Claire Delacroix (42 page)

The lady’s kirtle was indigo, dyed so dark as to be almost black, and the color made her look as fragile as a rare flower. Though Brianna was veiled, the wondrous golden gleam of her hair could not be disguised through the sheer fabric, nor could the fair perfection of her features be marred. Her full lips were ruddy, though Luc guessed ’twas no carmine that granted their color. Brianna’s only ornament was the gold circlet that held her veil resolutely in place.

There was no arguing that she was a rare beauty, and Luc
was humbled that she had chosen to accept his offer of marriage. He would do her proud, he solemnly vowed, unable to shake the sense that Connor lingered in their midst.

Luc would treat this woman with the honor she deserved.

No less would do.

In the windswept cemetery, Brianna cast the first handful of dirt upon her father’s casket. It echoed hollowly and she winced when the gravediggers began to shovel the wet soil into the grave. She turned away, leaning more on Luc than she had thus far, and he led her, without apology, from the churchyard.

’Twas time the lady had a hot drink within her. Aye, he would have Cook conjure more of that mulled wine and again, sleep would soothe the lady’s hurt.

On the morrow, they two would plan their nuptials. Aye, ’twould be time enough for such merriment.

A
ll within Tullymullagh were seized with delight upon the prospect of a wedding. By the afternoon of the Monday following Connor’s funeral, the hall was decked with greenery, the chapel filled with beeswax candles, and Brianna smiled once again. Gavin growled at all and sundry when duties were not done with acceptable haste. Cook filled the hall and bailey with tempting aromas. Uther hastened to and fro like a busy bird.

All was so cheerful that Luc was nearly convinced that Uther and Gavin had spoken aright, that everything of import had truly been settled.

But still a kernel of doubt lodged within him, still he ensured his princess was not left alone. Indeed, he found excuses to find himself in the lady’s company, much to her amusement.

That Monday morn, the sun shone with rare fervor for so late in the year. Luc found himself whistling as he strode to the River Darrow to wash in its icy waters. He took a deep breath of the morning air, glad he had spurned the crowded quarters of the kitchens, this morn. All would be clamoring for a bath, but Luc would have these few moments alone.

Uther had conjured a tabard of deep green for Luc and a crisp white chemise of finely woven linen, more fitting for
events of this day than his simpler garb. His boots had been polished, his hair trimmed.

Aye, on this perfect day, he would make Brianna his wife.

And Luc wanted to look his best. He eyed his reflection in the water skeptically and confirmed that the bulk of his bruising had healed. Then, refusing to glance to the rock that had claimed Father Padraigh’s life, Luc set to the labor of scraping the whiskers from his jaw.

A shout from the bailey made his head snap up, the jingle of a thousand bells made Luc’s eyes narrow. He straightened and stood, a chanting that could only come from minstrels granting him sudden understanding of what he heard.

Minstrels arrived, which could be no coincidence. It must be that Rowan was returned. It made perfect sense that Rowan would have found such a company of entertainers, having been raised among their kind, and Luc could only smile at the fortuitous timing.

’Twould be fitting to have entertainment on this day of days.

Luc hauled on his new chemise, his anticipation rising as he climbed to the orchard wall. He reached the summit of the wall just in time to see the last of a gaily garbed troupe of troubadours be swallowed by the shadows of the portal. Luc retrieved the new tunic he had laid aside and donned it, knotting his belt overtop, then strode in the company’s wake.

Luc started when Ruarke lunged out of the shadows just inside the doorway. The bruise Gavin had granted him was still a glaring yellow. Indeed, the knight had been trapped so long in the dungeons that Luc had nigh forgotten him.

Or tried to do so. Luc felt a curious satisfaction that the other knight had not healed as quickly as he, then chastised himself silently for a lack of compassion.

“What travesty is this?” Ruarke demanded. “I have just heard that you intend to wed Brianna!”

“ ’Tis old news, Ruarke,” Luc retorted calmly. “Indeed, you were in the garden yourself when she laughed.”

“She will not wed you,” Ruarke growled. “She
cannot
wed you.” He jabbed himself in the chest. “Connor intended that Brianna should wed
me
.”

Luc moved to step past the other man, not interested in his insistence. “How odd that Connor forgot that detail when his daughter laughed.”

“He did not!”

“Aye, he did,” Luc said firmly. “Connor endorsed my suit that day in the garden and you know it well.”

To Luc’s surprise, his agreement made Ruarke grin coldly. “I am surprised you do not recall the rest of that day’s events,” he declared. “Connor also conceded that Brianna should wed the brother who made her laugh loudest and longest.”

Luc waited, for ’twas clear the other man would continue.

“ ’Tis doubly odd,” Ruarke mused as he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes glinting with antagonism, “but I cannot help thinking of the last time we had troubadours at Tullymullagh.”

“Aye?”

“Aye.” Ruarke’s smile broadened. “The lady Brianna laughed so hard she wept. Indeed, she was yet giggling the following day.”

Luc’s blood ran suddenly cold. ’Twas only too easy to recall that Brianna had laughed only slightly that day in the garden. Indeed, she had not even loosed a guffaw. ’Twould not take much to best that!

But Luc could not lose her now!

Ruarke leaned forward and poked Luc in the chest, his
eyes gleaming. “Do not be so certain, humble Luc, that this bride truly will be yours.”

Luc bit down hard on his response, not wanting to grant this man more of a response than he already had. “I thank you for your concern,” he said frostily. “ ’Tis
good
of you to take an interest when there is naught you might win this day.” When the knight’s eyes flashed in anger, Luc pivoted and strode to the hall.

Ruarke, he was quick to note, followed immediately behind.

