The Snow White Bride (30 page)

* * * * *

A
lexander awakened
in his own hall,
a
sea of faces crowded around him. One face was notably absent. His head throbbed with unholy vigor. His sisters were clustered around him, and Isabella burst into tears when his eyes opened. Someone washed the back of his head with a pungent concoction, the gestures rough but not unkind. He could smell the herbs within the solution and winced at the pain.

“I am not dead yet,” he said with feigned irritation,
though it took much effort to do so. “Unless you mean to see that situation changed.”

“Praise be!” cried Rose, the cook’s wife. “The laird speaks!”

The people of Alexander’s household pushed closer then, their faces alight with relief. Elizabeth cheered and Annelise smiled through her tears; Isabella hugged Alexander so hard that it hurt, but he did not complain.

“I thought you would have preferred me dead,” he teased Elizabeth, and she flushed.

“You are not
that
bad,” she acknowledged. “At least not as yet.”

“There is no one better than a sister to ensure that a man’s vanity is kept within limits,” he muttered, then winked at her when she flushed crimson. She made to swat him, then thought better of her impulse and pulled back her hand. Alexander caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, appreciating her concern however it was expressed.

The effort left him dizzy, though still he lay upon the floor, and he knew he had been wounded, indeed. He closed his eyes and lay back, and the nausea lessened. He recalled only facing Alan’s man, then an explosion of pain in the back of his head.

Then nothing. He looked again, but Eleanor was not yet in the company. Her absence had him rising, ignoring the pain that accompanied his movement.

A gnarled hand planted firmly on his chest and pushed him back toward the floor. “Alan Douglas is gone, my lord,” Jeannie said, mistaking the reason for his urgency. “There is naught to fear, save your own welfare.”

“It is not Alan I would seek, but my lady wife.”

Alexander made to rise again, but was no more successful. Indeed, it was galling that the ancient midwife could halt his intent with a single, albeit strong, hand. “What ails me?” he asked her quietly.

“A wound to the back of your head, my lord, and one that shed a great deal of blood. It looks to be worse than it is, though you will ache mightily for a few days even with my care.” She gave him a shrewd glance. “You do not look so hale, my lord.”

“I must seek my lady wife,” he said, seizing her hand with resolve and putting it aside.

“You need not trouble yourself, my lord. She, too, is gone from Kinfairlie,” Jeannie said with no small satisfaction.

Alexander rose unsteadily to his feet, despite the midwife’s protest. The hall swayed slightly when he did so, but Malcolm stepped to his side and claimed his elbow with a firm grip. Alexander seized his brother’s shoulder and fought to quell the protest of his very innards.

“Be warned, Jeannie,”
Malcolm said. “The lady vowed
to see you injured if her lord husband was not tended well and healed.”

Jeannie snorted. “She can scarce raise a hand against me while with Alan Douglas.” She smiled up at Alexander, her eyes glinting. “If no one will tel
l
you the truth of it, my lord, then I will. Your faithless wife chose Alan Douglas over you, and that without a backward glance.”

“She did no such thing!” Malcolm protested.

“What do you know of women, particularly those who scheme to see their own advantage? Did she not leave willingly, her hand upon his arm?” Jeannie demanded. “I saw no shackles. I witnessed no struggle.”

“It was not as you would imply,” Malcolm insisted, his voice rising. “She sacrificed her own welfare for our own.”

Those in the hall began to murmur, even as they gathered closer to hear the details of this dispute. Alexander did not know what to think of Eleanor’s choice. Why had she accompanied Alan, after refusing to do as much just days past? She had said that he wished to wed her in Ewen’s stead, and Alexander had been certain that she did not share that desire.

“She abandoned her laird for what she saw as a better spouse,” Jeannie retorted. “Did she not put my lord’s ring in your custody?” The old healer cackled at Malcolm’s start of surprise. “I see more than most would believe possible, and now you know it to be true.”

“She meant only to see the gem safe,” Malcolm said, his defense of Eleanor warming Alexander’s heart. “She did not wish Alan to claim the ring.” His lips set and he held Alexander’s gaze. “She said there were treasures with a value beyond their price.”

