The Snow White Bride (33 page)

In one smooth gesture, Alexander pulled his sword from the scabbard hidden in his high boots and faced Alan. Eleanor looked around to find every member of the apparently besotted group of performers armed and steely-eyed. There were not just villagers from Kinfairlie in their company, but a number of mercenaries from Kinfairlie’s hall. Those in Alan’s employ who did not find their garb afire roared and leapt into battle.

“You again,” Alan said, then pulled his own blade. “I have killed you once and I will kill you twice.”

“In a fair fight?” Alexander shook his head. “I think not.”

Alan laughed. “An injured man is easily laid low again. You took a killing blow when last we met. It will not take much to see you dead, in truth.” He waved the tip
of his sword at Eleanor. “And this time, you need not expect such kindness from me as you have seen thus far.”

“You know nothing of kindness,” she said; then Alan leapt from the high table.

His blade struck resoundingly against Alexander’s own, nearly sending that man stumbling. Alexander freed his blade and struck quickly, before Alan completed his swing. Alan swore and blood stained his sleeve where the blade had bitten.

“A nick, no more and no less,” Alan snarled. “Though you shall have more than equal compense for that deed.” Their blades clashed again and Alexander pushed Eleanor out of harm’s way. Malcolm fought his way to defend his brother’s back, though he spared her a smile of encouragement. She found herself surrounded by the miller, the ostler, Father Malachy, and the miller’s son, Matthew, who must have been in the company. The circle of men defended her vigorously, slowly making a steady course toward the portal.

A mercenary lunged at them unexpectedly and injured Father Malachy. That man cried out and the little company faltered for a moment, so unaccustomed were they to battle. Two of Kinfairlie’s mercenaries joined their circle, their blows fearsome.

Eleanor reached past the priest and seized a torch that burned atop one of the trestle tables. She pivoted and jabbed it at the mercenary. His tabard flamed with alarming speed, for he had been soaked by the liquor, and even his beard lit. He fell back in horror and pain. Eleanor spun with the burning torch fast in her grip, determined to do her part.

“My lord needs our aid!” Matthew cried suddenly. They looked as one to see that Tivotdale’s surviving
mercenaries had made a barrier between Alexander and Malcolm and the portal. Those two men fought with such vigor that they had not noticed their quandary.

“They mean to ensure that there is no escape, even if Alan falls,” Eleanor said, hating Alan Douglas and all who served him.

“What shall we do?” the miller asked.

“We have to thwart them,” Eleanor said. She lit another torch and passed it to Matthew. “Fire is our best weapon, but pray that it does not see to our demise as well.”

“I would gladly die in defense of my laird,” Matthew said with resolve. The men nodded their accord and the little company turned as one to assault the mercenaries closest to them. The others from Kinfairlie saw their deeds and echoed them. Within moments, they had turned the men to a wall of flame. Men fell, men screamed, men rolled on the ground.

Eleanor stamped out a flame on the priest’s shoulder with the flat of her hand and the others took to watching each other. Those souls from Kinfairlie around the edges of the room echoed their scheme of attack and soon Eleanor had to brace herself against the scent of burning flesh. The hall was becoming smoky and so hot that her own flesh seemed to sizzle.

She wondered whether they would even be able to make the portal. They reached Alexander and Malcolm and she saw that the cloth wrapped around Alexander’s head had fallen aside. There was a red scar at the base of his skull and a lump beneath it.

He should not have been on his feet, much less doing battle! His hair was dark with sweat and his teeth were gritted, but he gave Alan no quarter.

Until suddenly and unexpectedly, Alexander faltered. Eleanor caught her breath in fear. Alan stepped forward with a gleam in his eye, intent upon his kill. He raised his blade in triumph and made to bring it down upon Alexander’s head.

“No!” Eleanor screamed, though her cry was swallowed by the din of the hall.

Just as Alan began his killing stroke, Alexander drove his blade upward and into Alan’s belly. Alan choked, his own sword fell, and he staggered backward. Alexander drove his blade ever higher, until Eleanor was certain Alan could taste it. That man’s eyes gaped.

