Claire Delacroix (11 page)

The ostler’s eyes shone with gratitude when he glanced at Luc once more. “I do thank you for your aid in this matter, sir.”

“ ’Twas naught, Denis.” Confident that all had been set to rights, Luc made to step away.

But the lady Ismay froze in the act of rummaging through her belongings. “
Sir
?” she echoed incredulously, her sharp gaze flicking between Luc and the ostler. Her lip curled with disdain. “You call
him
sir?”

Denis grinned, no doubt delighted to know something she did not. “Aye, Lady Ismay. This is Luc
Fitzgavin
, after all.” He placed an emphasis on Luc’s surname, drawing even Lady Ismay’s attention to the moniker that revealed his parentage.

Son of Gavin
.

Lady Ismay paled and Luc knew that she had no doubt precisely which Gavin was his sire. A bright glint of consideration flashed in Dermot’s eye before ’twas concealed.

Before Lady Ismay could recover herself and make some pathetic apology, followed no doubt by a plea for an audience with his father, Luc waved to the ostler and strode toward the orchards.

He took a deep breath of the morning air. Crisp and clean as only it could be in the autumn. Luc’s thoughts and his footsteps turned to the orchard as he scanned the sky. The morning sunlight was thin, he noted with pleasure, but there was no chance of rain.

The exchange with this noblewoman made him doubly glad he had left that life behind. Aye, ’twas no life for a sensible man. Luc ducked beneath the canopy of the apple trees, a merry whistle was on his lips.

Gavin would doubtless slumber late, particularly if he had indulged himself the night before. In the meantime, Luc would do Pyrs’ memory proud with the labor he did in this orchard. He wondered what Lady Ismay would have thought if he had declared a Welsh steward to have been more of a father to him than his own blood sire.

Luc could readily guess. The very thought made him smile.

But Luc’s whistle stilled when he realized that he could not have so readily guessed what Princess Brianna would make of such news.

Aye, she was one difficult to predict.

An
interesting
woman, there was no doubt of that.

Despite himself, Luc’s eye roved the high walls of the keep. What scheme did Brianna concoct? And did it have anything to do with the whispers he had overheard?

’Twas not until the next morning that Brianna realized one very critical fact. Fenella and the maids were busily moving Brianna’s effects back from the solar and her father’s belongings to the adjoining chamber. Gavin was pacing irritably and generally underfoot, but not interested in taking the advice of either Uther or Connor to wait in the hall.

’Twas when Brianna arrived back in her usual chamber that she saw the truth. She stared across the bailey to her dame’s stone sarcophagus resting on the very perimeter of the garden.

It lay directly alongside the orchard. ’Twould be impossible to secure the letters safely within her mother’s tomb, as her sire had bidden her, without Luc seeing her.

The simplest solution, of course, would be to ask Luc to leave her be beside her mother’s grave. Brianna chewed her lip in thought, knowing that had no hope of working. Not only did the man seem determined to defy her on principle alone, her request would no doubt feed his suspicions that something was afoot.

Luc would watch her, Brianna guessed, and that would not do.

Unless, of course, he had abandoned the orchard to seek out his sire. Or perhaps he still slumbered! Newly optimistic, Brianna peered through the shutters, oblivious of the chill of the wind through her chemise.

Even as the morning mist rose from the river beyond, Brianna could discern the silhouette of Luc Fitzgavin striding from the stables with purpose.

She leaned back against the wall and frowned. Curse the man! ’Twas as though he awakened early to vex her!

Again.

Brianna peered through the shutters to covertly watch Luc wander amidst the trees. She could not help but wonder
about his past. Why would a knight cast aside all he had earned? A knight lived a life of privilege, of danger and splendor; by contrast, a farmer’s existence was deadly dull. Brianna could not imagine exchanging her life for that of the alewife, for example.

Unless she had an extremely good reason. That made her frown in thought. What had compelled Luc to make his choice?

