Claire Delacroix (36 page)

“Are you well?” he demanded urgently, uncertainty in his eyes.

Aileen smiled for him. “Now that you are returned, I am well indeed,” she said, then welcomed his kiss

* * *

They descended hand in hand to find that the villagers had fought with vigor. Many of the attackers had been injured or killed, and the vast majority of them had chosen to depart from Inverfyre’s gates.

“But why?” Aileen asked her husband.

“Without Dubhglas and his pledge to see them paid, these mercenaries’ lust for battle quickly waned,” he said. “It is the weakness of hiring men to fight, as they have no loyalty to leader or cause. Their loyalty is solely to their own advantage.”

Aileen’s father embraced her with undisguised relief. Ewen had been slightly injured and one of the black stallions had sustained a cut upon its flank. Reinhard had sought out Margery and her family, and Aileen was pleased to note that Margery’s mother was clearly enchanted with that warrior. The pledge of nuptials had gone far to mend that rift.

Guinevere was already busy setting bones and binding wounds, Fernando fast by her side to aid her. The flush on the woman’s cheeks told Aileen that if this pair had not agreed upon some course together thus far, then they shortly would do so. The villagers seemed to bear their wounds as marks of valor, and worthy of pride. None of them had been killed. Gregory the castellan was flustered but busy ensuring that pitchers of ale were distributed among the villagers.

Only Ahearn was vexed and he was vexed indeed. He tended to the injured stallion with gentle fingers but his brow was furrowed with annoyance. When he finished and turned back to the company, Nissa confronted him. “Are you so determined as that to evade me?” she demanded. “I would thank you for your aid, as would Ruardh.”

Ahearn scoffed. “Is that whose babe rounds your belly? The miller’s son’s?”

Nissa’s surprise was evident, then she touched her belly as she laughed. “This is what has irked you so?”

Ahearn shook his finger beneath the nose of the miller’s son. “What manner of man are you to take your pleasure with a maiden and not offer to wed her? Do you not know that Nissa desires a man of honor as her husband and a house of her own, as well as children? You would seem to have ensured that she had a child, but what of the rest?”

Aileen began to chuckle at Ahearn’s outrage. Nissa was laughing so hard that she could barely stand and even the miller and his family seemed to be amused.

“What manner of place is this?” Ahearn demanded in a roar. “Is it so amusing that I would see you treated with honor?”

“Indeed it is,” Nissa said pertly. She reached beneath the folds of her robe and removed the
Titulus Croce
from its hiding place. Her apparent pregnancy disappeared and even the Hawk began to chuckle as she granted the relic back into his care.

“There is not a man alive whose seed ripens so much as that in a day or two, Ahearn,” Nissa chided Ahearn with a smile.

Sebastien began to laugh uproariously. “Did love cloud your vision, friend of mine?”

“Of course not!” The back of Ahearn’s neck turned crimson and he was sorely discomfited.

“Perhaps you should name the matter aright,” Sebastien teased. “This is the first time that I have ever seen you fall victim to a prank, though you scheme to trick others often. Perhaps little Nissa is the woman you should take to wife.”

Ahearn glanced up, his expression hopeful.

Nissa tapped her toe with mock impatience. “And all these years, Ahearn, I though you were keen of wit.” She tossed her hair. “I should need much persuasion to wed a man who is such a fool.”

The Irishman grinned, pure mischief in his eyes once again. “Persuasion is it then? How about that kiss, Nissa?”

“Oh!” Now it was Nissa who flushed, much to Aileen’s delight. The maid still shook a finger at her would-be suitor. “We shall only have a kiss if you pledge to wed me.”

“I do,” Ahearn said as he strode closer to her. “Sebastien will keep me to my word, for he dreads the prospect of competing with me still.”

They all laughed as Ahearn kissed Nissa soundly, leaving the maid dizzy when he lifted his head and his smile filled with satisfaction.

“It seems that all ends well at Inverfyre,” Aileen murmured to the Hawk.

He smiled down at her, sensual intent gleaming in his eyes. “But I still believe there are matters left unfinished between us. Our wedding night was celebrated in such haste.” He kissed her then and Aileen sighed contentment in his embrace.

“It is so long to wait until the evening,” she whispered and was rewarded by his wicked grin.