“Did you not heed our performance, Alan?” Alexander asked, then tsk-tsked. “The truth that the dead will rise was before your very eyes. You should have had the wits to be warned.” He pulled his blade out of Alan’s chest, the length of it stained with blood, then kicked Alan backward. Alan fell and the flames claimed him in their fiery embrace, his tabard burning with a crackle.

Alexander pivoted and seized Eleanor’s hand. Their task complete, the company fled the carnage in Tivotdale’s burning hall.

And Eleanor knew there was one last thing she must confess to Alexander, though it might well cost her every prize she had won thus far. The man had asked for honesty, and it was past time to surrender it to him.

All of it, no matter how ugly it was.

* * * * *

T
he portcullis was open, to Alexander’s relief. His head pounded with painful vigor, but there was no ease to be savored before they were safely within Kinfairlie’s walls.

A trio of shadows separated themselves from the wall and he braced himself, but it was his sisters, still beneath the fretful eye of Eleanor’s maid, Moira. Isabella and Elizabeth matched their steps to that of the company, and Elizabeth spared him a nod that told of her success.

Alexander winked at her, well-pleased. He had been fearful for the success of her scheme, even for his sisters’ survival, but they had made an argument he had not been able to protest. He could scarce think for the pain between his ears, much less summon a clever comment, but he dared not indulge his urge to halt now.

“You let your sisters accompany you?” Eleanor demanded of him in outrage. “How could you so endanger maidens beneath your care? I thought you were a man well aware of his responsibilities!”

His wife had much to learn about his willful sisters, though Alexander had no chance to tell her as much.

“He could not have left us behind,” Isabella said grimly. “Even if he had locked us in our chamber, we would have found a way to follow and be of aid.”

“Annelise remained at Kinfairlie,” Elizabeth confided. “But only with reluctance. She acts as regent in your and Alexander’s absence.”

“And if they were coming, then so was I, my lady,” Moira sai
d. “I
have as stout a heart as any and I would not be left standing aside while you were retrieved from the clutches of this lot.”

“But there were many come to my aid,” Eleanor argued. She granted Alexander a quelling glance. “You should not have put your sisters in peril.” Her lips tightened. “Nor should you have imperiled yourself by this feat. How do you mean to walk all the way to Kinfairlie?
I see that scar upon your flesh, Alexander Lammergeier, and I am enough of a healer to know that you risk much in this pursuit.”

“I risked all,” he said, granting her a quick kiss that left her blushing and silent. He held her gaze. “And regret none of it.”

She blinked back tears and tightened her grip upon his hand, her first outward sign of relief. Alexander quickened his pace, for they were not free of Tivotdale’s boundaries as yet.

“We could not have surrendered you to Alan Douglas!” Isabella grimaced and shuddered. “He was never a man of merit.”

“Besides,” Elizabeth said with some confidence, “I am the only one who can pick a lock. Alexander could not have left me behind.”

“And I had to keep Elizabeth out of trouble,” Isabella added.

Eleanor blinked, clearly unaware of the import of this, then a fearsome groan filled the air behind them. Alexander looked back in time to see Tivotdale’s roof crumble, shifting so that its considerable weight fell into the great hall. Smoke rose from the fissures in the roof and the dull orange of the flames could be seen on the stone.

The last of the sentries—who must have been sleeping— bellowed at the sight. They shouted to each other, then roared when they spied the fleeing party.

“Run!” Alexander cried, for it did not matter if they were overheard now. An arrow buried itself in the ground beside him. “Run!”

The entire company took to their heels, fleeing as quickly as they could. A hail of arrows buried themselves
in the ground on their every side, and Alexander heard one grunt of pain. One of the villagers held fast to his shoulder, which now bled, but ran grimly onward.

Alexander felt his grasp of his surroundings faltering. Alan had fought more vigorously than he had expected; though in the moment, Alexander had not been aware of his own weakness. Now he felt the full impact of his former injury.

He felt Malcolm take one of his elbows and knew that Eleanor held fast to the other.

“We will never make it,” Eleanor muttered.

“Of course, we will,” Malcolm replied.

“You have little faith in the Lammergeier,” Alexander teased, his voice weak. Eleanor spared him a glance filled with concern; then the welcome pound of hoofbeats filled the air. “You see? Aid is nigh upon us.”

Eleanor turned, a frown drawing her brows together, for in the blackness of the night, it was easier to hear the horses than to see them.

