The Snow White Bride (24 page)

10

A
lexander had not yet seen
Eleanor at a loss for words and he was not certain that he ever wished to witness the sight again.

He certainly did not want to be responsible for the circumstance again. She stood and stared at him with wide eyes, the color drained from her face. There was no doubt that he had given her a shock, albeit unwillingly.

“I thought you did not like horses,” he repeated more gently, and she seemed to shake herself. She lifted her chin and her composure returned. He had the sense that she armed herself against him, and truly he could read no more of her thoughts than those of an opponent with his visor down.

“I do not,” she said crisply. “My refusal of your gift appeared to trouble you, though, so I strove to overcome my instinct. It is the duty of a woman to see her husband pleased, after all.”

It had been, on the contrary, the lady who had been troubled by the prospect of his gift. Alexander had simply been confused by her response.

Her protest might have been more plausible, had the mare not persisted in nuzzling her hair. Alexander was sufficiently familiar with horses to know that they did not show affection to those who feared or disliked them.

The horse dug its nose into the neckline of Eleanor’s kirtle with some persistence. It was impossible to believe, then, that someone who disliked horses would have been deemed worthy of such a friendly assault by the mare, or, equally, that that person would have endured it. Eleanor’s fingers twitched, as if she yearned to scratch the mare’s nose, so Alexander did not put much faith in her words.

In fact, his blood began to simmer that she lied. How much of a fool did she believe him to be? And what was the value of her word, she who had pledged to have honesty between them?

He resolved in that moment to feign belief in her lie, the better to see how long she would insist upon it.

“You seem to make great progress,” he said, as if he had not noted the conflicting evidence, as if he were not vexed, indeed. He stepped into the stall himself, granting the ostler a nod of dismissal. Eleanor stiffened and did not raise so much as a finger to the horses. The young ones jostled her, revealed that she had petted them before. “Did you ride often as a child?”

“Of course,” she admitted as if she would have preferred not to do so. “My tutors ensured that I could ride with grace.”

“And so they should have done,” Alexander said easily. He scratched the mare’s ears and the beast blew her lips in pleasure. “This is Guinevere, in the event that introductions have not been made.”

“Named for Arthur’s queen?” Eleanor regarded the
horse warily, though there was a telling admiration in her
eyes.

Alexander nodded, biting down his rising displeasure. The woman could not have lied to save her life! She must think him witless! “Indeed, for the stallions cannot resist her allure. She foals nigh every year, despite the ostler’s best efforts to ensure otherwise.”

“Would you not breed her annually?”

“It has been my family’s practice to breed each mare every second or even every third year, the better that she might recover from her feat.” Alexander smiled thinly. “Guinevere, however, has too many ardent suitors to find that scheme fitting.”

“She seems sufficiently hale.”

“She is a marvel, to be sure.” Alexander caught Eleanor’s hand and placed it upon Guinevere’s nose, covering it with his own as if she truly were fearful of steeds. He felt her fingers curve instinctively to the horse before she snatched her hand away.

“She is too large to be trusted. Look at her teeth!”

“She is as gentle as a spring rain,” Alexander argued. He met Eleanor’s gaze and lowered his voice so that only his wife could hear it. “You seem uncommonly familiar with horses.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then dropped her gaze and spoke hurriedly. “Nonetheless, they strike a terror in my very veins,” she insisted breathlessly.

Alexander stepped closer to his wife when her words faltered. She might have pushed past him and left the stall, but he caught her elbow in his hand, intent upon having the truth.

But Eleanor was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her
vulnerability caught Alexander by surprise, and as previously, it utterly disarmed him. He urged her closer to his side before he thought twice. She stood trembling, almost within his embrace, and he marveled at her distress.

“Do not compel me to possess another steed, Alexander. Do not grant me this gift, I beg of you. If there has ever been a measure of kindness in your heart, then surrender this concession to me. And do not ask me more of this matter,
I
beg of you.”

Alexander was astonished by this appeal, no less by the fact that Eleanor made it. It was not like her to reveal her emotions so clearly. “I meant it as a nuptial gift.”

“No gift would be a better one,” she said with vehemence.

Alexander held her fast, intending to ask more, but tears glistened upon his lady wife’s cheeks. What had happened to so distress her?

“Would you at least look upon these steeds?” Alexander suggested gently. “They are fine beasts, and we may never see their ilk so gathered again.”

Eleanor started at that, though Alexander could not imagine why, and she clutched his arm with sudden vigor. “What is your intent for the foals?” she demanded with urgency. “The ostler said you had a scheme for them?”

Alexander shrugged, not seeing the reason for her concern. “I have none as yet, though perhaps the ostler believes I do. They would fetch a fair price, to be sure, but it has not been the habit of my family to casually be rid of the steeds of Ravensmuir. We keep them until they are at least two years of age, so these foals will not be leaving our care soon.”

