Claire Delacroix (20 page)

“No more than that?” Luc asked with soft skepticism.

Brianna clicked her tongue with disapproval and granted him an arch glance. “You were to listen alone!”

Luc grinned and inclined his head slightly. “My mistake, my lady,” he said with mock formality. “Please, do continue.”

“They were
destined
to love,” Brianna informed her companion haughtily. When Luc said naught to that, she tossed her hair and continued. “After they had danced several times, my mother’s suspicions were confirmed, but my sire confessed that he had already pledged to take the cross. My dame, though disappointed, held her tongue for she had no right asking anything of him while he undertook a quest of such import.

“And so, my sire went upon his way, travelling south to follow the Holy Roman Emperor and the Frankish king to the Holy Land.” Brianna frowned. “But the war went awry. King and emperor fled the field at Damascus when ’twas clear the battle would be soundly lost. My sire was among
those knights abandoned by their leaders and left to fend for themselves.

“He awakened to find himself stripped to the flesh and among the dead left to rot beneath the sun. My sire wandered as well as he could, hoping in some way he might yet find some sanctuary.”

Brianna glanced up to find Luc staring at his boots, his expression grim. Had she inadvertently reminded him of something?

Or someone?

Brianna could not tell and so she continued on. “My sire had the rare good fortune to be found by a merchant who cared naught for war. He took my sire to his home and had his wife tend my sire’s wounds.

“And as my sire healed, he thought oft of a fair maiden he had met dancing at the high king’s court. He recalled how she laughed and how her eyes shone when he teased her and he wondered how he could not have seen the truth.

“But my sire resolved that he could not return to Tullymullagh with naught to his name, for ’twould shame his family overmuch. He persuaded the merchant to let him labor in his employ, that he might earn enough to at least replace his steed and blade.

“The merchant was readily convinced, for he had no son of his own and his business was a thriving one. And my sire, once he regained his health, was young and strong. In those days, my sire’s hair was dark and he sat in the sun that his skin might darken and attract less notice. The merchant kept him from view as much as possible, their home being on the perimeter of the town and one already known for many comings and goings of foreign traders.

“ ’Twas gemstones this man bought and sold, rubies and emeralds from the east, amber from the north, amethysts from Europe and pearls from the sea. My father oft told me
tales of the wonders of this man’s treasury, for they would spend evenings marvelling at the beauty of these treasures God had wrought. He always speaks of those two with great fondness in his words.

“When my sire’s wages were due, he took his payment in gems. For two years he labored and the merchant was well pleased, but then the man suddenly fell ill. My sire was as troubled as the merchant’s wife, for over the years, they had grown very close.

“In the darkest hour of his illness, the merchant seized my sire’s hand and bade him go home, bade him return to his homeland and find a merry wife—he bade him bring children to light. ’Twas the merchant’s single regret that he and his wife had never conceived a child. The merchant told my sire that he thought of him as a son and that he wanted to be remembered by him as he was alive, not dead. So, he granted my sire a legacy of gemstones and sent him from his door, even as he lay dying.

“My sire, with the merchant’s wife’s aid, stitched the stones into his humble clothes. She packed him food and kissed his cheeks and sobbed when he left their door for all time. And my sire wept as he walked home in that simple garb, to all appearances a pilgrim returning from Jerusalem.”

Brianna felt her voice fade. “He oft said the voyage was a long and lonely one, for he knew his old friend had passed away behind him and the man’s widow was left alone.”

Brianna took a deep breath and flicked a glance to Luc. He was watching her avidly, his features tense with his attentiveness. “Once home, my sire sold the gems, precisely as the merchant had bid him do, a few at a time, first in London, then at the Champagne Fair, then in Paris. Never too many at once, never too conspicuously, never two remarkable
stones together. And as the gems were sold, Tullymullagh’s stone walls began to rise from the soil.”

Luc cleared his throat and Brianna paused in her tale to meet his steady gaze. “I owe you an apology,” he said softly. “Your sire did not build this keep upon the sacrifices of others. I am sorry that I accused him of such misdeeds without asking after the truth.”

Brianna smiled, liking well that Luc had the fortitude to admit when he was wrong. “No doubt you have known many others guilty of those crimes.”