Even having braced himself for a display, Luc found the giddiness of Rowan’s entourage startling. There was a drumroll just as Luc entered and fanfare of horns, then a jongleur garbed in bright green and gold tumbled head over heels across the hall. He bounced to his feet and grinned outright at the assembly.

A trio of minstrels trotted fast behind him, their clothing no less merry. Their faces were painted and bells jingled around their knees. The foursome squared up quickly and began a dance, chanting infectiously as they cavorted in the hall.

One jongleur encouraged the assembly to clap in unison. The few minstrels still resident at Tullymullagh began to pluck their own lutes and dulcimers in time.

The assembly applauded and exchanged smiles; the troupe’s arrival clearly considered a timely one. Luc quickly spied Brianna, looking startled at her place on the dais. Garbed in emerald and gold, she was bewitchingly beautiful. He pushed his way through the crowd, anxious to be by her side.

“Rowan!” Gavin roared as he came from the kitchens. He held a chalice high, darting a significant glance to Luc.
“My son Rowan de Montvieux returns from the bride quest!”

No doubt Gavin did not intend to defend Luc’s status. He wondered what advantage his father hoped to gain and could not help but think of Margaux’s significant influence.

But Luc knew ’twas Brianna who held the outcome of the day in her delicate hands. And as much as Luc might have preferred otherwise, Ruarke was right.

The lady must stand by her own dictate.

Chatter erupted and rolled through the assembly at Gavin’s words, those gathered taking a more avid interest in the arrivals.

“But—but this cannot be!” Brianna protested. “There is no longer a bride quest, for I am to be wed this very day!”

“My lady!” Luc strode to her side and all eyes turned upon him. He was aware only of Brianna’s alarmed gaze, his heart beginning to pound when she looked to him. Luc hated to argue with her, but there was no question of the right course in this matter.

’Twas a matter of principle.

As much as Luc chafed at the knowledge of that.

“You granted a quest,” he reminded her solemnly, “and you must stand by your own terms.”

“Aye,” Ruarke bellowed. “Victory belongs to the brother who makes the princess laugh longest and loudest!”

The assembly held their breath as one—all eyes fixed on their princess. Brianna swore under her breath. Her grimace might have been humorous under other circumstances, but Luc felt no less frustration than she.

“Curse duty,” she muttered, then flicked a mutinous glance at Luc. “This lesson of putting aside selfish desire does not come readily,” she complained.

Luc shook his head, as he came to stand behind her. She
would take the right course, he knew it well. “You know what must be done,” he said softly.

Brianna heaved a sigh and straightened her shoulders, leaning slightly against Luc as though she had need of his support. She raised her voice and addressed the crowd. “Luc speaks aright,” she conceded graciously. “I stand by my duty and the terms of my own quest. Let the troubadours begin.”

And her fingers closed over his with a vengeance. “Oh, Luc,” Brianna murmured for his ears alone. “Why
troubadours
? Any other circumstance would have been easier.”

“Do
not
laugh,” Luc counselled grimly.

“I shall try.” Brianna took a deep breath, and they faced the assembly together.

Only now did Luc spy Rowan, leaning against the far wall of the hall. Rowan lifted a hand and the foursome of jongleurs danced out onto the floor once more. One encouraged the assembly to clap in unison, another stood precariously on his hands. The rest of the troupe danced, clapped, and whistled.

The assembly leaned forward with curiosity. Several whispered their certainty that the jongleur would fall. A woman gasped when he not only balanced on his hands, but a second jongleur climbed atop the first. That one balanced his elbows on the knees of the first, then rolled to the same inverted position as the first.

The assembly was captivated.

Brianna gripped Luc’s fingers more tightly.

When the third jongleur climbed atop the other two, and made to echo the pose of the second, the assembly gasped as one. A good third of those gathered rose to their feet, certain the performers would tumble. The clapping grew louder and faster; the minstrels hastened the beat of their music. More
than one stamped their feet and whistles echoed through the hall.

Brianna did not even seem to breathe.

The crowd roared as one when the third jongleur found his balance. They gasped as the human tower wavered, no doubt deliberately, then righted itself again.

And the fourth began to climb. He made a show of being the least talented of the lot, grimacing as though indecisive of where to step. The others contorted as he evidently chose wrong, those in the assembly shouted directions. He stepped on the groin of the second man, that jongleur’s exaggerated expression of pain launching more than one chuckle.

Luc did not dare to look at his princess. She caught her breath, his heart stopped as her shoulders shook, and then she was silent once more.

The dismay of the climbing jongleur coaxed yet more laughs from the others, though. He mocked losing his balance and noisily fell, grimaced and scratched his head. He ran around the tower, apparently frantic to see his goal achieved, then seized an aide from the assembly.

He chose Ruarke.

“Nay!” Brianna whispered unevenly. Luc held her hand firmly.

The knight smiled tolerantly, bowing low to Brianna as he allowed himself to be tugged on to the floor. The jongleur made a great show of acting out how Ruarke, being so much taller, could readily place him at the summit. Ruarke laughed easily. Then he plucked up the much smaller performer and made to bodily set him upon the stacked acrobats.

In the blink of an eye, the bottommost jongleur “stepped” a few feet away, those above him swaying slightly at the movement but holding their ground. ’Twas
clear they anticipated the move. Luc leaned forward himself, amazed at how easily the jongleurs had managed the feat.

In that very moment, the last jongleur mocked Ruarke’s blackened eye, mimicking a great battle with his fists flying so quickly that ’twas hard to discern precisely where they were.

And Luc gasped along with the rest of the assembly as Ruarke, apparently distracted by the jongleur he held, put that smaller man down in the wrong place.

The jongleur wailed and snatched at the air. He kicked and apparently knocked at a critical shin in the human tower. The others shouted in mock dismay. The assembly cried out.

But Luc saw the last jongleur tug very hard on a string that seemed linked to Ruarke.