Claire Delacroix (8 page)

His cold eye must not be without effect, even in these days.

Encouraged, Connor cleared his throat and spoke sternly, as though he addressed a wayward child. “You cannot expect me to abandon the chambers of a lifetime at your whim. Had you informed me sooner of your wishes, I would have removed my belongings earlier this day.”

To Connor’s delight, Gavin did not seem to know what to say.

“As ’tis, the hour is too late to stir the help.” Connor inclined his head slightly. “First thing on the morrow, I
shall prepare the chamber for you—” he gritted his teeth to utter the next words “—as befits Tullymullagh’s new lord.”

As Connor had anticipated, those last words stole the last of the wind from Gavin’s sails. The man looked around the chamber greedily, then narrowed his eyes as he looked at Connor again.

“I shall hold you to an accounting of the solar’s contents,” he growled. “By noon on the morrow.”

Connor’s lips twisted wryly. “I would have expected no less.”

“And your daughter, she must become a suitable lady of the estate for my son.” Gavin continued. “Burke shall have no impulsive creature by his side, but a woman who can be relied upon to see his home in order.”

Connor bridled at the insinuation that his daughter was less than perfect, but Uther stepped forward. “We have already begun such tutelage,” he lied and Gavin grunted his approval.

“Good. Then, we all understand each other.” Gavin’s eyes narrowed as he looked back to Connor. “I shall have your hide if that bed is moved, or that chest, or that inlay trunk or—”

“I shall take only those belongings most personal,” Connor interrupted crisply. Uther looked positively lethal over the vulgarity of this transaction, but Connor gestured for the loyal steward to say naught.

Indeed, Connor would ensure the one token of value was gone so completely as to not even be missed.

“There will be no trick?” Gavin demanded with a suspicion that made Connor fear anew that his thoughts had been discerned. “You will not lock me in the hall below once more if I leave?”

Connor’s lips thinned and he spoke with great precision. “I give you my word of honor.”

Gavin snorted. “Words!” he sneered. He jabbed his sword through the air at the older man. “I shall take my rest on the floor directly below, that you or your wayward daughter cannot deceive me again. This chamber shall be mine by noon on the morrow, Connor
once
of Tullymullagh, make no mistake.”

He leaned closer, brandishing the sword. “And do not push the limits of what you deem
personal
effects.”

Connor held the man’s gaze stubbornly as Gavin shoved his blade back into his scabbard. Gavin turned and stalked to the doorway, pushing aside the scandalized steward.

“Make no mistake yourself, Gavin Fitzgerald,” Connor uttered with quiet resolve. Gavin paused on the threshold to look back. “I shall always be
of
Tullymullagh. ’Tis in my blood, as ’tis not in your own.”

The two men’s gazes held for a long charged moment. Perhaps something of Connor’s old indomitability shone in his eyes, for Gavin evidently thought better of arguing the point.

Then mercifully, the man swore and was gone.

“Barbarian,” Uther muttered under his breath.

“Beyond doubt,” Connor agreed. The exchange had left him newly decisive, and the path before him lay clear. “Summon Brianna. I will not have her slumbering in any ways near that man. She has defied him—as have I—and I imagine this Gavin is not one to forget a slight.”

’Twas as good an excuse as any to see his daughter close at hand, though Connor did not truly believe that even Gavin would sully a prize destined for one of his sons.

Uther, though, inhaled sharply at the very prospect, then bowed low and clicked his heels. “Aye, my lord. I shall ensure that the lady Brianna arrives with all haste.”

But Connor was already thinking ahead. He must find some way to work his prize into Brianna’s possession, and
thence to safety, without his daughter ever guessing the value of what she held.

Sadly for his ends, the princess of Tullymullagh shared her mother’s keen intelligence. Connor frowned and tapped his toe as he thought.

Brianna also shared Eva’s love of a romantic tale. At that recollection, the old king permitted himself an indulgent smile.

Forgive me, my Eva, but the ends do justify the means
.

’T
was late when Luc still lay awake, trying to both cast the woman from his mind and find comfort in the hay. On either side of the stall he had chosen, warhorses and palfreys stamped in their stalls and nosed in their feed bins. Otherwise the stable was shadowed and silent.

A whisper sliced through the quiet like a knife through fresh cheese. Truly there was naught more effective than a hushed voice just beyond earshot to make any man stop and listen.

Which Luc did.

“What has taken you so long?” the voice demanded, frustration evident even in the low tone. “I have been waiting and waiting, with no word at all.”

“The land is besieged,” retorted a second even lower voice, tinged with impatience.

Two men ’twas, of that Luc was certain. He could not guess their identities when their voices were so low. And in this keep, there was no shortage of options, for a good hundred people—few women among them—made their homes here.

But why meet in the stables in the midst of the night? There could be no good reason for such secrecy. Did this
have something to do with Brianna’s scheming? Luc strained his ears to catch their words.

“One cannot simply come and go in these times. Surely you have the wit to realize it. Now tell me, what news?”

“The keep is lost to a Welsh mercenary, seeking both territory and the favor of the English king,” retorted the first.

The second swore eloquently.

“He has already pledged fealty to that king.”

The second muttered another curse. “Who is it who holds Tullymullagh, then? Who is this mercenary?”

“Gavin Fitzgerald, though he only holds the seal in trust.”

There was an incredulous pause. “What is this?”

“The mercenary is wed, so the king decreed Brianna should wed Gavin’s son. He has three sons and the princess sent those sons on a quest to compete for her hand.”

Now the second man’s low chuckle throbbed through the stable. “Trust Brianna to unwittingly play to my hand.”

“What of your news?” Now the first voice was impatient. “What have you learned?”

“Ah, only that all we heard rumored is true.”

