Claire Delacroix (13 page)

Aileen smiled despite myself. “My mother would have said little, but my nursemaid would have tweaked my ear.”

“And rightly so!”

“But I was too impatient to linger abed.”

“Aye, and a healthy urge is that. I have no respect for women who lie abed all the day long.” She clicked her tongue. “I told his lairdship that you would be cold, that I did, but he insisted ‘twould not be safe to be leaving a brazier burning here with none to watch it. There is sense in that, even if all in the kitchens were certain he would warm your bed himself!” There was no malice in her manner and she laughed outright when Aileen blushed. “I will not be asking after your sleep on the night of your nuptials, upon that you can rely.”

She gestured impatiently to the bucket. “Do you mean to leave the water turn cold? Ignoring a courtesy is as good as spitting in the eye of the benevolent one, that is what my mother used to say, and she had more sense than most.”

Aileen quickly unlaced the tabard that she had only recently fastened. “Forgive my rudeness, but who are you?”

The maid laughed, which made her ample bosom bounce merrily. “Nissa Macdonald I am, and you are Aileen Urquhart of Abernye sure as I know my own name.” She snapped her fingers. “Come, come, shed that garb. Though it was surely meant for you, it will be all the warmer once you are clean.”

“Was it meant for me?” Aileen asked.

“Ah yes, indeed.” Nissa nodded. “His lairdship had a number of us stitching into the night so as you would have garb for this day.”

This was most intriguing. Aileen had not guessed her spouse was so thoughtful—or perhaps he only wanted her garbed more suitably to meet his household. Certainly, he was a man who left no detail to chance. The water was yet blessedly hot and the soap Nissa had brought had a pleasant scent.

“Make it ourselves, we do,” she acknowledged when Aileen complimented her upon it. “And there is enough of it that a body need not be cautious with its use.”

With that, she worked up a sumptuous lather upon Aileen’s skin and set to rubbing her. Aileen’s flesh was quickly pink from her rough cloth. Indeed, Nissa scrubbed her back with such a vengeance that she could not remain silent.

“I would be clean, not devoid of flesh!” she protested.

Nissa laughed again. “You do not have so many bruises as I feared. My laird must have been careful with his prize.” She pinched Aileen’s buttocks then, playful and irreverent.

Aileen did not know how to respond. She had never known such ready familiarity from servants before.

Nissa seemed to guess as much, for her sure gestures faltered. She nibbled on her lip in her uncertainty. “Did I do something amiss, my lady? You might have guessed that I have never served a noblewoman, for I have only ever served at Inverfyre.”

“Are there no noblewomen here?”

“Some women come from the village to serve and a few of us live here, but there are no ladies.”

Aileen was startled by this, then realized she should have expected little else in an abode of fighting men. She smiled and decided she might as well be honest. “Truth be told, I have never been pinched by a maid afore, Nissa. You surprised me.”

Nissa flushed crimson and apologized profusely. She knotted her hands together, the very image of contrition. “You must tell me, my lady, when I err.” She glanced up, sincerity in her eyes. “I should like to serve you well.”

“I will,” Aileen agreed, touched by the girl’s earnest manner. “Though I must admit that I am not accustomed to having my own maid either. We shall find our way together.”

They shared a smile and Aileen realized she might glean a good bit of information from this talkative maid, far more certainly than her spouse was likely to share.

Here was the opportunity she had not even realized she sought!

* * *

Aileen rubbed herself all over with the dry cloth as she considered how best to ask what she wanted to know. “You seem fond of your laird,” she finally said, keeping her tone neutral.

“And why not?” Nissa hastened to dry Aileen’s back.

“He is oft called the Hawk. That might leave a soul afeared.”

“Though not a bold bride raised in Abernye and said to be skilled with a bow,” Nissa teased, then leaned closer when Aileen glanced up. “It is said that when my laird claimed Inverfyre, he attacked his opponents with the ruthlessness and cunning of a hawk. Many are the tales of his victories, though there is not a one of them fit for a lady faint of heart.”

“But why Inverfyre if it was so hard won? Could he not have set his ambitions upon another holding?”