Alexander’s hope surged at that echo of his own words. In truth, it was difficult to believe that Jeannie named the matter right, not after the mating he and Eleanor had shared the day before. He had been certain that she had been on the verge of surrendering her heart to him.

He intended to ensure that she had that chance.

“She thought you dead or close to it,” Malcolm said, stoic in his defense of Alexander’s bride. “She said she was sorry, though I know not for what, and she called you her beloved.” His jaw set. “Do not discredit a noble gesture, Jeannie, just because it was not your own.”

The old midwife propped a hand upon her hip. “So, now Jeannie is not to be believed, even though this woman who would call herself a healer could not discern that my lord yet breathed.” She sneered. “Or do you suggest that I brought him back from death with the sorcery of my potion? Is that how you would be rid of old Jeannie?”

“We have no desire to be rid of you,” Alexander said, though that was not entirely true.

“Alan forbade her to approach Alexander,” Malcolm said with force. “No healer could see all at a distance in the smoke-infested darkness of this hall! Grant credit where it is due!”

Jeannie snorted again.
“And grant fault where it is
due,” she cried. “Did she
not leave with Alan Douglas?
Did she not abandon our laird in his own blood? Did she not pull the ring that sealed her nuptial vows from her own finger?”

“Did Alan Douglas not leave Kinfairlie when she did so?” Malcolm asked, his voice falling low. “Did her deed not ensure that we all lived to see the morn?” The assembly caught their breath and Alexander watched his brother look over them. “Did she not ext
ract a promise
from Alan to honor our borders and leave Kinfairlie unscathed if she accompanied him? The lady surrendered herself to him to save us, this much is clear.”

“She is not what you would think her to be.” Jeannie pulled herself up to her full height. “Was the laird himself not poisoned on the night she arrived?”

“By your concoction, Jeannie,” Malcolm argued.

The old healer snorted. “A concoction that would have
done him no injury, had he eaten of the meal, instead of
chasing her across the snow!” Glances were exchanged over this, seemingly
emboldening the older woman. “I
tried to warn her, that I did, by granting her a taste of her own treatment, but she managed to evade the lesson.”

Alexander frowned. “What is this you say? What warning did you grant?”

“The last of the wine that she said she claimed for you.” Jeannie snorted. “I knew she meant to savor it herself, and so I spiced it that she might have a taste of her own—”

“You mean the wine that Anthony drank?” Alexander asked with dawning fury.

“You mean that you meant to see our lady fall ill?” Anthony himself demanded in outrage.

“It was a lesson,” Jeannie insisted. “And one that would not have killed any soul.” She shook a finger at Anthony. “She did not save you from any fate. You would have been healed all the same, with or without her deed.”

“Out!” Alexander roared. “Out of my hall! Jeannie, you will never cross the threshold of Kinfairlie’s keep again!”

There was a rumbling of assent through the hall, and nods were exchanged. A passageway was made for Jeannie, who did not seemingly believe that she was being cast out. Helping hands urged her toward the portal, and she began to mutter.

As soon as she was out the portal, all gazes turned to Alexander. “My lady has been unjustly maligned ” he said.

“And she has sacrificed herself to see us all safe from Alan Douglas,” Malcolm said.

“Such valor must have its reward,” Alexander agreed with surety. “We will ride in pursuit of the lady.”

The men in the hall granted agreement. Alexander could not reply, so loud and numerous were the avowals of assent. Indeed, he was having trouble remaining on his feet and his vision was clouding. This injury would need time to heal before he could be of much aid to Eleanor.

“You will not ride soon,” Malcolm said quietly, evidently seeing his brother’s malaise.

Alexander wavered on his feet and Malcolm seized his elbow once more. “No, not soon,” he said, embarrassed by how much he had to rely upon his brother’s support. He raised his voice with an effort. “We will ride forth, upon that you may rely, though the time will remain to be decided. Indeed, we must wait until the twelve days of Christmas are past so that war can be conducted honorably.” He smiled for his company with his customary br
avado. “By then, I assure you, I
will not only be hale but will have a scheme.”

