Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (175 page)

Warford clapped his commander on the shoulder. “Yes, no doubt she has been well used, and in such circumstance I have every right to break the marriage contract without fear of forfeiting the Cadby lands.”

“Then why do we waste time trying to discover her whereabouts?”

Warford flashed Stuart a cruel smile. “She must make amends for the humiliation I suffered in her name. Be that as it may, no one would object if I took her in without the benefit of marriage.”

“You would be doing her a kindness. She will be fortunate to find a roof over head after her escapade.” Stuart reflected.

“Hmm, I believe I shall have her schooled by my leman. The woman needs replacing. Unfortunately, her skin has become scarred from my affections and she is no longer pleasing to look upon. Now, fetch Lord Cadby to me. I believe he’s been withholding some vital information.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“To put it kindly, Old Fenton was mad, milady.”

“I feel such a fool.”

“Pfft, tosh, and nonsense.” Father Pollock batted the air with a gnarled hand. “You were a wee child who had just lost her mother and from all accounts was neglected by your father,” he continued. “Of course you would turn to the one person who took an interest. Unfortunately, he was already unhinged.”

Stricken, she raised shocked eyes to the priest’s weathered face. “Why did the Church allow him to continue preaching?”

“No doubt the man had his lucid moments at the appropriate times.” Beetling his bushy brow in mock severity, the old man patted her hand. “Now, no more fretting, milady. I assume I will see you in church on a Sunday?”

Elisande couldn’t help to smile. “So you shall.”

“Good, good and mayhap you might drag that wayward husband of yours with you. It seems to me I haven’t seen him in a good long while, not that I’m complainin’ mind.”

He escorted her the short distance from the family’s private oratory to the bookroom.

“Now, Aeden made mention to me you are schooled in letters.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

He frowned and pulled at his lower lip. “Hmm. I don’t much condone teaching non-clergy to read, nevertheless in this case I’m glad for it. I would ask that you arrange my papers into a collection by date. My scrivener died never to be replaced, and the Seneschal cannot seem to combine his duties and so they’re a right mess.”

Elisande inclined her head. “If you like, although I don’t see how organizing dates requires a person versed in their letters.”

“True enough, but they wouldn’t be able to distinguish the months from one another.”

She was about to argue the point when he cut her off.

“Well, do you have a mind to assist a busy man of God?”

She smiled. “I shall be happy to.”

“Ha. Happy may be too strong of a word in light of the mess ye’ll inherit. So, getting back to our earlier topic, I will be glad to straighten out any more crooked notions you might harbor. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to fill that hole in your brain with something more useful than Fenton’s gibberish.”

The old priest gestured in the area of the bookshelf on his way out of the workroom.

Once he left, she breathed a sigh of relief. The man had no more tact than a lack-wit has sense, yet, she knew his heart to be in the right place. Putting the embarrassing conversation from her mind, she set to her task with more enthusiasm than it deserved.

After a time, she stood, stretched the kinks from her back and wandered over to the bookcase’s meager offerings. Some of the twine bound parchments and scrolls were in haphazard order. She laid the scrolls in a drawer below the shelf, alphabetized the yellowish tethered parchment and, as she righted the last two she noticed an irregularity in the line.

Curious, she ran a finger down the queue then stopped on a book and plucked the Gutenberg Bible from the row. She narrowed her eyes and peered into the black cubby. A dark shape appeared wedged at an odd angle in the back of the bookcase. Unable to reach that far in, she retrieved a footstool from under the desk. This time she gripped the edge of the object and pulled it forward off the shelf and into the sun light. She examined the cracked leather and marveled at the proportions. It wasn’t any bigger than a moderate-sized sandtimer. She turned to the first page and discovered it was the clan Kirkuldy family Bible.

Puzzled, she pondered aloud. “Why would Father Pollock have kept this Bible in his office, and not in the sacristy?”

During their morning chats, she often questioned Onora on clan history. She knew the Kirkuldy were once a sept of the Maxwell. She flipped through a few more pages and landed on a sheet with a sketch of a vaguely familiar symbol.

An inscription under the drawing read, “The ancestral symbol of clan Kirkuldy.”

She tapped a fingernail on the intricate design. “Where have I encountered you afore?”