Luc looked away and frowned, deliberately changing the course of the conversation. “And what then of your dame?”

Brianna’s smile broadened, her enthusiasm restored. “Ah, that is the
best
part of the tale! You see, she had heard no good from the East and she feared greatly for my sire’s survival. She prayed for him, but evidently to no avail, for the years passed and he did not return. Her own sire eventually insisted that she must wed, for she grew no younger, but her heart weighed heavy at the prospect. She dallied over her choices, wanting none other than the man she knew she could not have.

“And then, on the day her sire insisted she must choose, Eva came down to the hall, still undecided, only to find a pilgrim awaiting her there. A pilgrim, with a merry twinkle in the shadows of his eyes.” Brianna sighed with delight. “A pilgrim who dropped to one knee and asked for the honor of her hand in marriage.”

“Ah, romance,” Luc murmured, but the gleam in his own eye revealed that he did not mock her.

Brianna poked his shoulder playfully. “ ’Tis a marvelous tale! It had been five years since they had danced at the high king’s court and my dame could not believe Connor stood before her once again. Her sire, of course, was only too glad to accept the suit of the sole heir to Tullymullagh.”

Luc’s lips twisted into a smile. “ ’Tis no wonder you put such credence in bard’s tales,” he commented. “You seem to have been spawned of one.”

Brianna kicked her feet. “I think ’tis wondrous!”

Luc nodded and scanned the orchard. “Aye, ’tis. Would that every child had such a tale to call their own, hmm?”

Brianna caught the sadness in Luc’s tone and felt a sudden sympathy for his own upbringing. ’Twas true enough that he had no such happy tale of his parents’ union and she realized as she eyed Luc’s profile how very much her parents’ love had shaped her own life.

She wanted suddenly to know more of what had shaped Luc’s life. Brianna laid a hand on his arm, following impulse before she could consider the wisdom of it. “Why did you cease to be a knight?” she asked breathlessly.

Luc impaled her with a very blue glance, then leisurely lifted one brow. “Is that a
question
, my lady?” he asked, his voice thrumming low.

Brianna’s gaze fell to his lips, her heart hammered in anticipation, and it seemed she could not draw a full breath. She was warm from head to toe, she tingled in anticipation of the shivers she knew Luc would awaken, she yearned for the sense of security she felt within the circle of his arms.

But Brianna could not summon a word. She nodded, transfixed as Luc leaned toward her, his eyes blazing like sapphires. She closed her eyes as his lips closed demandingly over her own.

Her fingers landed on Luc’s chest and Brianna sighed with satisfaction as she felt the hurried pace of his own heart. ’Twas encouraging to know that she was not alone in being affected by these kisses.

Then Brianna thought of naught but Luc and his embrace.

’Twas thrice her name was called before Brianna even heard the summons. Luc lifted his head and frowned at the
portal to the hall, then drew away from her. “You are sought,” he said softly, his brilliant gaze dropping to Brianna’s lips.

“I would have my answer,” she insisted and Luc smiled.

He leaned forward and tapped the tip of her nose. “On the morrow, my lady. The tale is not short, but you shall have it all.” His gaze bored into hers as though he would will her to believe him. “I promise it to you.”

Brianna flushed and smiled, knowing that Luc would keep his word. “I know,” she whispered and their gazes clung for a breathless moment.

“Lady Brianna!” Brianna jumped guiltily at Uther’s impatient call. “The lord Connor asks for you!”

“Go,” Luc urged.

Brianna bounced to her feet and ran across the orchard. She looked back from the portal of the hall, her heart skipping a beat when she found Luc watching her departure.

“On the morrow,” she whispered to herself, then fled to her sire’s side. On the morrow, she would know considerably more about Luc Fitzgavin, Brianna was certain.

And that prospect put a decided dance in her step.

“F
ather?”

Connor started at the sound of his daughter’s voice and propped himself up in his bed. He scanned the room and his tension eased when he saw Brianna’s familiar silhouette in the portal. Aye, he had been slumbering and this in the midst of the day.

Truly, he had become an old man.

Brianna stepped out of the shadows of the portal, her features etched with concern. She was so vibrant that Connor’s heart contracted with pride. Her golden hair snared the light from the brazier Uther had lit, her cheeks glowed with youth and vitality. And in the tilt of her chin was something of a young woman who had once granted him a kiss farewell.