The company roared approval of this notion, but the hall swirled around Alexander in a drunken dance. He felt himself falling, felt shadows closing around him with frightening speed; then he knew no more.

“Determined fool,” he heard Anthony mutter, the castellan’s tone both scolding and affectionate. “He should not have been upon his feet with an injury like this. How can a man so clever prove himself such a fool?”
Fool.
That single word gave Alexander an idea before the encroaching darkness swallowed him completely.

* * * * *

E
leanor was nigh sick
with her fear. She did not like the line of Alan’s mouth or the set of his jaw. She did not like
how he grasped her upper arm as soon as they were outside Kinfairlie’s hall and dragged her after him so roughly that she tripped.

His manner was too reminiscent of that of his brother.

But Alan was not drunk, as Ewen so frequently had been. Alan’s blow would not miss, he would not misjudge its target. He would not stumble. He would not fall into a stupor before he could injure her severely.

She saw Matthew on the ground, blood flowing from his arm and his face pale. His father leaned over him with concern, all the villagers appearing dazed.

“You must bind the wound,” Eleanor s
aid, without a second thought. “
Take a length of linen and tie it around his arm. Keep your fingers upon it and the flow of blood will stop.”

They looked up at her, so shaken that they did not understand her.

“A length of cloth!” Eleanor said, then reached for her own hem. “Here, I will give you one—”

“You will do no such thing,” Alan snarled, and tightened his grasp. His grip was so tight that she cried out in pain, but he only dragged her toward his horse.

“My lady!” cried the miller.

“I will be well enough,” Eleanor said in haste, not wanting
them to endure further injury. “
Tend to Matthew. Bind his wound, then take him to Ceara. He will be well if you tend him quickly.”

“What do you care for the health of an ignorant peasant?” Alan asked, his manner mocking. “Or was he the one you meant to wed next?”

Alan and his men found this comment amusing beyond expectation, though Eleanor did not share their
humor. She was fairly tossed into a saddle, her heart sinking when Alan put his foot into the stirrup of the same saddle. She sat sideways, her knees pressed firmly together, for she feared his intent.

“I can ride alone,” she said with haste. “I have the skill.”

“And you will flee at first chance,” Alan said with a skeptical roll of his eyes. “I am not so witless as that.”

“I give you my word that I will not.”

“And what is a woman’s pledge worth?” Alan did not wait for a reply, but pulled himself up into the saddle behind her. He caught her fa
st against him and closed his
gloved fist over her breast without any effort to hide the crude gesture from his men. Eleanor caught her breath at his unexpected familiarity and he tightened his grip upon her breast so that she knew she would be bruised.

“I beg you, do not injure me,” she whispered.

Alan laughed. He gave her breast one final squeeze of such vigor that it brought tears to her eyes, then spurred his horse onward. “Ride on!” he bellowed. “There is a welcoming heat to be savored in our own hall.”

The mercenaries laughed and Eleanor did not doubt that Alan made a lewd expression. She was glad not to be able to see him and feared his intent anew. Would the mercenaries each sample her in their turn? It was clear to her that several relished the prospect.

“I thought you desired my legacy,” she said, hoping that she was successful in making her voice sound calm.

“What man would be fool enough not to desire it?” Alan asked.

“The father of any son I bear must also be my legal husband to gain the legacy,” Eleanor said. “Though I am certain that you are aware of that detail.”

“Verily, I am. You have buried another spouse in your determination to flaunt the will of men, but you will not be rid of this one so readily.”

“You are not my spouse, but my jailer.”

“As yet.” He tore the laces from the side of her kirtle with sudden force, ripping the eyelets. He forced his gloved hand through the opening and grasped her crotch with crude force. Eleanor gasped and jumped, for his grip was painful. “This, too, shall be mine,” he rasped in her ear, and her heart galloped in fear.

Though she knew it to be inevitable that she meet Alan abed, she had to think of some way to delay that horror.

“Surely you would want no doubt cast upon any claim you might make,” Eleanor said, her words rushed.

“And what is that to mean?”

“That I have lain with the laird of Kinfairlie, my lord husband, and should his seed bear fruit, my legacy shall be paid to his heir, regardless of who my husband might be.”