“Inverfyre was rightfully his own.” Nissa nodded. “Aye, his mother, Evangeline, was the daughter of the sixth son of the founder of Inverfyre. Though Lady Evangeline was driven from her abode, she vowed she would return with her son to claim his birthright.” Nissa smiled with pride. “He did not wait for his mother, not our laird: nay, he claimed his due with his own blade and rightly so. He is a warrior valiant and true.”

Aileen laced her tabard. “Is the keep newly built then?”

“Of course! For eighteen years, there have been stonemasons from over the sea by the dozen, laboring even as the holding was regained, and they are not yet done.”

She guided Aileen to the window and pointed. “The walls were wrought first: indeed, when I came to serve in this hall, there was no hall. We all slept beneath wooden canopies in the bailey, while the sentries paced the top of the battlements. One never knew when the cursed MacLarens would rally and attack. That was only six years past.” She gathered up the cloths with satisfaction. “And now, just as the prophecy predicted, peace has come to Inverfyre.”

“What prophecy?”

It was apparent that Nissa had been waiting to be asked. She beamed before reciting the verse.

“When the seventh son of Inverfyre,

Saves his legacy from intrigue and mire,

Only then shall glorious Inverfyre,

Reflect in full its first laird’s desire.”

“And the current laird is indeed the seventh son born in the line of Magnus Armstrong,” she continued, even as Aileen’s heart nigh stopped in recognition of that name.

She spun to face the maid. “Not Magnus Armstrong!” she cried. This was the name that had filled her thoughts when the Hawk kissed her. “The founder of Inverfyre was Magnus Armstrong?”

“Indeed, he was. I see that you have heard tell of his exploits. Now, there was a man who spawned a hundred tales.” Nissa smacked her lips with satisfaction. “Though the most wicked of them all was the tale of his wives.”

Aileen folded her arms across her chest, disliking the maid’s salacious tone but oddly certain that the circumstances of the brides of this Magnus might reflect upon her own. “He had more than one?”

Nissa laughed with glee. “He had a dozen!”

“So many?”

“At first he was said to have unfortunate luck with his brides, but in time, other tales were told.”

“Such as?”

Nissa glanced furtively to the door. Aileen’s curiosity was fed by this sudden fear of discovery. Nissa pointed out the window. “Those cliffs opposite the river were that first bride’s dowry lands, those cliffs thick with the nests of peregrines. Though she died within the year, Magnus never surrendered those lands to her family.”

Aileen shrugged. “There is little scandalous in that. Warfaring men do as much all the time.”

Nissa’s eyes gleamed. “But even warfaring men do not eat their brides.”

Aileen stepped back from the maid. “What nonsense is this?”

“It was said that Magnus ate his brides, every one of them.” Nissa nodded.

Aileen could not keep from grimacing though she was skeptical. “You cannot mean that he truly ate them? Surely this is but a fanciful tale?”

“Aye, but he did. He locked them in a high chamber, not unlike this one, and forbade any others to visit them. He fattened them for a year and a day, and then he had them dressed in the richest finery. They thought the consummation of their match had come, and perhaps it did. Few knew what happened in that chamber, save that the bride never survived the night.”

“No!”

“It was said that he wrung their necks, as if they were no more than chickens. It was said that he would have the cook aid him in the butchering and that the floors of the chamber—who none saw but himself and the cook—were stained red with the blood of his brides.”

“That cannot be!” Aileen strode away from the maid in disgust. “I will not listen to such whimsy!”

“They disappeared, did they not?” Nissa insisted, her words low and hot. “It was not so much that they died, my lady. There was never a trace left of any of his wives. There were no witnesses of their demises. A coffin would appear in the chapel the next morn, and no more was said.”

Aileen’s bile rose at this gruesome tale, despite the vigor of the sunlight and her own certainty that it could not be true.

“It is told that a handmaid said that she had peeked within one coffin and seen naught but bones and a heart, a heart still beating, red with blood.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Aye? Then why were the coffins nailed closed after that?”

“There could be a hundred reasons. You cannot know such details so many years later. The tale has been embellished, Nissa, any fool can see as much. These are no more than fanciful stories to entertain...”