“Destriers,” she whispered, and Alexander smiled.

“Our
destriers,” he confirmed.

The ground rumbled with the steeds’ approach and the small company cheered. Alexander saw the horses of Ravensmuir, a great herd of them, bearing down upon the group. Their ebony necks were arched, their manes and tails, as dark as midnight, gleamed in the wind. Their hoofbeats were sure and resolute, their approach made the very earth tremble. Their saddles were empty, save for a mere trio of them.

The beaming face of the ostler of Ravensmuir became visible, for he rode the foremost steed. Two of his boys rode the horses on the flanks, but the beasts were so
disciplined—or perhaps so clever—that they seemed to know their destination without being told.

They surrounded the small company as it came out of the range of the archers, pacing and prancing, and Uriel bent to nuzzle Alexander. Owen and Malcolm fairly heaved Alexander into his destrier’s saddle, and he felt Eleanor’s concerned gaze upon him.

“I will ride with him,” she said to Owen, who shook his head.

“No, my lady.” Owen seized the reins of a large mare and offered Eleanor his hand that she might climb to the stirrup. “It is more fitting that you ride your own steed.” It was a moment that Alexander savored and he knew he would recall it a thousand times. His wife looked between the ostler and the horse, seemingly lost for words. She looked then to Alexander, tears welling in those magnificent green eyes.

“Guinevere insisted,” he said lightly, feeling better now that he was in the saddle. “I told you that she had no care for our counsel, but then, I have an affection for females with thoughts of their own.”

“I
cannot
…
I should
not
…”
Eleanor
said, her very incoherence a sign of her pleasure. She stroked the mare’s nose, clearly overwhelmed.

“Of course you should!” Isabella chided. “You are the lady of Kinfairlie and family as well. It is only fitting.”

“Make haste, my lady,” Owen said, glancing back to burning Tivotdale.

Eleanor needed no further encouragement. She shook her head and swung into the saddle, her grace that of one well accustomed to riding. The light of her features told Alexander the truth of how pleased she was.

“You must give me a ride,” Isabella insisted to Eleanor. “It is likely the closest I shall ever come to having a Ravensmuir steed for my very own.” She granted Alexander an arch look, which he ignored. Elizabeth, meanwhile, rode a smaller mare, with Moira riding behind her, that maid fairly trembling at the size of the steed.

The company turned as one and the horses began to canter toward Kinfairlie. Eleanor rode upon Alexander’s left, Malcolm upon his right, and his sisters’ two steeds to Eleanor’s left. Tivotdale fell behind them, becoming a dull red gleam in the distance. By morning, there would be nothing left of the brothers who had so abused his lady wife, and not much more of their abode.

Alexander believed that most fitting.

* * * * *

“
M
y lady, I did not realize that you blamed yourself for Ewen’s death,” Moira said when they had passed the copse of trees where the horses had been hidden, and Tivotdale was lost to view.

Eleanor started. “Of course I did. How could I not do so?”

“What happened?” Alexander asked, knowing full well what Moira knew that his lady did not.

Eleanor met his gaze steadily. “He came drunken to our chamber, as was his custom. He locked the portal. He shed his garb. He insisted that we would lie together, and when I declined, because he was besotted, he raised his hand to strike me as so oft he had before.” She swallowed. “And I did not deign to be struck again.”

Her words sat in the air between them all, the group listening intently. Alexander understood why she had feared him at first, why she had panicked when he had locked the door to the portal. “Did he always strike you?”

“Only after the first year, though he was always rough. It was when I did not conceive a son, and that despite his efforts, that he was so angered with me.”

Again this demand for sons. Alexander supposed her expectation that he would demand boys from her came from her experience of men. He reached for her hand and she clutched at his, even as she sat straighter in the saddle. “And so, you did not deign to be struck again,” he said, encouraging her to continue.

“No. And so I struck him back,” she confessed. “Indeed, I hit Ewen before he managed to hit me, so drunken was he. He fell. He moved no more.” Her throat worked. “I knew that my life was as good as over if they tried me at Tivotdale for his murder; so in terror I fled, in the midst of the night.”