Alan loosed his grip upon her in his dismay. “You cannot do that!”

“I most surely can.” Eleanor strove to sound bold. “Do you imagine that my guardian will discredit my testimony as to which man is the father of my child?” Eleanor knew that Reinhard von Heigel, her father’s confidant and her guardian, would do precisely that, without a moment’s remorse. Like Alan, Reinhard believed the word of a woman to have no merit. She lied and she knew it, but she did not regret it.

Alan growled in dissatisfaction. “I will kill his heir, then.”

“And break your own pledge to leave Kinfairlie untroubled, with no guarantee that the coin will then come
to you. The Lammergeier are plentiful and are said to have dark powers as well. Do you mean to engage them all in war?”

“I could beat any child out of you.”

“And readily kill me as well.” Eleanor shook her head, striving to appear as if she had a choice and was confident in it. “I will wed you after I next bleed and not one day before. There will then be no doubt cast on the rightful recipient of my legacy, should I bear a child.”

Alan heaved a sigh and it seemed to Eleanor that the horse galloped over many miles before he replied. “I cede to you in this, but solely because it suits my own ends.” He tightened his grip upon her again so that she winced and his voice fell to a growl in her ear. “But if you deceive me, understand that you will pay for your perfidy. I will have an obedient wife, even if she has to be trussed and beaten to keep her so. A woman can be bruised in places that do not affect the fruitfulness of her womb. Are we understood?”

Eleanor nodded, her mouth dry. She knew then that as soon
as
she bore
a
son,
as
soon
as
Alan had her legacy, her life would be over. He might guard his blows until that day, but afterward, when he had no need of her, he would kill her.

Tivotdale’s shadow rose before the company and Eleanor was so terrified by the sight that she had to remind herself to breathe. What she had endured in this place was not easily forgotten!

There was no denying that she had done a good deed for Kinfairlie and its people, for Alan’s men had left without further violence to those residents.

Though truly they had already done their worst. Her
tears rose with the certainty that Alexander must be dead. She would have liked to have laid her fingers against his throat to be certain. She would have liked to have leaned her ear against his chest to dispel the last of her doubts.

But to be honest, she did not want to know for certain that Alexander Lammergeier was dead. She wanted to nurse a faint, if futile, hope that he would live, that he would be healed against the odds, that he would laugh and make a jest at his sisters’ expense once more. She wanted to believe that Kinfairlie would not be bereft of its protective laird, that Alexander would witness the wedding vows of Matthew and Ceara, that that holding would remain the tranquil sanctuary she had known it to be. Even if Alexander forgot about her, or chose not to pursue her, Eleanor would like to believe that he yet drew breath and found cause for merriment.

Eleanor knew that her hope was folly, for she could close her eyes and see that fearsome puddle of blood. She also knew it was her fault alone that Kinfairlie had been cursed to feel the weight of Alan’s hand
.
She should never have fled there. She should never have lingered. She should never have loved its laird, for it had been Alexander and her unexpected love for him that had persuaded Eleanor that she might hope.

They rode beneath Tivotdale’s portcullis and Eleanor knew a dreadful certainty that she would never leave this keep again alive.

Yet, though the loss of the man she loved hurt more than Eleanor had feared, against all expectation, she had only one regret. She did not regret having loved Alexander: she regretted that she had not told him that he had succeeded in his quest to win her heart. She knew how
much value he had placed in love and she knew that he would have been triumphant at the tidings of his success. She had not told him, not even when she knew of it, not even when she had had the chance.

And now, she never would have that chance again.

Eleanor would pray, she resolved, that she and Alexander might meet again in heaven, solely that she might have the chance to redress her error. She wanted to see satisfaction curve his lips; she wanted to see stars light his eyes. She wanted to hear him laugh at his triumph, a triumph that surely he had never doubted would be his own.

Alan swung out of the saddle, then reached up for her with a rough gesture that filled her with foreboding. He resembled Ewen so much in this moment that Eleanor’s spirit quailed.

She suspected that she might meet Alexander soon, indeed.