Seize The Dawn (40 page)
Authors: Shannon Drake
"What will you wear?" Eleanor asked. "Something very fine. We'll go through my clothing, find what suits you best—"
"This is the last of it, being moved."
Eleanor hesitated. She had seen nothing of her own in the room where she found Brendan.
"Bring it back," she said softly.
"My lady Eleanor, Sir Brendan said—"
' 'Brendan is a strong man, and indeed, a brave hero. But he does not dictate where I sleep."
"My lady—"
"Go back for my things."
"Please, Eleanor—"
"Bridie, go back for my things."
Eleanor walked by her, returning to the very fine room that had been prepared for her when she arrived.
She sat down before the fire. She used a slate for a desk, her ink laid out on the small stool before the fire. She tried to forget Brendan, and the burning humiliation she had brought upon herself.
Her cheeks still burned. Her heart beat too fast. She had to concentrate on her task. It was true that she couldn't go riding boldly back into England as if she were again an armor-clad figurehead, spurring men into war. Yet she was very afraid for Alfred.
She started writing again, forgetting for a moment, fighting to keep her thoughts centered. She managed to gather together some of the words she needed. Time passed. The task absorbed her.
In a while, the door opened. She assumed that Bridie had come back. She did not look up, but said, "Bridie, please, 'tis your day. Look through what you will, take what you will."
She managed to put down a few words, with Isobel's name in the sentence, along with the warning that someone there was a prisoner, without actually accusing Isobel. The silence in the room at last distracted her.
She looked up. It was not Bridie.
Brendan had entered, closed the door. He leaned against it, arms crossed, waiting. Startled, she jumped up, barely saving the pot of ink. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She stared at him, far more alarmed by his sudden appearance than she wished to betray.
She smoothed back a strand of hair.
"What is this new game of yours?" he demanded.
"This accommodations are quite fine. Sir Brendan," she said. "Unless, of course, they are intended for use by someone else. Then, of course, if I am taking up chambers intended for other guests—"
"The room is not needed for other guests."
"Then I will remain here."
"You will not."
"If I am a guest—"
"You'll be housed where you are invited to stay."
"I am not leaving."
"You are."
"So you are master of the castle now and would become a tyrant?" she challenged.
"A tyrant, my lady?"
"Indeed, giving orders, demanding—"
"Using force?" he inquired.
He strode into the room and caught her by the arm. She shrank back, fighting his hold, furious, and still humiliated. "Don't, Brendan, don't! Please, for die love of God, let me be, I am not going—"
He caught her up, heedless of her words, leaving the room and heading into the hall. She struggled against his hold, her cheeks flaming.
"Will you put me down! You have humiliated me unto the grave as it is—"
"Then I suggest you quiet down, else you'll draw attention from below."
"Aye, and they'll see you behaving like a madman—"
"The difference is, my lady, I don't care what they see."
"Brendan, damn you, do you think that this is not wretched enough—"
He stopped in the hall; she felt his tension. She feared some real violence, but his force was all directed at the door he pushed in with a purposeful kick. The heavy wood gave way, and the hinges opened with a small groan.
"This, Eleanor," he said firmly, "is where you'll stay."
Chapter 19
He strode into the room and kicked the door firmly shut behind him.
She was sure that the sound of it slamming reverberated throughout the castle. He was heedless of the noise, striding firmly into the room.
At last he set her down upon a rich woven carpet before a burning fire. She stared at him, then surveyed her surroundings. The room was beautifully appointed; it seemed to be one of the finished places in the castle. The carpet made the room seem small and warm and intimate. The walls were not covered with flat tapestries, but heavy, embroidered draperies. The chairs were carved, highly polished, Norse in origin. The room contained a handsome bathtub, Norse as well, with intricate carving.
There was water in it; steaming and ready. Heavy linen towels waited by the side. The bath looked incredibly inviting.
She had no intention of going near it!
There was an archway to the far rear comer, draped as well. She walked to it, pulled back the curtain, and saw that it led to Brendan's chamber.
She turned back to face him. "I cannot stay here," she whispered.
"You can, you will."
"Your men heard what you said to me—"
"Aye, and they heard what you said to me. After we rode into England—to procure your freedom."
"I won't stay here, I can't stay here, I never intended to remain here long; as it is, I must clear my name, and if you don't see that—"
"Your pride is worth more than your life?"
She fell silent. "You know—"
"I know all there is to know, and have taken steps to set the matter straight. And you will stay here. The room has been prepared. It could not be more inviting. I know that you are fond of your comfort. The tub is wonderful. I've already tried it out."
"I am weary of you mocking me for the life into which I was born," she told him heatedly. "I am not desperate for comfort. You enjoy the bath. A Scot can always use an extra cleaning."
She started for the door, found herself dragged back.
"You will enjoy the bath."
"Brendan—"
"Clothed, unclothed?" he asked her.
"Have you gone mad with sudden power!" she exclaimed.
Perhaps he had; he lifted her, striding for the tub. She was going in, she thought, as she was. "Brendan! My shoes! I haven't so many here—"
He paused.
"Let them fall."