Brianna was surprised by how very much she wanted to know.

She told herself that she was curious, no more than that. Her interest had naught to do with the way this man looked at her, truly
looked
at her, instead of merely ogling the fairness of her features. He listened to her, he even argued with her, despite his obvious disapproval of all she was.

And, well, she would not consider his kiss. Just the recollection made her feel warm and tingly.

Nay, she was merely intrigued by a puzzle.

Yet Luc had been very reticent in providing details. He seemed to enjoy pestering her—what if she pestered him? Brianna could ask about Luc’s past! She guessed that he would not welcome her inquiries.

Could she drive him away from Tullymullagh with mere questions?

’Twas worth a try. Once Luc departed from the orchard, Brianna could hide her mother’s legacy. Then, she could turn her attention upon finding a way to convince Gavin to renounce his claim.

That would be the true challenge, she well knew.

Her course decided, Brianna spurned the embroidered gown that Fenella offered and dug in her trunk for a tunic that fell to her knees and a pair of heavy chausses.

Fenella’s face fell. “But, my lady, you have not worn such
garb in all my days with you! ’Tis unfitting for an eligible woman of your rank!”

“But, Fenella, if I wear a fine gown to labor in the orchard, you shall spend all your time restoring it to rights.” Brianna hauled on the woollen chausses with purpose and flashed a reassuring smile to her maid. The maid had only just finished clucking over the damage to her kirtle from the night before.

But Fenella gaped. “You mean to
labor
in the orchard?”

“Not truly labor.” Brianna tossed her maid an easy smile. “I would merely talk with this Luc while
he
labors.”

Fenella’s eyes widened at the prospect of a tale to share in the kitchens. “The one who would not go?” She slipped closer to the window and peered down at Luc, widening the gap between the shutters with her fingertips.

She glanced back to her mistress coyly. “Is he most charming?”

Brianna grimaced. “Hardly that.”

“But you spoke with him long last evening.” Fenella giggled. “Do you
fancy
him, my lady?”

“Nay!” Brianna laced her chausses decisively even as her cheeks heated. “I but tried to persuade him that ’tis in his best interest that he be gone from Tullymullagh.”

“In the moonlight.”

Brianna glared at her maid. “ ’Twas of no import. In point of fact, we argued. He is a most vexing man.”

Fenella could not completely hide her smile. “Of course, my lady. ’Tis oft the way of things when a man and a woman first acknowledge each other.”

“We do not
acknowledge
each other!” Brianna pushed to her feet, more than ready to end this discussion. “Might you trouble yourself to find my old boots?” she asked deliberately. Fenella hastened to dig in a trunk on the far side of the chamber.

“Have you not cleared your belongings away yet?” Gavin’s impatient roar echoed in the hall and Brianna realized she could not leave her dame’s treasure in these chambers. Her sire had made her promise to keep the box safe, after all. The tunic Brianna wore was full and she reasoned that with a sash about her waist, she could secure the precious box against her belly.

At least until she found her chance.

“Here they are, my lady, but such boots are hardly fitting for you these days.” Fenella’s lips drew in a disapproving line. “Look at the wear upon them! All will think your sire lost his entire fortune.”

“I care little what the others may think,” Brianna said calmly and took the boots. Fenella looked so disappointed in her mistress’ choice, that Brianna’s defiance melted slightly. “Perhaps you could do me a favor this day, Fenella.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“I should like to wear my finest garb to the board tonight. The blue kirtle edged with gold. Could you perhaps see that all is made ready?”

“Oh!” Fenella clasped her hands in delight. “And the kid slippers I so admire?”

“Of course.”

The maid smiled at the very prospect. “Oh, my lady, you will look most lovely. Here, I will braid your hair, for if you mean to be in the orchard all the day, you cannot have it loose. But on this night, I will use those blue ribbons that suitor from Dublin left for you.…”

Brianna fought to stand still as Fenella’s fingers slid deftly into her hair. The maid’s tales of who said what the night before slid over her mistress unheard. Brianna was too busy trying to think of a way to retrieve the box from its hiding place without Fenella seeing her.

