Claire Delacroix (42 page)

Merlyn stepped over him and caught my chin in his hand. As much as I wished to be strong, my lip trembled and I gripped him tightly. “
Chère
?” Merlyn tipped my face so that my gaze met his. I began to shiver, realizing how close I had come to losing all I held dear. “Are you injured?”

I shook my head, my tears falling free at the motion. “Frightened,” I whispered in a tremulous voice. “And cold. No more than that.” I touched his shoulder, looking to the fresh blood, fearing the worst. “And you?”

“A scratch,” he said with a wry smile. “No more than that.”

“The ship?” I asked, just as a bellow sounded outside the chapel.

Merlyn smiled and tucked me beneath his arm as he escorted Berthe and I out into the wind. Arnulf stood there, grinning with triumph at his own deed. I looked and there was no treacherous beacon on the far point.

And now, a bonfire blazed upon the point beyond the chapel.

Arnulf held the third of Calum’s squires by the collar, the boy’s hands tied behind his back.

“Well done, Arnulf,” Merlyn said warmly and the boy flushed. He nodded and grinned, and Berthe gave him a kiss upon the cheek that made him blush. He ducked into the chapel then, returning only when he had bound the hands of the other squires in turn. He lined them all up, sitting with their backs against the chapel, leaving the chausses of the two undone. They moaned as he trussed their feet together, but once they were helpless we ignored them.

We four watched the ship, its crew visible as they struggled valiantly to change their course. I know that I was not the only one oblivious to my own discomfort in fear for those we could not aid.

Merlyn took my hand in his and squeezed my fingers tightly.

* * *

I do not know how long we stood there, our hearts in our mouths, our hands entwined. The wind changed, though, shifting gradually away from the east. With the change, the waves calmed and the ship’s crew managed to ease the prow toward the south.

We cheered in relief then, and Merlyn sent Berthe and Arnulf to the keep to fetch some garb. Neither of us could tear ourselves away from the sight of the ship, of our loved ones so close at hand. Berthe found Merlyn’s cloak in the hall, though she could not find a gown for me. I did not care, not when Merlyn wrapped me tightly in the fur-lined cloak and held me fast against his side.

It was not long until the first rays of the dawn breached the horizon and the ship drew cautiously into the sheltered bay there. The men sang as they rowed ever closer. They cheered as they finally flung the anchor into the bay and we could see that they thronged the deck.

The surface of the sea turned pearly as they made ready to disembark, the morning bright with promise as it so oft is after a storm. A familiar stocky figure descended the rope ladder and stood in the sea.

He shouted a command and a young boy was lifted high above deck, then passed down the ranks of men to Fitz’s waiting arms. Each man teased the boy when he came into their arms and even at this distance, I could see that Tynan reveled in their company.

The men laughed as Tynan was set upon Fitz’s shoulders. He waved like a conquering champion as he was carried ashore, the sight of his happiness bringing tears to my eyes.

“Ysabella!” Tynan shouted, waving so madly when he spied me on the shore that he nearly toppled Fitz. The manservant complained loudly, the seamen laughed, but Tynan cavorted once he had his feet upon the shore.

“You see,
chère
?” Merlyn whispered against my temple. “Your brother was safe with Fitz. Did I not give you my word?”

I looked up at his strong profile, his dark gaze fixed upon the men as they disembarked, his smile at Tynan’s antics. His concern was so evident that it might have made me weep.

Merlyn was not only fully the man I had once hoped he was, he was more than that. He was more valiant, more protective, more caring and more compassionate. He did indeed protect all that was his own. I decided it was time he knew the fullness of what that was.

“Tynan is not my brother, Merlyn,” I said.

My husband turned to regard me, no surprise vying with the stars in his eyes. “No?”

I shook my head. “Tynan is my son.” I touched his jaw with my fingertips, watching hope blossom in his expression. “Tynan is our son.”

Merlyn’s smile might have challenged the morning sun for brilliance, but I had only a glimpse of it before his lips closed surely over mine.

* * *

January 6

Epiphany

* * *

XVII

On the feast of kings, we rode to Kinfairlie.