"Brendan, please, we can talk as civilized human beings—"
"A civilized Scot? I think not. We are far too uncouth and ill mannered!"
Her shoes fell as she stared at the set of his features. "Brendan, I do not have so very many garments with me that I can afford to destroy them. I—''
He set her down. She stared at him, frustrated, and fighting tears. She'd been angry that he would make plans without her; yet she was anguished to find that he did not intend to marry her. The child would have his name. He'd said nothing regarding her. She had made assumptions.
"I cannot do this; you really don't understand."
He remained before her, both angry and amused.
"You cannot do—
this.
What
this
do you refer to, Eleanor? You cannot take a bath? According to the people in Rome, the English are every bit as filthy as the Scots—we have all forgotten everything those ancient ancestors taught us about water. Ah, but it's easy, my lady, one simply sits and soaks, and the bar there is soap—"
"Brendan, excuse me, I am leaving. Sir Brendan, master of his domain, if you will—"
"What
this
do you mean, my lady?
This
—as in remain with me? Lie with me? You had no difficulty in Paris. The great lady, chancing an encounter with a heathen rebel for the sheer carnal danger of it, the sensual pleasure? Ah, but in truth, you can't do
this
so openly, because you are, of course, the great lady?"
She swung out to strike him, but he caught her arm, spun her around, and found the ties to the fine silk tunic she wore.
"Brendan—"
It came free in his hands. She remained in her linen shift and silk hose, but he made no effort to remove those, lifting her as she swore—and found herself seated in the tub, the hot water splashing around her, her hair soaked and in her eyes. He hunkered down by the tub.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he inquired.
She smoothed back a lock of sodden hair. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"You made a fool of me in there," he told her quietly.
"You made a fool of me!"
"I didn't come into your room ranting that I would not marry you."
"I—I had thought that ..."
"That I'd made arrangements for our marriage without consulting you."
She didn't need to answer. The rose in her cheeks told him clearly enough.
"They were thoughts you might have shared when we were alone," he told her.
"You refused to give me time alone."
"I had intended to do so, as soon as we finished discussing the fortifications and the surrounding land."
"So the castle ... is really yours?"
"The castle is Scotland's. I will man it, aye. Does that make me marriage material in your eyes? Does it provide a home?"
She doused him angrily with water from the tub. She managed a good strike; one he had not expected. She drenched his hair, his face, his shoulders. He was still a single moment, then moved like lightning, drawing her up to her feet, water pouring from the linen she wore as if she were a human fountain. His force was such that she cried out with alarm, "Brendan, the babe!"
He held still, and to her amazement, he began laughing. "My lady, you are a crafty opponent indeed." Then suddenly his fingers threaded the dampness of her hair as he cradled her nape and the back of her head, pulling her against him. They were both soaked; she tasted the hot steam of the bath on his lips, tasted the warmth, felt the wet sinking sensation, and trembled as she stood in his arms. When he released her lips at last, she met his eyes.
"I do intend to marry you, you know," he said, his thumb moving over her cheek.
"Alain is barely cold."
"I know that as well."
"I should, in truth, be mourning."
"We both mourn a good man. But we both know as well that is precarious, and time, like life, very precious."
He held her against him.
They both dripped into the tub, and around it.
She drew away from him, pulled the wet linen over her head, and cast it upon the dragon's head to the side of the tub. She sank into the water, grateful that some steam still rose, and peeled her hose from her limbs, depositing them, too, upon the ferocious head of the dragon. She eased back and closed her eyes.
She was startled a second later when he joined her, clothing shed. His weight displaced the water, which sloshed over the rim.
"You don't fit!" she told him.
"I'll manage." His limbs entwined with hers.
"The floor will be soaked; the water will reach the carpet, it will all be ruined."
"Ah, but as of this morning, it is my floor, and my carpet, to ruin."
He reached for her, water sloshing anew, and manipulated their forms so that he rested against the tub, and she leaned against him, her back to his chest. He smoothed her damp hair, cradling her to him.
"Relax, my lady."
"I can't."
"You haven't spent enough time running," he murmured, smoothing her hair, "you learn to take what moments you can."
"It's not that."
"Then what."
"Your foot—"
"That is not my foot!" he laughed.
She fell silent, and couldn't help the smile that teased her lips. "I could kill you myself half the time!" she whispered, "And still ... you ..."
"Tease your senses? Awaken your wildest dreams?"
"Make me laugh."
"Alas, I have amused you? That was not my intent!"
In a second he was up, the water sluicing once again, and he was out of the tub, reaching for her, and wrapping her in the linen towel. And in seconds he had her up, and despite her shrieks, protesting the water he spewed, they were across the room, crushed upon the down-filled softness of the bed. Her words were still; the instant's deep chill she had felt on leaving the water was quickly gone. The soft fire that burned that afternoon laid claim to their skin, warming it, then casting a sheen upon them as they dried, to grow sleek and damp again in the urgency of their hunger, the depths of their desire. And that afternoon, she gave guilt and worry and fear to the flame, and lay beside him, happy only to be where she was, luxuriously warm in his arms, safe in the haven of his strength.
