come to my bed again.” Her smile turned bitter. “But then, thanks to you, neither will Nicholas. I assume you have left him dead?”

“Indeed.”

She averted her face then and he wondered whether she had cared for another soul, after all.

“Where are Mairi and Astrid?”

“Gone.”

“Where?” Erik seized her arm when she did not answer him, forcing her to face him.

Beatrice chuckled. “I do not know. Is that not the beauty of it? I do not know, so I cannot tell you. You may do your worst to me, indeed, you have already taken all that was of merit to me. And I have taken what is of merit to you.”

“You cannot have injured them!”

Beatrice only smiled, smiled with such confidence that Erik longed to shake her until her very bones rattled. “Why should you care? I doubt truly that they are even of your own seed.”

Erik regarded her in shock. “I thought that was but a rumor...”

“A rumor rooted in truth. Surely you did not imagine that you, with your clumsy manner abed and your inability to utter sweet compliments, could sate me? I was a beauty with a hundred suitors at my door! I was sought by barons and princes, I was courted by men from leagues away.” She stepped back and regarded him with disdain. “Yet I wed Erik Sinclair, heir to a modest holding, a man who could not praise a woman with poetry to save his life. Did you never wonder why?”

“Every day I was amazed by my fortune,” Erik said with care.

Beatrice laughed harshly. “Here is my gift to you, husband. I was no maiden when I came to your bed on our nuptial night. Indeed, I feared that I carried the fruit of a man’s seed and I knew better than to vex my own father with such tidings. He would have seen me whipped until I bled, and torn flesh tempts no man. I had to see myself wed and wed in haste, and this was the very moment when you came to my father’s gates, seeking alliance. You were of use to me, Erik Sinclair, no more than that.”

“And once you knew that you bore no child?” Erik asked, wanting all of the truth, no matter how cruel. She could not speak of Mairi, for that child had not come them until they had been married for a year.

Beatrice sauntered back to the head table and granted herself another measure of wine. “You do not mind if I pour for myself, surely? There is a cursed lack of servants in this hall, but that, I understand, has always been Blackleith’s fate.” She spared him an arch glance as she sipped. “When it became clear that I bore no child, I welcomed my lover between my thighs once again. Is it not said that there is but one woman in Christendom who ever denied Nicholas Sinclair? It was simple enough to meet him when we lived in the same abode.”

Erik turned away from these unwelcome tidings, delivered with such glee. “So you did couple with him.”

“Often,” Beatrice said, smacking her lips over both wine and recollection. “It is charming that you are so certain the girls are your own, when I do not share your conviction.”

Erik said nothing, for he was surprised at how little ability she had to injure him.

Beatrice shrugged. “And finally, it did not suit me to have to meet both brothers abed any longer.”

Erik looked up. “You wrought the scheme,” he murmured, seeing now who had aided Nicholas to contrive such a plot. Beatrice smiled. “You brought the missive that was supposed to come from Thomas Gunn. You were the one who urged me to aid my neighbor.”

She laughed. “And you were too fool to see that I deceived you.” She finished her wine, cast the pewter cup in the direction of the board and flung out her hands. “So, now you have reclaimed your deepest desire,” she taunted. “Your larder is barren, your treasury is empty, and your peasants are hungry. Your fields lie untended and you have no seed for the spring. All of your kin is dead, your wife despises you and your children are lost forevermore. How fares your triumphant return to Blackleith, husband?”

Erik sheathed his blade and turned away from her. “It is little different than I expected,” he said softly. “For I learned early in my marriage to expect naught of merit from my spouse. You erred in granting me those daughters, Beatrice, for they are the gold in my treasury.”

“Do you not hear me? They are likely not of your seed!”

“It does not matter. They are mine in the eyes of the law, and mine because I believe them to be so.”

“But they are gone!”

“They cannot be gone far. I shall seek until I find them, and I shall raise them with honor or die in the attempt.”

She lunged after him and seized his shoulder, compelling him to look at her. “I thought you would kill me.”

Erik shook his head. “I have no urge to sully my hands with your blood.”

“Do you not despise me?”

Erik studied his wife and wondered how he had failed to see her selfishness. He shook his head then and plucked her hand from his shoulder. “Nay. I pity you. Farewell, Beatrice.”

With that, he turned to depart Blackleith once again, his wife dismissed from his thoughts. His daughters must be with that noble couple who had ridden to hunt with Nicholas. Surely they would ride south to the Earl of Sutherland’s abode, perhaps even make a halt there. There had been no ship in the harbor, though they could have ridden north to the great abode of the Earl’s kin at Girnigoe.

Between his own talents and those of Ruari, he should be able to discern their direction. His pace quickened with surety and determination to retrieve his daughters before it was too late.