Not the village, but the ruins of the old keep. Merlyn thought it important that I visit the former abode of my mother’s family. I was glad it was a clear and sunny day, for I had half a thought that there might be specters there to haunt me.

It was a rather odd destination, in my opinion, though Merlyn seemed surprised when I said as much.

My sister and Alasdair had arranged to be wed by the end of this month and Mavella had not challenged the status of Alasdair’s cousin’s boy as heir. They were like a small family already, happy together, and I was well pleased.

Tynan adored Ravensmuir. He and Arnulf struck up a friendship based upon the horses, and though Arnulf said nothing, Tynan’s chatter more than filled any potential silences. Tynan had been told of my deception and the truth, though I do not know how much he understood of it. For the moment, he was glad to have Merlyn as his father, partly because that meant we would stay at Ravensmuir, where the horses and the ships and Fitz could be found and one’s bowl was never empty, partly because Merlyn fascinated him.

Ravensmuir’s solar had been razed in the fire Ada began, though once the roof had burned, the rain had extinguished the flames and they had not spread to the lower halls. The damage would be reparable, though Merlyn’s books and the impressive bed were gone forever. Merlyn’s box, by some stretch of fate, we have found reposing in the ashes, both it and its contents unscathed.

When I jested that his old mentor must have gilded it with some unholy power, Merlyn only smiled.

Dunkilber had reverted to the Earl of March, though he had yet to endow it again. Berthe and her parents - the seneschal of Dunkilber and his wife - had all settled at Ravensmuir instead, a bevy of servants with them. The hall bustled as it had not before, and I had been careful on this morning to store a piece of the Yule log in Ravensmuir’s cellars. It would be used to light the Yule log next year, its safe storage providing superstitious insurance against fire.

I still could not think of riding a horse alone, and indeed I much preferred to ride with Merlyn. We rode in companionable silence, the wind in our hair and his heat behind me. He halted the destrier beside the ruins of Kinfairlie. The charred debris was now interspersed with grasses, the blackened stones adorned with moss. Merlyn dismounted, then reached to grip my waist.

I pulled back slightly. “Why here?”

“Why not?” He had the manner of a man with a secret and I was suspicious.

“Do we have need of more ghosts at Ravensmuir?” I teased.

Merlyn laughed. “Of course not. But I have something to tell you and I thought this to be the place to do so.” He took my hand and led me to a tumble of stones. He swept the top one and spread his cloak upon it like a courtier in a bard’s tale. Once I was seated, smiling at his antics all the while, he pulled a scroll from his tabard, then presented it to me with a small bow.

“What is this?”

“A reply from the king, in response to my petition made on your behalf.”

He watched me keenly, waiting for me to guess what he had done. I thought at first he made a jest, and examined the roll of vellum in my hand. There was a thick red seal affixing the ribbon tied around the missive and it had not been opened. The vellum was so thick, the seal so firmly indented and familiar that it had to be what he said it was.

I looked up at Merlyn. “You know I cannot read it.”

“Not yet.”

“You will teach me to read?”

“It seems to me that you will have need of such a skill.”

I frowned, wondering, then met his steady gaze. I knew then, I knew with utter clarity what he had done. He had requested what I would never dare request, even though it was my birthright.

I clutched the missive. “Kinfairlie,” I whispered.

Merlyn smiled. “All yours,
chère
, as it should rightly be.”

“Surely you mean it is ours, that it is granted to my husband since I am wedded.” I knew well enough how the law worked - I had no quibble with sharing my legacy with Merlyn, for he shared so much with me.

But Merlyn shook his head and indicated that I should break the seal. I did so, and unfurled it, my breath caught at the beauty of the script. Merlyn sat beside me, his arm around my waist, and read it aloud slowly, his finger sliding under the words as he uttered them.

“I, King Robert II of Scotland, do solemnly endow the hereditary territories of Kinfairlie upon the eldest daughter of Elise of Kinfairlie, Elise being the sole child of that house to have borne fruit and Ysabella being the sole survivor of that lineage. Kinfairlie and its village, its tithes and traditional tolls, the responsibilities of its courts of low justice and the defense of its territories, are hereby granted to the hand of Ysabella, once of Kinfairlie, now Lady of Ravensmuir, in express exchange for the rendering of six knights and their accoutrements to the crown upon demand for the defense of our collective lands.”