As was there in the radiant sparkle of her eyes. Was this due to Ruarke’s return? Did he dare to hope his plan might come to fruition?

“Are you well, Father?”

“Tired, child. I am but tired.” Connor forced a smile and patted the edge of the bed. “Come and chat with me for a moment. What news of Ruarke?”

“Gavin would have him left to rot, but Luc stood for my request to tend his wounds.” There was a thread of pride in his daughter’s voice that caught Connor’s attention. That
’twas not in reference to Ruarke was doubly interesting. “I may visit him in the morn.”

Connor glanced beyond her to the door to assure himself that no one was there, then dropped his voice all the same. “And our task?”

“Oh!” Brianna gasped and flushed. “ ’Tis not done yet, Father. I am sorry.” Her hand rose to the wide belt twined around her waist and Connor knew the box he had granted her was yet safely in her possession. “I have not yet had an opportunity, for Luc is oft in the orchard.” Her blush deepened in a most intriguing way.

Connor sat up a little straighter, but tried to keep his tone idle. “This Luc is the son who did not go on your quest?”

“Aye.” Brianna swallowed visibly and seemed fascinated with her hands.

Perhaps his daughter had seen a similar glimpse of that man’s character. ’Twas appealing how this Luc had confronted Gavin, at Ruarke’s behest.

Perhaps one of Gavin’s sons at least had been spared that man’s cruel character. ’Twas a matter to watch closely. For as much as Connor believed his daughter’s conviction to wed for love whimsical, he still would prefer to see her happy in the end.

’Twas his great weakness.

And Ruarke, ’twas true, had proven somewhat disappointing thus far. Why
had
he taken so long to return?

Faced with his daughter’s uncharacteristic silence, Connor seized the chance to deliberately steer their conversation in a direction he wished to pursue. First, he cleared his throat. “It seems to me that this Luc is as unlike his sire as any man could be.”

Brianna glanced up quickly, too quickly for her to be disinterested in the subject. “What do you mean?”

“It takes no small courage to defy a man like Gavin Fitzgerald,
yet this Luc does so, and on the side of honor.” Connor watched his daughter carefully. “ ’Tis rare indeed to meet a man of such lofty principle. Did I not understand that he tends a small Welsh barony?”

“Oh, but Father, Luc was a knight!” Brianna’s eyes shone.

Connor arched his brow. “But now he tends the fields?”

“Something happened, I know not what, but he—” she blushed once more “—he has promised to tell me of it on the morrow.”

Connor interpreted the blush as a sign that his daughter had bent her considerable will upon uncovering this man’s secrets.

He found that most intriguing.

Brianna looked to him then, sympathy shining in her eyes. “It must have been a blow of rare power, for he is not a man to lightly cast aside anything of merit.”

Nay, Connor would have guessed as much. There was a strength about Luc Fitzgavin that he found appealing—and Connor understood well enough that the life of a knight could provide many an incentive to seek a more peaceful life. ’Twas a burden upon the spirit to always be at war, to always be a witness to death. Connor could not blame a man of honor for taking a more peaceful course.

And from events of this day, Connor had the distinct sense that Luc was just such a man of honor. He thought of Ruarke and long-laid plans as he watched his daughter, still reluctant to cast aside a cherished scheme.

But Brianna’s eyes had never shone like this when she spoke of Ruarke. Would Connor’s course ensure his daughter’s happiness? Surely, Ruarke had just been unavoidably delayed? The man’s loyalty was beyond question, as was his affection for Brianna.

Connor would have to reflect upon the matter and keep his
eyes open for this Luc. He forced a smile and flicked an affectionate finger across Brianna’s nose.

“Ah, you must be feeling better!” She kissed him on the cheek and smiled with a sunniness that warmed Connor’s old heart. Brianna looked so much like her mother when she smiled so merrily. “I suppose then there can be no harm in confessing that Cook has candied some elecampane, just for you.”

“You all indulge me overmuch,” Connor said gruffly, knowing that ’twas evident he was pleased. A boy from the kitchens tapped on the door, his nervousness evident in how carefully he balanced the dish he bore. The considerable bulk of Cook hovered behind.