Salvation came from the most unlikely of places.

A horse snorted in the bailey and the maid flew to the window, casting open the shutters, her task forgotten in her thirst for news. Brianna caught the end of her braid and knotted a lace about it as she gauged the distance to her dame’s box.

“Oh, my lady! Is that Lady Ismay?” Fenella hung out the window unashamedly.

Brianna grimaced. Lady Ismay was the last person she wished to see this morn.

Or on any other morn, for that matter.

All the same, Brianna took the opportunity of Fenella’s distraction to delve the box from her linens and secrete it beneath her tunic. She tucked it into the top of her chausses and scanned the chamber for a suitable sash, barely aware of her maid’s chatter.

“And Lord Dermot fast by her side, as always,” Fenella mused. “Truly, he is a most devoted spouse. ’Tis a marvel to me that any man could adore such a woman with such ardor. And the way she talks to him!” The maid rolled her eyes. “ ’Tis clear she fancies herself more eligible than ever she was. Lord Dermot must be a veritable saint. Look! Ismay is hailing your master Luc.”

Those words distracted Brianna from her task.

“He is not
my
master Luc,” she retorted, but could not keep herself from edging toward the window in turn. Brianna did not even trouble to note Lady Ismay, her gaze flying of its own accord to the orchard.

Where Luc Fitzgavin looked directly and steadily toward her.

Brianna’s heart took an unruly skip. She drew back into the shadows, her finger clutching a fistful of cloth where her dame’s box was hidden.

Though she could not precisely see from this distance, Brianna knew how Luc’s blue gaze had not wavered from
her own. ’Twas as though he knew about both the box and her intention, the very steadiness of his glance most unnerving.

Her lips tingled in recollection of Luc’s kiss at that very inopportune moment. Brianna felt her cheeks flush scarlet and deliberately turned her back on the window.

“Not your master Luc indeed,” Fenella muttered, a knowing glint in her eye. “Do you imagine that I have not noticed your preoccupation this morn?”

Brianna could not stop her flush from deepening. To divert her maid’s attention, she waved to the window once more. “Is it only my eye or is Lady Ismay garbed rather more poorly than usual?”

Fenella leaned out the window anew, greedily seeking details. “Aye, you speak aright! Has she no shame? Why, her gown is
filthy
!”

Brianna did not care what Lady Ismay wore or did not wear, much less how she conducted herself. She was merely glad that Fenella was sufficiently interested to remain at the window.

The maid wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “ ’Twould be an improvement to grant her the one you damaged last evening, unless I miss my guess. And not a single servant in their wake.” Fenella clicked her tongue like an elderly matron. “What has possessed the woman? Has she no pride? She comports herself like one born common and without grace.”

Brianna hastily tied a sash about her waist, knotting it so that the box was secure, then passing it twice more around herself so that the bulk of the fabric hid the box’s shape.

Fenella looked suddenly as though she might turn back to her duties. As she fumbled with the knot, Brianna blurted out the first words that came to her lips. “Do you think Dermot looks well?”

“Not so very good, though he is always very pale,” Fenella acknowledged, leaning back out the window again. “ ’Tis his coloring, I think. So delicate in a man.” She sighed and her tone turned wistful. “Do you think he is happy with the match he has made?”

Brianna shrugged without interest. The box was securely hidden, she was certain of it. “I would not dare to guess.”

“Zounds!” Gavin’s bellow sounded just a few feet away. Both women jumped. “How long can it take a man to move a few trinkets? I would have occupancy of the solar
now
!”

Brianna suddenly had a much better idea of how she could disconcert Luc Fitzgavin than with a few questions. After all, Luc confessed he had come to Tullymullagh only to speak with his sire.