I turned to regard my spouse in dismay. “But how shall I render such military service? I know nothing of knights and warfare, and I have not the coin to pay for them.”

Amusement made his eyes sparkle. “Perhaps then, my Lady of Kinfairlie, you still have need of me. Perhaps we might make an alliance between Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie.”

“I suppose you must have some task to occupy your days now that your former trade is abandoned.” I said, somberly considering the document. “Otherwise, you will hover about the hall and take to drinking ale to pass the time.”

“I can think of better ways to spend my days,” he murmured, then kissed me with gentle vigor. I closed my eyes, knowing I would never be sated when it came to Merlyn’s kisses, that I should always yearn for more.

When he lifted his head, sultry promise in his gaze, I smiled. “I love you, Merlyn. I have loved you since the day you matched wits with me in Kinfairlie’s market, though I have never had the audacity to tell you so.”

“And I love you,
chère
, as never I imagined any soul could love another.” We smiled at each other, besotted fools that we were, then Merlyn’s grin turned mischievous. “The fact remains that we have need of another son,
chère
, to take this legacy in hand,” he whispered wickedly.

I looped my arms around his neck. “Perhaps we should celebrate these tidings.” I stretched up and kissed his ear languidly. “Perhaps it would be fitting to conceive the child upon his own inheritance.”

Merlyn chuckled and tapped my nose with his fingertip. “You would be surprised if I accepted that invitation.”

“Would I?” I smiled at him, letting challenge light my eyes. “Indeed, Merlyn, you seem so reluctant that I fear I must dare you to do as much.”

His eyes flashed and he swept me into his arms then, leaping from the ruins so quickly that I clung to his shoulders in fear that we would fall. He strode toward a copse of young trees, then paused on the lip of a sheltered hollow. He grinned, holding me fast against his chest, then dipped his head.

“You should know better than to dare me,
chère
,” he whispered against my throat.

“I do, Merlyn, I do.” I chuckled until he silenced my laughter most effectively with his kiss.

The steed had long to graze that afternoon, his reins trailing behind him, for it appeared that we had much to celebrate indeed.

* * *

The sun was sinking when we finally rode for home, rumpled and flushed and pleased indeed. When we drew near to Ravensmuir, a hoarse cry echoed through the air. Startled, I scanned the darkening sky, my lips parting in surprise when the dark birds became discernible against the sky.

The ravens descended in a spiral, their black wings spread like great shadows. They came, crying each to the other, disappearing behind the high walls of the keep.

“The ravens return!” I shouted, thrilled at the sight.

Merlyn spurred the destrier and we plunged through the tunnel, emerging in the courtyard as the birds began to land. The servants had crowded out of the kitchens and the hall, their eyes wide as they watched the birds.

The hound ran around the birds, barking. Tynan, fearless as ever, ran into their midst, laughing, then mimicking their strut. Fitz watched him indulgently though the birds took little notice of his presence.

“I shall have to teach Tynan their names,” Merlyn said and now I did not doubt that his assertion. He whistled, lifted his arm, and one bird separated from the flock.

It circled us and the steed snorted, then the bird landed heavily on Merlyn’s arm. It bobbed its head and croaked at him, before its beady eyes turned bright upon me. It was almost as if it requested an introduction. I reached up one hand, marveling at the hues of blue and purple and black in its plumage and the bird tilted its head to regard my ring.

“Methuselah remembers,” Merlyn said with a quiet smile.

“How delightful to formally make your acquaintance, Methuselah,” I said, bowing my head slightly.

The raven studied me for a long moment. It then bobbed its head in turn and screamed, before taking flight with a great rushing of wings. Tynan watched and called to Merlyn, demanding to know how to do what he had done.

We dismounted and I watched Merlyn go to our son, my hand stealing over my belly. I guessed then that my laird’s seed took root once more within me and that Tynan soon would have a sibling. And I smiled the smile of a woman well pleased with her secret, a secret I would only keep from my spouse only until I was certain of its truth.