She looked to Alexander again, a plea in her eyes. “And so I happened to come to Kinfairlie, a rare sanctuary if ever there was one, as if someone guided my path. And so I surrender this truth to its laird, because I know he favors truth, even if it is condemning, and I plead for his mercy.”

“You have no need of his mercy,” Alexander said quietly. “For your truth is but a measure of the full truth.” Eleanor blinked in her astonishment. She frowned at Alexander and he indicated Moira, who cleared her throat portentously.

“I came to your chamber that morning, my lady, and found you gone. I found my lord Ewen fallen upon the
floor as well, and I thought at first that he but slumbered there. God knows but the man had fallen into a drunken stupor far from his bed a thousand times before. He was snoring, though there was a bump upon his head, and truly I felt much sympathy for you that you should have to endure such a boar of a spouse.”

“Snoring?” Eleanor exclaimed. “How could he have been snoring?”

“Aye, my lady, he snored. He was alive. I went to fetch my lord Alan, for I knew it would take at least one man to heave Ewen into his own bed. I thought merely that you had risen and gone down to the hall or the kitchens.” Moira took a deep breath. “I brought Alan to your chamber, and he bent over his brother, who had ceased to snore by this time. Alan paused in a way that prompted me to look closer. He asked where you were and I confessed that
I
did not know. He noted that your cloak and boots were gone, as if you had departed. I could not explain this. I looked about the chamber seeking some reason why your garb should be gone, and had I taken longer about it, I would not have seen the truth of what he did.” Eleanor’s fingers tightened on Alexander’s own.

“I
saw the knife,” Moira said. “I saw the blade flash in the morning sunlight; I saw him bury it in his own brother’s throat. I heard the gurgle of Ewen’s death, though I had my wits about me and feigned to seek your stockings. And Alan rose, as calm as ever a man could be, and he turned, and he looked me in the eye and he informed me that my lady had stabbed her lord husband to death. He said that his brother had been murdered, that his brother’s widow was a murderess and that he would have to assume the burden of the lairdship of Tivotdale.”

“But Ewen never allowed me to carry a knife!” Eleanor exclaimed. “With
what would I have stabbed him?”

“I was not the only one to note that detail, my lady, though I said nothing. Those who argued with Alan Douglas found themselves savoring the hospitality of his dungeons.”

Eleanor’s mouth worked in her surprise, but Alexander merely held fast to her hand.

“Just as another man finds himself in Kinfairlie’s dungeon,” Elizabeth said with gusto.

“Who?” Eleanor asked, looking between them all

“One of Alan’s mercenaries, left behind when that army sought you at Kinfairlie on Christmas Day,” Alexander said.

“He put the thorns beneath Uriel’s saddle,” Malcolm said with disdain.

“And I spied him in the hall,” Moira said. “I recognized him well, though at first I could not fathom his reason for being at Kinfairlie, his scheme was soon clear enough.” She nodded with satisfaction. “The laird Alexander saw him rightfully condemned for his attempt to see the laird of the abode laid low.”

“What will happen to him?” Eleanor asked Alexander.

He shrugged, but spoke with resolve. “A fate that befits his crime. In several months, a scent will doubtless rise from Kinfairlie’s dungeon. We shall see the dungeon cleaned, as is fitting for all of the keep in the spring.” He met her gaze. “Perhaps we will find something in the dungeons that we have forgotten.”

Eleanor held his gaze unflinchingly. “It is fitting that he suffer,” she said with vigor. “He will, have time to repent of his sins.” Then she frowned. “But what of the potion that felled Anthony?”

“It was of Jeannie’s concoction,” Elizabeth confided.

“Jeannie?”

“She meant it for you,” Alexander said. “As a warning that you not discount her talents.” Eleanor’s lips thinned, but Alexander granted her no chance to speak. “I would be pleased if my lady wife would take the care and welfare of those at Kinfairlie beneath her hand, as our former healer has seen fit to depart.”

Eleanor smiled and her grip tightened upon his. “I would be delighted.”

Alexander smiled at his lady wife. He turned and saw Kinfairlie’s silhouette rising before them, the tower outlined against the silver of the sea, and felt a surge of pride at the sight of his abode.

Their abode. It was not affluent, but it was a handsome home, and with Eleanor by his side, he felt certain that his fortunes had changed for the better.

Somehow, they would see Kinfairlie prosper again.