Claire Delacroix (22 page)

Wherever that man was.

Ismay leaned across the table, her eyes gleaming, and her breast fell out of her kirtle again at the move. “What ails you, Luc? Have you no desire for me?”

Luc cleared his throat and strove to look anywhere other than at the pallid breast lying upon the board. “Surely Dermot claims that honor?”

Ismay grimaced. “No more often than he feels is necessary to ensure his place.”

If Luc had thought matters were awkward before, he now understood his own folly. Truly, the last thing he wanted to know was the state of intimacy betwixt Ismay and Dermot!

But when he might have excused himself, Ismay snatched at his hand, claiming it with surprising strength. Luc looked reluctantly to her eyes and found an unexpected anger burning there.

“Do not imagine that my husband has any tender feelings for me. There was a time when I was so foolish as to believe that Dermot was all he seemed, but those days are long gone.”

Her lips twisted ruefully and she seemed suddenly somewhat less inebriated. “As, indeed, is the only reason he saw fit to wed me. Aye, ’tis only now that I clearly discern the sorry excuse for a man who has lain beside me all these many nights.” Her lips twisted. “And lain elsewhere on so many others.”

Luc could not keep himself from looking to the high table in search of that man. He saw that Brianna had risen from
the board and the flutter of maids about her indicated that she too intended to retire.

Yet Dermot had not yet returned.

But Luc could not sit and hold Ismay’s hand all the night long. Truly this conversation grew awkward, and he was tired. “I am sorry, Lady Ismay …” Luc began, intending to excuse himself.

Ismay snorted laughter. “As am I, you may be certain.”

Luc did not know what to say to that.

But Ismay squeezed his hand. “Why should I be the only one to hold my marital vows in esteem?” She walked her fingers up Luc’s arm and struggled to look beguiling.

Luc was put in mind of an old whore who had followed an invading army of knights from the many years past when he had been young and impressionable. Yet even then, he had felt naught but sympathy for the sorely used creature.

As he did now.

“Lady Ismay!” The priest of Tullymullagh clucked his tongue gently as he passed their table. He was of the lanky and quiet class of priests, and Luc did not imagine the man had ever truly smiled.

He arched a brow as he paused alongside, his gaze never falling to the wedge of flesh Ismay exposed though Luc knew the priest was well aware of it. “Do you not imagine that you are somewhat casually attired for the hall?” His disapproval was more than clear.

Ismay had the grace to flush and clutched at her chemise with a mumbled word or two. As she fumbled with the tie of her chemise, Luc extricated his hand from hers.

The priest looked pointedly from Ismay to Luc. “I expect I shall see you both at Mass on the morrow?”

Luc contented himself with a nod, but Ismay held the priest’s gaze defiantly. “Aye, Father Padraig. If all goes well. I shall have a confession to make.”

The priest straightened, clearly appalled by the noblewoman’s words. He might have made a quelling comment, but Ismay snatched up her chalice and bellowed for wine. In that moment, Luc saw that Father Padraig realized Ismay’s drunken state.

“If not more than one,” the priest murmured with a frown. He nodded to Luc and moved to the next table.

“Come, master Luc, let me show you the merit of the woman that I am,” Ismay cooed. ’Twas clear the priest’s manner had not altered Ismay’s intentions, but Luc straightened with purpose.

“I am sorry, Ismay, but ’tis not my way to dally with wedded women.”

Ismay eyed him for a long moment, then sat back, her lips tight once more. Then she glanced to the high table and Luc fought his urge to follow suit.

When Ismay looked back to him, a knowing glint lit her eyes. “The Rose of Tullymullagh,” she said mockingly and Luc hated that his interest was so transparent. “Every man loses his heart with but a single glimpse.”

Before Luc could argue the state of his heart, Ismay leaned forward and shook a finger beneath his nose. “But know this, son of Gavin, I remember much of the Rose of Tullymullagh that others have forgotten.” Her eyes narrowed. “There is a tale here that has not been told for a long time, a tale that will change your thinking about much of what you see.”

But Luc was not inclined to sit with a drunken noblewoman this night. Ismay was drunk, Luc was bone-tired from helping Denis, and Brianna was being safely ushered to her chamber by her maids.

All would be well this night.

“Perhaps another time, you might share the tale with me,” he said politely, then bowed. “I wish you a good
evening, Lady Ismay.” And as Ismay’s brow furrowed, Luc made for the portal.

Little did he guess he would have no chance to hear Ismay’s tale, on the morrow or any other day.

Brianna awakened with a sense that something was amiss.

The steady drum of rain fell against the shutters. The keep was cold, ’twas yet dark, the deep breathing of the other women carried to her ears.

Aye, November had come with a vengeance. ’Twas when Brianna snuggled deeper into her bedlinens that she realized what was wrong.

Ismay snored like a bull.

But no one snored this morn.

Brianna sat up and scanned the slumbering women, disregarding the chill upon her skin. She frowned and looked again with growing concern, but there was no avoiding the truth.

Ismay was not there.

Had she perhaps found some private place to mate with Dermot?

Nay, Dermot had not remained long at the board, though Ismay had lingered, imbibing heavily of the wine. Brianna’s heart clenched as she recalled the last glimpse she had had of Ismay.

She had been holding fast to Luc’s hand and staring into his eyes.

In Dermot’s absence.

Brianna gasped in horror. She was out of bed in a flash and hauling on her chausses and boots and tunic, suddenly very certain where Ismay had spent the night. And with whom.