Nissa’s eyes brightened. “Believe what you must, but I believe that Magnus devoured his brides, in stews and soups and sauces. He sucked the marrow from their bones; he ate every morsel but their hearts. And then he buried them, out there -” she pointed out one window “- and kept their dowries when he claimed another bride for his own.”

Aileen followed her gesture. “There is a line of trees there, beyond the outer walls.”

“Aye, great old trees, twelve great old trees, trees that unfurled from the hearts of these sorry women. The sole thing that halted his deeds was his own demise.”

“Surely not!” Aileen made a skeptical snort. “Admit the truth to me, Nissa, admit that this is some tale concocted in the hall after too much ale has been consumed.”

“Is it? Explain to me then who planted these trees?”

“Some soul who made a jest upon the laird, no doubt, just as you jest upon me.”

Nissa held up a warning finger. “They are trees that no soul planted, by the tales told ‘round the fire. They are trees that sprouted suddenly from the earth, half as tall as a man one morning when they had not been there the night before. They grew, each of them, on the eve of the nuptials of the next bride, as if to warn her of what lay ahead.”

“But...”

“They are strange trees, that much is certain. They whisper in the wind even when there is no wind. It is said that they grew from the women’s beating hearts, that they stand witness to the crimes of Magnus Armstrong. It is said that they will turn red, as red as blood, when his penance has finally been served.”

Aileen stifled a shiver. The morning seemed somewhat less bright than it had just moments before. “Then you tell me that Inverfyre is built twice upon blood—the blood of these women and the blood of the Hawk’s enemies.”

“Indeed so. Old crimes have been done in this place and great tales have been spawned here...” Nissa stepped away, abruptly falling silent. “But, of course, you do not believe in such whimsy.”

The maid turned to leave, but Aileen caught her sleeve. “Show me the proof of it, Nissa. Persuade me. Show me these whispering trees.” She told herself that she made the suggestion for no better reason than to leave this chamber, but in truth, she was intrigued by this gruesome tale.

The maid hesitated. “The laird said as you should remain in your chamber this day.”

Aileen smiled coolly, for she was determined to not be as biddable as a hound. “A woman should not cede everything to a man simply because he anticipates as much. Am I not the Lady of Inverfyre now?”

Indecision warred in the girl’s eyes for only a moment, then she nodded with resolve. “I will take you there,” she agreed. “I cannot imagine that my laird would be displeased that you are curious about your new abode.”

“I will go to the chapel first and hear the mass, then I will break my fast,” Aileen said, having no intent of altering her usual routine. She glanced up to find the maid watching her. “What is it? Surely you hear the mass daily?”

“We have no chapel, my lady.”

“That is not of import. Summon the priest and he can bless a space.”

“We have no priest, my lady.”

Aileen stared at the girl. She had never heard of a keep without a priest. “Surely this is not true. You must have a priest!”

“One came from Stirling several times a year until three years past.”

“And then?” Aileen prompted when Nissa hesitated.

“And then he was murdered, my lady, and there has never been another.” Nissa pivoted and left the chamber, clearly assuming Aileen would follow.

Aileen left her high prison, her thoughts spinning. If there was no priest, then no sacraments were being offered to the people of Inverfyre. Surely the Hawk was not so wicked as to condemn those beneath his care to hell?

But then Aileen recalled how the Hawk’s men treated the priest of Abernye. They were unholy warriors, that much was clear. Annoyance rose within Aileen. How could the Hawk have so little regard for the souls of those beneath his hand, even if he spurned the faith himself? Trust a man of his repute to have no sense of his responsibility! Perhaps there was some good she could achieve in this place!

Aileen gritted her teeth. Though she had no certainty what the Hawk planned for her and she did not believe Nissa’s ominous tale, she had no intent of waiting patiently in that chamber for a year and day to learn the worst.

Indeed, the Hawk might well regret bringing her to Inverfyre.

* * *

The kitchens were busy, and redolent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. Two boys followed the dictate of the cook, moving hastily to prepare the meat for the spit. The cook himself was plump—always a good portent for the fare, in Aileen’s father’s words—and spared a smile for her, though he clearly had much to accomplish. There were surprisingly few women at work in the kitchens.