“The Laird of Inverfyre pronounces that his lady shall not wait,” he declared, then caught her in his arms. He carried her toward the hall, ignoring the whistles that echoed after them.

They both would have preferred to ignore the sounds of a party arriving at the gates, but the Hawk spared a backward glance.

“Oh no,” Aileen whispered, recognizing her father’s banner before a familiar voice carried over the bailey.

“Nigel? Nigel!
Eh bien
, look at your garb! Your daughter has come to live, how do you say, among the pigs!” Then Blanche screamed, apparently seeing Nigel’s wound. They watched as she fainted and Nigel caught her, then her entourage clustered closer to revive her.

Aileen and the Hawk exchanged a glance, then he pivoted and strode toward the tower without a backward look, his lady wife laughing all the while.

* * *

It was comparatively quiet in their chamber. The trunks had been dumped and all was in shambles. The Hawk hesitated on the threshold, his grip tightening upon his bride as he guessed that she must have faced Dubhglas here.

“Would you prefer elsewhere?” he asked.

She surveyed the chamber somberly, then met his gaze. “It is our chamber, for now and always. The sooner we fill it with happy memories, the sooner the poor ones will weaken and fade.”

Pride bloomed within him that his bride was not readily daunted. The Hawk closed the door with his boot and she turned the key in the lock, her smile turning playful. He laid her upon the bed, pleased to see that the wolf pelts were yet there and intact. Their gazes held as they undressed impatiently, each casting their soiled garments aside with haste. Aileen rose on her knees and pulled the drapes closed on the bed, hiding the disarray from sight and creating a quiet haven for them both. The Hawk was honored indeed to share that haven with her.

He noticed the difference as soon as she kissed him. This time, she was not shy; this time she returned his kiss with passion. Visions unfurled in his thoughts—tangled vines and ripened fruit, what must have been past lives and deeds—but he gave them no heed, choosing instead to concentrate upon pleasing his lady. They wove a potent spell between each other that afternoon, as the sun slanted through the window and gilded the drapes, a spell that bound their hearts and souls together for all time.

And when they reached their culmination together, the Hawk did not close his eyes. He watched Aileen, watched passion take her over the summit, watched an understanding dawn in her blue blue gaze.

The vision tumbled into his thoughts, alien and yet familiar, and he was certain that she saw it in the same moment as he. He followed the course of the entangled vines with increasing haste, as if he raced down a corridor. His sight plummeted along their length until he reached the roots and the entwined stems dove into the ground.

He was in a meadow, waist-high with wildflowers with the summer sun heating his back. The sky was blue beyond blue, as were the eyes of the red-haired maiden whose hands he held fast within his own. She whispered a spell in some old tongue, one that he knew he had agreed to join. Though he could not understand the words, he knew their import well enough.

They two agreed to become one. They two agreed to meet again and again, to draw flesh across their souls, to live and breathe and grow in wisdom, to do so together. They vowed to remind each other of their shared past, of their bonds, of their love, all to ensure that neither would never be alone again.

It was a memory that brought tears to the Hawk’s eyes, and made him clutch Aileen close when they lay together on the linens. Their limbs were entangled, he noted with a smile, like the honeysuckle and the hazel, and that delighted him.

Aileen propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him. “Did you see it?” she whispered.

The Hawk smiled and stroked her cheek. “I saw it, lady mine. I saw that we are each wrought solely for the other, from that day through all time.” He ran his thumb across her smooth flesh and made a confession long overdue. “I love you, lady mine, with all my heart and soul.”

Her smile was all the answer that he needed, though her kiss was a marvel he would not refuse.

T
he Hawk’s family gathered at Inverfyre for Midsummer and the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist on the following day, as was their wont.

Horns were sounded from the high walls of Inverfyre when the party was spied upon the road. The villagers clustered along the roadway, intent upon seeing the finery of the visitors. The Hawk and Aileen stood at the portal of the keep, the Hawk’s cohorts standing to his either side. Tarsuinn the falconer stood with them, then the ladies Aileen had taken into the household to train arrayed themselves on either side. Those who labored in the kitchens and the hall stood in a row behind.