“What then?” Her anxiety was undiminished, though he was mystified by it.

“We grant them as gifts of honor, to friends and allies whom we know to be worthy of possessing such a beast. They are treasures, and we ensure that any master who claims one will see the beast well-treated, indeed.” Alexander smiled, hoping to reassure her. “There are treasures in this world with value beyond their price.”

She studied him, as if uncertain whether to believe him.

“Come,” Alexander suggested. “Come and meet mine own destrier. He was entrusted to my care by my uncle Tynan when L earned my spurs. I have ignored Uriel of late, and must warn you that he may well prove himself worthy of the name ‘the fire of God.’ ”

It was meant to be a jest, but Eleanor did not laugh. She did, however, let Alexander lead her from the stall containing the foals and deeper into the stables, though her clutch upon his arm was tight.

He could make no sense of the fact that she murmured beneath her breath as they made their way through the stables. Unless he missed his guess, she was counting the horses.

But why? Did she mean to have an inventory of Ravensmuir’s wealth? The dark thought was unwelcome, but not dismissed easily. Any wealth he possessed was almost entirely in these stables, to be sure, and if the horses were sold, they would fetch a high price.

Alexander knew a moment’s fear. Did his wife have a scheme for his assets, one she would follow after his untimely demise? It was an unsettling prospect, but one he could not discredit easily, not when she lied to him with such vigor.

There was nothing for it: Eleanor conjured a new puzzle for each one he believed himself to have solved. And Alexander, perhaps to his own detriment, was only more intrigued with each successive mystery she revealed. Truth was what he needed from her, though he knew not how to persuade her to reveal it.

He was even less certain how he would know when he found it.

* * * * *

T
he sauce maker proved to be Moira’s downfall.

It was imperative that Moira confide a detail she had observed to her mistress, which meant she had to enter Kinfairlie’s hall. Moira had managed to join the revels to celebrate her lady’s nuptials, but had not been able to linger within the hall. That night, the merry guests had been fairly swept out to the bailey. Despite her best efforts, she had not managed to enter the keep since.

That castellan was cursed quick, to be sure.

But this scheme was ideal. It was a simple feat to pick up a load of wood and march into Kinfairlie’s kitchens as if she belonged there, especially when so many others did as much. For truly, Moira
did
belong within the keep’s walls, as her lady was now mistress there.

Moira’s loyal heart burned at the travesty of the whispers she had heard against Lady Eleanor. Worse, there was treachery afoot in this very hall, treachery that would see her lady poorly served and that too soon. She could set matters to right, Moira could, if only she could reach her mistress.

She was relieved to note that the castellan had left the
kitchens. She followed the other women to the large pile of faggots and bent to deposit her load there, feigning familiarity with the kitchens all the while. So it was that Moira was astonished when she straightened and the plump, fair sauce maker pointed his ladle at her.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice loud enough that several others turned.

Moira glanced behind herself, for she knew herself to be unworthy of note.

“Nay, I mean
you,
”
the man insisted. “I have never seen you in this hall before. Who are you?”

Moira felt her cheeks heat. She was not accustomed to being noticed. “Do not be ridiculous.” She conjured a lie with haste. “I have labored here since midsummer.”

He shook his head and came closer. “I do not think so. I would have recalled you, of this I am certain. Who are you?”

“Aye, who are you?” asked the cook. He was a formidable man, and though he was not angry, his very size made Moira leery of him.

“I am merely a woman, one scarce worthy of note,” Moira said with some pride, and straightened her apron. “If you will excuse me, there is wood to be brought for the fires.”

“Nay, I will not excuse you, not without knowing your name,” the sauce maker insisted.

Moira glared at him. “My name is not of import.”

The cook began to chuckle. “She has seen your intent, Cedric, and does not welcome your attentions. Leave the woman be.”

The sauce maker’s ears turned crimson. “I but wish to know her name. That is the fullness of my intent.”

The cook laughed harder. “The sauce has need of thickening, Cedric. Get yourself to your labor.”

Cedric sputtered for a moment and gave Moira a beseeching glance. When she
did not respond, he heaved a
sigh. He turned to his sauce, sparing the occasional glance her way.

Glad of this reprieve, Moira turned to depart, but the cook laid a heavy finger upon her shoulder to halt her. “And still I do not know your name, nor from whence you hail,” he said, his voice lowered so that the others in the kitchens turned back to their labor.

Moira shrugged. “Surely the name of a little woman is not of such import?”

The cook arched a brow. “The name of every soul in my kitchens is of import, for I will not suffer my laird’s hall to be breached through my portal. Further, you have lied and done so with ease. I know that you were not here at midsummer. Indeed, Cedric speaks aright, for I know that you have not crossed this threshold before.” He held her gaze, his own kindly but firm. “Who are you?”