The elaborate design continued to tug at her memory. A muddy image struggled to emerge in her mind. Then it struck her. In denial, she shoveled the sheets of parchment until she found the birth journal. She scanned the numerous names and dates inked by a meticulous hand. Her eyes dropped to the name of the last Kirkuldy birth, which took place in the autumn of 1455 and almost forgot to draw a breath.

“How is this possible?” she whispered shaken by the discovery.

She hadn’t been sleeping well since Aeden’s departure. Yes, that was it. Perhaps her sleep-deprived eyes somehow failed her. She reread the name in disbelief. It was no misconception. Frantic, she clutched the book to her chest and walked at a clip to her private solar. After bolting the door, she laid the bible on a low table near the window seat and retrieved her needlepoint basket. She took care and slid her hand along the side, in the slit cut into the lining. Her hand found its mark and she lifted a dagger from her wicker basket. She placed the knife on the same low table and took up the bible opening to the page with the distinctive design. Once she thoroughly examined the worn hilt of the dagger, she could not deny the proof.

“Oh, Aeden, where are you?” she asked the empty chamber.

After a few moments contemplation, she replaced the knife, thrust the Bible to the bottom of the basket and almost wrenched the door off its hinges when she fled the solar.

• • •

Elisande pulled the door closed and barred it against prying eyes. She gestured for Onora and Tam to sit at the small, round table and then took a seat opposite the two.

“My goodness, niece, this must be quite something to disrupt the evening meal. You will have to smooth cook’s ruffled feathers if you ever want to eat again.”

“Aye, ’tis a bit too cloak and dagger for my taste,” Tam teased.

At the mention of a dagger, Elisande paled.

Onora stilled. “Something is terribly wrong. Tell me what’s troubling you this instant.”

In answer, Elisande fetched the sewing basket under her chair. She reached in and produced the two items, setting the dagger on the page with the design and scrutinized the older couple’s reaction.

Onora went white as wash, and Tam’s expression turned to stone. He recovered first and raised faded, sky-blue eyes that bore into hers.

“Where in the hell did you come by those?” he demanded.

“I procured the dagger from your nephew’s back.” Elisande stared him down, waiting for an explanation.

“Jesus Christ,” he shook his head and passed a hand over his eyes.

Tam’s profanity jolted Onora from her dazed silence. “Tam, please, guard your tongue.”

“My foul language is the least of our worries.”

Elisande shifted her intense stare to Onora.

“Niece, I must — ”

“Onora,” Tam cut across her sentence his voice held a clear warning. “No good can come of it. Not now. Let it stay buried.”

To Elisande’s immense relief, Onora ignored her brother-in-law and picked up the knife.

“Just like Addis buried his knife in your nephew’s back?”

Tam looked down and then away toward the window. He seemed to debate with himself, and when Elisande gave up any hope of learning the truth, he spoke.

His watery eyes fixed on Elisande. “Where did you unearth that Bible?”

“It was hardly secreted away. I was organizing Father Pollock’s books and parchments.”

An errant notion tangled in with her disarrayed thoughts. “Do you think Father meant for me to find it? The reason it was in his office, and not the sacristy where it belonged?”

A humorless smile crossed Tam’s face. “The auld busybody never could keep a secret.”

Elisande looked between the two. “So, it’s true?”

“Yes, niece, I’m afraid so. By rights, Addis is the Kirkuldy.”

“Go on,” Elisande urged, impatience edging her voice.

Onora shrugged. “She may as well learn the entire truth, Tam.”

Tam hung his head and sucked on the tip of his thumb. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he raised his head and blew out a heavy breath.

“If you were not a woman well married, I would never have this discussion with you. What I have to tell you is an unsavory tale at best.”

Elisande’s heart pounded, but she inclined her head in the hopes she presented a serene countenance.

Tam stared at her a few moments more his eyes full of regret.

“Gavin’s first wife, Maeri, was the widow of the Kirkuldy chief. The Kirkuldy was a vicious husband and an inflexible leader. Not many survived his rule. Therefore, she kept the news of his bastard son from her husband.”

Confused, Elisande questioned, “So, Maeri’s husband impregnated another woman and she was aware of this liaison?”

She knew in her heart she could never stand by as Aeden bore another woman to his bed.