The first man exclaimed in delight. “
All
true?”

“Aye, the Rose of Tullymullagh is more a prize than anticipated, though I did not plan for this intrusion. It complicates matters considerably.”

“One son remains.”

“Nay!”

Luc’s ears pricked at this mention of himself.

“Aye, the princess tried to dissuade him of his course, but to no avail.”

The second man swore again. “That is less than good news. The Rose of Tullymullagh
must
be mine!”

Silence echoed once more through the stables and Luc did
not dare even breathe for fear of discovery. Who were these men—and what dark intent did they have for Brianna?

“Perhaps matters yet can be turned to our advantage,” mused the second man.

“We have need of a plan,” declared the first.

Luc dared to ease closer to the stable door and inadvertently rustled the straw. The stallion in the next stall tossed his head and snorted at the disturbance. He snapped the reins with vigor and Luc froze.

“What is amiss?” demanded the first man anxiously.

“That fool stallion Raphael,” the second said dismissively. “Never have I laid eyes on so witless a steed. No doubt, the ostler will come along to see what ails him. ’Twould be better if we talked elsewhere.”

There was a stealthy tread of footsteps and Luc leapt for the stall opening. He peeked around the edge just in time to see the last of a man’s boot disappear around the far corner. He could not even discern its color in the wan light.

Then, both whispers and footfalls faded to naught.

The inconveniently sensitive stallion snorted and stamped impatiently as Luc tossed himself back into the straw. Indifferent to Raphael, Luc folded his hands behind his head and stared into the shadows of the rafters.

’Twas clear the men spoke of Brianna and ’twas equally clear that she would be a markedly fine prize of a bride for any ambitious man. There was naught precise to be gleaned from the words he had heard, though Luc had an undeniable sense of foreboding.

Why else meet in the stables when all were abed?

And whisper.

Luc could not stop a protective urge from rising to the fore. ’Twas his cursed training at root, and Luc wished heartily that his finely honed instincts would let him be.

“Gavin means to sleep
here
?” Brianna stood before her sire, incredulous, as a trio of her maids busily set her belongings to rights in the solar. Uther grimly supervised the move.

The difference in Brianna’s sire was remarkable—but a month past he had been bent beneath the weight of his loss and old beyond his years. But now he stood tall and straight, regal as he had been before Gavin came. On this night, a gleam of resolve shone in his grey eyes the like of which Brianna had never seen. Her sire fairly bristled with determination.

She had had but a moment to marvel at this before he confessed his intent to vacate his own chambers for none other than the mercenary himself.

And that news had stolen Brianna’s very breath away. It had nearly driven all thought of Luc Fitzgavin from her mind.

But not quite.

“Aye.” Her father bit out the word. “On the morrow, the solar will be made ready for Tullymullagh’s new lord.”

What madness was this? “Father, we cannot permit it! The solar is
your
chamber, and it is fully my intention to ensure—”

“Brianna!” Connor’s voice cracked like a whip. Everyone in the room straightened to look, for ’twas rare for the old king to chastise his child. Brianna could not look away from her father’s blazing glare.

She understood all too clearly that she had said too much.

Brianna felt her cheeks heat with self-awareness but stood proudly and tried to pretend that she was finishing her sentence as she had intended to begin it. “To ensure that the transition, when it comes, is an orderly one. Indeed, it is
hardly reasonable to expect my maids and Uther to toil at this hour to see my belongings moved here.”

The fire abated in her father’s eyes and Brianna knew she had read him aright. He cleared his throat now and assumed a more benign expression.

“In truth, ’tis not Gavin responsible for this change,” he conceded with an apologetic smile to the busy foursome. All of them responded to his charm, any displeasure fairly melting from their faces.

“ ’Tis only I who would ensure that my daughter sleeps securely this night.” Her father met her gaze once more and Brianna knew his next words would be significant. “Gavin declared he would sleep on the floor below,” he added softly.

“He did not!” Fenella exclaimed, freezing in the act of plumping a fine feather pillow.

“He did that,” Uther confirmed grimly. “He was sorely vexed that our lady saw him locked out of the tower—” Fenella giggled at the recollection, but the steward did not smile “—and he is determined that ’twill not happen again.”

Brianna digested this morsel of news and concluded that her sire was being overprotective as was his wont.

Uther’s tone turned petulant when Fenella did not resume her labor. “How many times must I tell you to turn down our lady’s linens? She must be sorely tired after this day.”

“Aye, Uther.” Fenella flushed and hastened to the older man’s bidding.

“Immediately, Uther.” The other two maids fussed with the linens in question.

“And how many of you does it take for such a simple task?” the steward demanded testily. “You and you, fetch the lady’s embroidery and her garb for the morrow.” He snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Aye, Uther.” The pair scurried away.

“And where is the lady’s bath?” Uther continued, evidently put in poor temper by these quick arrangements. “Has everyone in this abode forgotten how to manage the simplest matters? Must I oversee every little concern?” He inhaled sharply once more, his bright gaze sweeping the chamber in disdain.

“I shall check upon the bath,” Fenella offered with a low curtsey that clearly won her naught in the steward’s estimation.

His lips thinned. “And become lost in the kitchens when the first gossip reaches your ears, no doubt.” Fenella blushed as she hurried from the room, but Uther was quick on her wake.

He pivoted on the threshold and bowed low to Connor. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. The keep is in an inexcusable uproar, but I shall endeavor to set matters to rights in short order.”

“Of course, Uther.”

“And on the morrow, I shall begin to teach the princess all she needs to know.”

“Impeccable, Uther. As always.”

The steward bustled off and Brianna had no doubt that he would lay siege to someone’s misconceptions. She turned back to find her father’s gaze bright upon her.