Moira squared her shoulders, seeing nothing for it. “My name is Moira Goodall and I pledged myself to the service of Lady Eleanor Havilland, surrendering that pledge to her own mother when that lady lay at death’s door.”

The cook pursed his lips. “The same Lady Eleanor who wed our laird?”

Moira nodded. “The same.”

“But she came with no attendant.”

Moira lifted her chin. “I followed her, as is my duty.”

The cook considered her for a moment. He inclined his head and Moira thought herself excused, but he laid claim
to her elbow. “The truth of your tale can easily be ascertained,” he said. He led her from the kitchens into the dark corridor that must lead to the hall.

It was only then that Moira’s spirit quailed. Surely Lady Eleanor had not left her behind at
Tivotdale for a reason?
Surely her lady was not displeased with her service? Surely her lady would not deny her?

* * * * *

E
leanor was flattered
by Alexander’s attentions and his determination to aid in conquering her supposed fear of steeds. It was no ordeal to have him by her side, his fingers brushing her elbow, her hand, the tip of her nose in a sequence of small gestures that left her tingling from head to toe.

The man could awaken lust in a corpse, Eleanor was certain of it. He covered his hand with hers when he showed her how to stroke a horse, he put his arm around her waist when leading her closer to one of the great steeds. There was nothing improper in his gestures, not
between man and wife, but his every touch made her yearn to meet him abed again.

All the same, it was less than convenient to be the focus of his attention. She could not count the horses accurately, and a precise count was critical to her ensuring their welfare. Alexander would not be persuaded to leave her alone in the stables, w
hich must be the warren of her
fears, and Eleanor had only her own impetuous lie to blame.

So it was that her foot
steps dragged when he returned
to the hall and he turned upon her with laughing eyes.

“So, you are reluctant to leave the stables,” he teased, his manner making her heart skip. “The antidote for your fears would seem to be half-ingested.”

She wondered then if he had discerned her lie and felt churlish for ever having ut
tered it. “Perhaps you have dis
missed my fears. You know full well that no woman with blood in her veins could resist your assurances,” she retorted.

He laughed. “Then there are a cursed number of bloodless women in this vicinity, to be sure. Even you have shown yourself resistant to me.”

“Hardly that!” Eleanor was certain that her attraction to him was obvious to the most casual observer and had been so from the moment that first they met. At his skeptical glance, she found herself flushing. “I yearn for your caress at the merest glimpse of you,” she admitted, blushing at the truth of it. “And I ached with your absence this past night. Surely you must know as much.”

“Truly?” Alexander halted between stables and hall. The sunlight danced off the last of
the snow, which lingered in corn
ers of the bailey. The sky was
a
clear blue, a hue that matched Alexander’s eyes and made the twinkles within them seem to dance more merrily. He touched a fingertip to her arm, mischief in the curve of his lips. “What of a touch?” he mused.

Eleanor felt the weight of his fingertip and the heat of it through her chemise. “You force me to cede an advantage to you,” she charged. “In your quest for truth between us.”

His smile flashed and his fingertip eased up her arm.
“
Truth is never easily gained,” he murmured. “Though this would be a welcome one.”

His fingertip found her shoulder and Eleanor straightened beneath its ceaseless caress. Alexander watched his fingertip as he traced the curve of her collarbone. Even through the barrier of her garments, she was certain she could feel his touch as surely as if she had been nude before him. Her very flesh was afire, her heart pounded as if she had run a thousand miles.

“Surely you do not quail before such a quest,” she said, her words uncommonly breathless. “I thought you a knight of formidable will.”

He met her gaze, snaring her with that vivid blue. “Surely even the most valiant warrior should not undertake such a quest without his lady’s support?”

“Do you ask for mine?”

He nodded, his manner so intent that she knew he missed no nuance of her expression.

“Then you have it,” she said softly. “You have but to ask me for any deed that is within my power to surrender to you.”

“What of any truth?”

Eleanor swallowed. “Yours for the asking.”

He arched a dark brow, his fingertip reaching the hollow of her throat, which was bare to his touch. Eleanor caught her breath as he traced a circle there. “Did you surrender as much to your other husbands?”

Eleanor swallowed and held his gaze determinedly, willing him to understand. “Neither asked me for truth. Neither treated me with courtesy.” She caught his hand in hers, lifting it from her flesh, and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Neither tempted me to indecency before the entire household.” She smiled then, guessing him to be surprised by her candor. “How fares your taste for truth, husband?”

His eyes glinted with what might have been satisfaction. “I did not know that I tempted you to indecency
.
”

Eleanor felt her smile broaden. “You awaken my desire apurpose, my lord. Have the honor to confess to some truth of your own.”

Alexander grinned. “I attempt to conjure your desire, to be sure, though it is not for me to say how well I succeed.”