Luc Fitzgavin was no man of honor, after all!

A cold lump rose in Brianna’s throat, though she knew ’twas only because she had been deceived.

She did not care for Luc.

She
could
not care for him.

Nay, ’twas the knowledge of adultery at Tullymullagh that troubled Brianna. Aye! Her father had always insisted that all beneath his roof adhere to a high moral code. That was what upset Brianna. It made perfect sense, though the explanation did little to account for the sick feeling in her belly.

Fortunately, Brianna had no compunction about making the error of their ways clear to both Luc and Ismay.

Regardless of what state they might be in at this early hour.

Luc folded his arms behind his head and listened to the rhythm of the rain upon the stable roof. The thatched roof was so close above his head that he could have stretched out his fingertips and fairly felt the impact of the drops. Instead, he breathed deeply of the mingled scents of the wet straw overhead and of the many steeds housed below.

And he uncharacteristically lingered abed. ’Twas warm here in the loft and Luc was loath to rise. ’Twas early yet at any rate, for even Denis’ footsteps did not carry from below. The horses snorted quietly, the dogs whimpered in their sleep, the squires around him stirred as they dreamed.

They all had taken to the loft the night before, tethering steeds throughout the length of the stables’ corridors until the new structure could be completed, pushing aside the straw that squire and soldier alike might nest like mice. ’Twas only in the middle of the loft, where the ladder rose from the stable, that a man could stand straight.

Luc eyed the many sleeping here and wondered where Dermot had taken himself the night before. He was notably absent. More importantly, where had he disappeared earlier?

Had Dermot been one of those who schemed within these very stables but two nights past? Luc heartily wished he could know for certain—no less that he knew the truth of those conspirators’ intent for Brianna.

He had a feeling ’twas naught good.

It seemed there was no end of perils confronting his princess.

Of course, Brianna had no need for Luc’s errant chivalrous impulses. Indeed, once she wed Burke, she would have chivalry aplenty within her very bed.

The thought annoyed Luc more than it should. He cast back his linens, suddenly impatient to rise. He had just hauled his chemise over his head when the door to the stables abruptly creaked open. A wedge of faint light shone through the loosely placed floor of the loft and illuminated the top of the ladder.

And a voice rose in an imperious whisper from below. “Luc Fitzgavin, show yourself!”

Luc’s heart skipped at the familiarity of those enraged tones before he grinned. ’Twas as though he had summoned her with his very thoughts!

He was only relieved because he wanted the telling of this tale behind him. Luc was certain of it and quickly hauled on his chausses.

The lady, though, was not patient.

“Luc!” she called again.

“Be silent!” Luc hissed through his teeth. “You will wake every soul within this place.”

Mercifully Brianna did as she was bidden, though Luc could well imagine that would not last. He sought his boots in the shadows, trying to dress with haste.

Before he had even completed his task, Brianna had climbed the ladder to the loft. She stood directly before him, her eyes flashed in fury, hot color burned in her cheeks, and
her full lips were taut with disapproval. Raindrops, snared in the loose cloud of her hair, shimmered like jewels, but there was no mistaking the lady’s mood.

The only question was what could have angered her so.

Luc had no chance to ask.

“You!” Brianna charged with low heat, her voice rising slightly in her anger. “I believed you to be different from the others! I believed you were truly a man of honor and repute!”

Luc blinked—one boot on, one boot off—and struggled to think of what he had done to challenge that conclusion. “And now?” he dared to ask.

“Where is she?” Brianna hissed.

Luc frowned, yet kept his voice low. “Who?”

“Ismay!” Brianna fairly seethed. “Do not toy with me, sir. I know well enough that she is here!”

Luc was not nearly so certain of that. Why would Ismay be
here?
“I do not know what you mean,” he began, but was to have no opportunity to finish.

Brianna advanced upon him, shaking a finger the entire way. “I do not know what you have done with Ismay this morn, but I know well enough what you did last evening and I will have you know that no man—no man!—shall be allowed to behave thus within this keep!”

Luc donned his other boot, glanced at the still slumbering boys, then strode toward the infuriated lady with purpose. ’Twas clear there were matters muddled, for he knew he had done naught wrong.

“We shall talk elsewhere,” he informed Brianna, his voice quiet but firm. Luc captured her elbow within his grip, meaning only to guide her in the darkness.

But Brianna snatched her elbow away. Luc marvelled that she could be so troubled by what he had done, especially when he could not imagine what it had been.

“You will
not
take me away from here!” she charged. “You will not distract me while Ismay sneaks from your pallet!”

Luc eyed the princess incredulously, then glanced pointedly back to his decidedly empty bed. “From
my
pallet?”

“I saw you with her last eve and she did not come to chambers at all,” Brianna retorted, her chin held defiantly high. “ ’Tis clear enough she found another pallet to share and by the looks of your discussion last eve, ’twas with
you
she found companionship.”

Brianna pointedly refused to meet Luc’s gaze. “I thought you were a man of honor,” she said with low heat. “I thought you were a man who would not seduce a woman already wed, let alone while her spouse lingers nearby.”

Brianna took a ragged breath that tore at Luc’s heart before he could defend himself, her vehemence was undiminished. “Ismay is vulnerable, she has lost much of late. I
never
would have believed that you would take advantage of her or any other woman in such distress.” She clenched her fists and glared at Luc. “Such behavior is lower than low, you, you
adulterer
!”