“You wretch!” he heard Beatrice scream from behind him. The pewter cup struck the wall beside his head. Erik jumped at its impact, then glanced back.

Beatrice, her face contorted with fury, dove towards him, a blade held high in her hand. She was cursedly close. Erik realized he had scant time to pull his own blade when he heard a whistle beside his very ear.

A spinning blade flashed past him, the point embedding itself in Beatrice’s chest. She gasped and took a step back, her own hand falling to the blood coursing from the wound.

Erik saw that it was his father’s blade, the sapphire in the hilt glinting as if it winked at him.

Beatrice touched the hilt of the blade sunk into her flesh, coughed, and shook her head. “William always loathed me,” she said, then coughed again. She slumped against the wall, then granted Erik a baleful glance. “Trust him to ensure my demise.”

“It was not William who cast the blade,” Ruari said with disapproval, “though it was doubtless his spirit that guided the blade home. My aim is not so good as that, upon that fact you can rely.” He nodded once at Erik. “Your father could split a hair at forty paces with that blade, to be sure, and he never failed to astound a skeptic with his skill.” Beatrice slumped to the floor, her eyes closing as she coughed more feebly. “I have never made such a good throw, though, to be sure, I never much liked Beatrice myself.”

Erik made to step forward and ease Beatrice to a more comfortable position for her last moments. Ruari stayed him with a touch. “Do not venture near that viper,” he counseled, then nodded at the knife yet in her hand. “She grips the hilt tightly for one so close to death. Leave her be, for she will be dead in truth by the time we return.”

At that, Beatrice opened her eyes slightly and spat at the floor, showing his advice to be good with nary a word. Then her head drooped to her shoulder and Erik believed she knew no more.

He turned his back upon her, though, for his battle was not yet complete. He had to find his daughters, and he hoped that they were not departing too late.

For there was truth in Beatrice’s claim. She had tried to steal all of the promise Erik might find in reclaiming Blackleith, leaving him without affluence, without family, without his own children.

But Erik had witnessed the faith of Vivienne and he would never again be the same. His prospects might look to be dour in this moment, but he knew he would find his daughters.

And he would find Vivienne, whatever had happened to her. He would pursue her to the very ends of the earth, if need be, though he had little to offer her beyond himself.

He could only hope that might suffice.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

To Vivienne’s dismay, the Earl of Sutherland’s gates were barred, and the gatekeeper was disinclined to wake his laird in the middle of the night to please a passing party of travelers. When Henry eloquently protested this miscarriage of Christian charity, the gatekeeper pointed him in the direction of an abandoned barn.

It had a hole in its roof and a rustling plethora of birds in its rafters. The occasional missile was launched from above, landing on the packed earth floor with a wet slap. Arabella chose to argue the matter, but Vivienne was too tired. She carried the girls to a corner less vigorously marked by the birds’ droppings, folded her cloak over them all and went to sleep.

* * *

Vivienne awakened to find a man’s hand upon her breast and a sharp blade kissing her throat. Some hours had passed, she guessed, for it was lighter and the rain fell with less vigor. No thunder rumbled overhead any longer.

And Henry crouched beside her, his breeches loosed to free his prick. It was pale against the darkness and bobbed in anticipation.

“Lift your skirts and be quiet about the matter,” he urged in a whisper.

Vivienne frowned at him, hoping to dissuade him with a bold manner. “Not in front of the children,” she scolded indignantly, not troubling to lower her voice.

The blade dug more demandingly into her throat and Vivienne caught her breath. “You are to be quiet,” Henry insisted. “Or I shall ensure that you are quiet forevermore.”

“But the children...”

“Push them aside. They will never know the difference, and if they do, they will be well prepared for their futures.”

Vivienne caught her breath, so intense was her dislike for this man. She was uncommonly glad that she had accompanied Erik’s daughters, for she would ensure somehow that they were freed from the circle of his influence.

She eased Astrid from her lap, that child whimpering slightly as she was moved. Vivienne hushed her, tucking her more fully into her fur-lined cloak. She lifted Mairi then, who was a much greater burden. Henry let her move sufficiently to tuck the girls beneath the cloak and Vivienne saw the glimmer of Mairi’s eyes as they opened.

She put her hand over the girl’s brow, easing her eyes closed again, and to her relief Mairi followed her bidding.

“That is a fine pin,” Henry said. “You must have pleased some laird well to have been granted a gift of such value.”

“A man of merit surrendered it to me as a keepsake,” Vivienne said.

Henry chuckled. “No doubt he granted a ripe wench like you more than that as a keepsake.”

“He did indeed. He granted me his love and my memories of him. Those are keepsakes beyond price.”