All were garbed in their best and a sense of festivity filled the air. Smiles were plentiful and eyes were sparkling, even as the merry sun herself glinted on gems and polished buckles. Aileen caught her breath at the splendor of the company that spilled through the gates.

Their horses were fine beasts with long tails and manes, and they pranced as if they knew the import of the occasion. Two banners were carried before the company, a dark banner that the Hawk told Aileen that of Ravensmuir, and one with a burning orb which he said to be of Kinfairlie.

Squires flanked the first noble couple in the party: a dark-haired knight and a red-haired lady rode larger steeds than the company surrounding them. They were of an age with her father, though handsome. Their horses had silver bells hanging from their harnesses, and the bells tinkled merrily as the company advanced. Their harnesses were finely wrought of colored leather and Aileen thought that gems glistened, both on the saddle and on the lady’s fingers. They were dressed in silk, this pair, their garb lavishly embroidered and embellished, the fur-lined cloak of each held on the shoulder with a large ornate broach.

They held hands as they rode, and Aileen noted that the lady cast many uncertain glances at her steed.

“My aunt and uncle, Ysabella and Merlyn, Lady and Laird of Kinfairlie,” the Hawk murmured in her ear. “Ysabella has never had a fondness for riding.”

Aileen could not imagine why, for the older woman looked most elegant upon her steed and rode with grace.

Behind this pair, rode a dark-haired man alone. He seemed more sober than most, his smile thin as he glanced over Inverfyre’s high walls and its villagers.

He smiled when he spied the Hawk, the expression taking years from his manner. “You have made many changes since last I rode this way!” he called to the Hawk by way of greeting.

Aileen watched her husband smile in his turn as he waved in acknowledgement. “My cousin, Tynan, accompanied me when first I came to Inverfyre, then was obliged to return to the administration of Ravensmuir. When he reached his eighteenth summer, Merlyn relinquished the lairdship of Ravensmuir to his son, then bent his attention upon rebuilding Kinfairlie.”

“Why?”

“Ravensmuir would ultimately become Tynan’s holding and Merlyn wished him to learn his responsibility while he had recourse to good counsel. By then, the damage from Ravensmuir’s fire had been repaired, while Kinfairlie was still in ashes. It had been razed to the ground when Ysabella was but a glimmer in her mother’s eye and is her ancestral holding.”

Aileen granted her husband a wry glance. “You are much vexed by fires in this clan.”

The Hawk smiled. “A timber keep, even if faced with stone, is most susceptible. The new walls of all these keeps are built to withstand such treachery.”

She indicated Tynan with a lift of her chin. “Your cousin appears to be a most sober man.”

The Hawk seemed to fight his laughter. “He has traveled in the company of Rosamunde. I have no doubt that he has been sorely vexed by her.”

“They do not like each other?”

The Hawk shrugged. “They infuriate each other. I suspect, in truth, that Rosamunde vexes Tynan apurpose. Look! Roland, my milk cousin, has come with his wife and children!”

“God in heaven, how many children do they have?” Aileen whispered as the large party came into view. There were many children, all dressed splendidly as if they were the progeny of a nobleman.

“Eight,” the Hawk said with a wink.

“And there is not a one of them even old enough to earn his spurs!”

“I hear ’tis cold in Kinfairlie in the winter,” the Hawk jested. “Though I do not doubt that Roland welcomes his father’s aid with the administration of that estate.”

Though finely dressed, the children were clearly restless. Roland waved heartily and was the first to dismount. He aided his wife from her saddle, then loosed his children. He laughed as they scattered. Two scampered directly for Ahearn, who was clearly a favorite. He swung them high and teased them, as Nissa watched with a smile. Roland crossed the bailey to the Hawk, and Aileen liked the merry twinkle in his eyes.

One of the children shrieked, another shouted and Roland’s wife shook her finger in the direction that the majority of them had disappeared. “Mind your new garb!” she cried so good-naturedly that Aileen knew she was well accustomed to such foolery. “Remain out of both millpond and stables, if you please, at least until you meet your new cousin.”

There was no reply to her command, merely more giggles. She spared a glance for her husband and rolled her eyes, her expression making him chuckle.

“By the time we depart, you will be persuaded to remain chaste all your days and nights,” he teased, sparing a wink for the Hawk.