“Aye,” Tam answered. “She had no child of her own and doted on the clan children. No one regarded her interest in the boy as anything suspect.”

“What became of her husband’s mistress?”

Tam snorted. “She died at the hands of Maeri’s husband.”

Bile rose in Elisande’s throat, nevertheless, she didn’t allow her upset to show. She swallowed and pressed Tam for more answers.

“I assume the leman never told Maeri’s husband she bore him a son.”

Tam shrugged. “No one knows for certain.”

“Surely he would claim his own son?”

Her uncle shook his head. “’Tis doubtful. The Kirkuldy clan only accepted those born with Kirkuldy bloodlines.”

Confused, Elisande gave Tam a questioning look.

“Go on, tell her,” Onora urged.

“Yes, I should like to know how one keeps a lineage pure.”

Onora and Tam exchanged looks.

She seized upon on their furtive interchange. “There is something more to this story, isn’t there?”

Tam nodded, his lips pinched in disgust. “’Tis not a pleasant prospect to think on. I’m not sure I should burden you with such knowledge.”

“Please, if I am to understand, I would know all of it.”

Her aunt lowered her head. Tam covered Onora’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He avoided eye contact with Elisande while he related the account. “The Kirkuldy’s have kept the bloodlines clean for decades by marrying brother to sister, niece to uncle, aunt to nephew.”

Elisande gasped and covered her mouth, repulsed. “Dear God in heaven.”

Horrified, Elisande was sickened to her soul such circumstances were allowed to exist. As the shock of the ungodly story diminished, the broader implications of such a lethal secret took shape. A slow angry simmer enveloped her.

Tam continued. “It wasn’t much later that Maeri learned of the boy’s identity when the Kirkuldy died during a hunt. It was common knowledge the Kirkuldy’s young brother coveted the title, vowing it would belong to him one day. Of course, no one dared to try and prove it, but it’s believed young Roderick killed Maeri’s husband.”

A shiver of dread slithered over Elisande’s skin at the eerily similar circumstances between Aeden and Addis. It seemed treachery and betrayal, as well as incest was inherent in the Kirkuldy line.

“By this time, Maeri had come to look upon the boy as hers, and with no blood family of her own seeing to her interests, she feared for the child’s safety if his secret was ever discovered. She and Addis stole away in the night. When the clan realized she fled, her departure meant nothing to anyone, and so she turned to our clan for shelter. Gavin was immediately smitten, married Maeri and told the clan the child was his.”

Disbelief forced her jaw to drop. “No one doubted the tale? One night a woman appears with a child in tow and everyone assumes he is a Maxwell?”

“You must remember the Kirkuldy clan was our sept,” Onora reiterated.

“Yes, but that — ”

Onora talked over her. “My dear, it wasn’t the first time a child was presented to a father months, even years after the fact, and it certainly wasn’t the last. Therefore, no one thought it odd, and from that day forward Addis was accepted as Gavin’s son.”

“So, why would Gavin and Maeri not tell Addis of his parentage and allow him to claim his true title?”

“In the next few years the Kirkuldy clan had been decimated by the Black Death,” he spread his hands.

“And the reason for telling Addis no longer existed,” Onora finished.

Deflated, Elisande mused aloud. “Poor Maeri. I cannot blame her for wanting to spare Addis from the truth of his origins.” A humorless smile curled her lips. “Not that it mattered.” She thought of what the story might mean for Aeden.

“Elisande?” The guarded quality of Onora’s voice unleashed a torrent of bitter condemnation.

“So, no one saw fit to inform Aeden of this momentous news? What about enlightening him that his so-called brother is an unbalanced attempted murderer? My God — how do you justify such reasoning?”

Outraged, Tam fired back. “Are you suggesting we knew he was the one who plunged a dagger in his back?”

Elisande waved his accusation away. “Of course not! I was speaking about the first attempt all those years ago. Or am I the only one who thinks it odd one brother would apply a knife to another brother’s face?”

Onora stroked her fingers across her forehead. “I tried.”

“We both did,” Tam interjected. “I pleaded with my brother to tell Aeden, but Maeri didn’t want Addis treated differently by the clan. She believed Addis would outgrow his jealousy in time.”