“Yet surely you must know that you do.” She laid his hand against her throat, letting him feel the thunder of her pulse. His eyes widened slightly; then she took the sole step between them. She placed her lips against his own throat and whispered against his very flesh. “Know, my lord, that I yearn for a sweet morsel this midday, a sweeter one than will be served at the board.”

Alexander chuckled. “I think I should have asked for honesty sooner,” he teased, catching her shoulders in his hands. “But why such ardor, Eleanor? It is my understanding that such heated desire is uncommon for women.”

She studied him for a long moment, then granted him the truth he desired. “And so it was always for me,” she admitted quietly. “I have never savored meetings abed, Alexander. I have only endured the touch of my husbands, until you.”

He looked skeptical.

“Is it not part of every tale that the champion’s kiss awakens the passion lurking in his lady’s heart?”

Alexander smiled. “Now you sound like my sister Vivienne, although she would likely have said that the champion’s kiss melted the frost about his lady’s heart. She would insist that the lady’s true love was the sole
man who could awaken the love slumbering within her, and that his deed in so doing would show the lady his merit.”

“You speak of love again.”

“I salute its merit.”

“I speak of desire and pleasure abed, and the fact that I have missed your caress these past two nights.”

“That is well and good, though I warn you that I seek more.”

Eleanor turned away from him, making her way to the hall. Her innards churned, for she understood what he asked of her and knew she could not surrender it to him.

She pivoted to face him and let the words spill before she thought better. “Here is truth, Alexander. Love between man and wife leads only to bitterness and unhappiness. Love may be a marvel, but it is one of short duration and one destined to tarn against the lovers. I vowed young that I would never love a man, that I would never love my husband, and so I uphold that pledge. I lust for you, as I have never lusted for any man. Let that suffice.”

“It will not,” he said with soft conviction. He strode toward her, catching her hand when she might have left him. “Love and honesty and truth and justice were what
was raised to expect, and expect them I do.”

“Do not compel me to lie to you!”

“I do not,” he said with such force. “Though you choose to do so.”

Eleanor flushed and looked away from him, fearful that he would spurn her for her lie, more fearful that her suspicions might prove true.

“Tell me about Ewen Douglas,” he said softly, and
Eleanor’s gaze flew to his in alarm. “Alan charged that you killed him, and though I put no credit in that man’s word, still I wonder why you left Tivotdale in such haste, in the midst of the night.”

Eleanor straightened. The gleam in Alexander's eye told her that all rested upon her answer to this. “I warned you once that you might not savor the taste of truth.”

He inclined his head slightly. “And yet I ask for it all the same.”

Eleanor licked her lips. Her heart raced, so fearful was she that Alexander would put her aside, that this fragile dream would be shattered so soon.

But there was nothing for it. She lifted her chin. “Alan spoke aright. I did kill Ewen Douglas, and that was why
I
fled Tivotdale. But that is not the worst of it.”

“Tell me,” he urged, his manner intent.

“I do not regret the deed, and I know that I never will.” Eleanor held his gaze defi
antly, then pivoted to march to
ward the hall. She thought he would not follow her; she thought that all she had hoped to gain in Kinfairlie was laid to waste.

Then Alexander’s hand closed around her elbow as he matched his steps to hers.

“You do not abandon me,” she said, knowing astonishment echoed in her tone.

“I already know of one good reason you had to see Ewen dead, and I do n
ot doubt that there are others,”
he said with such conviction that Eleanor’s mouth fell open in her surprise. She looked up, fearful that he jested with her, but Alexander merely winked at her. “I thank you for your confidence, Eleanor. This bodes well for our marriage, indeed.”

Eleanor blinked as they closed the distance to the hall. No man had ever granted her
the benefit of the doubt. No
man had ever suggested that
she might have had cause for
her deeds.

“I would ask you to reconsider the merit of your youthful pledge against
love,” Alexander said as they
neared the threshold. “It was, after all, made without the fullness of all you now know to be true.”

She stared at him, astonished to find herself considering that very prospect. This was the danger of this man, with his handsome visage and his smooth charm. He could persuade her that day was night or that night was day. He could make her wonder whether love had any merit at all; he could make her bu
rn
to meet him abed; he could tempt her to conjure for him a son; he could persuade her to offer her very heart to him.

And what would befall her after Alexander had a son?

Then he would learn of her father’s bequest; then he would have coin aplenty for Kinfairlie; then he would have no need of a lady by
his side who refused to open
her heart to him.

But would it not be worse to be cast aside then if she had opened her heart and come to love him? Eleanor stared at him, not knowing what to say, and Alexander smiled.

“It is a fool who imagines that the prize of a lady’s
heart can be won with ease, for what is readily surrendered is seldom of any value at all.”

Eleanor did not challenge his assertion, for she was beginning to fear that he spo
ke the truth. What that would
mean for her, she could not begin to guess.