The Snow White Bride (27 page)

* * * * *

A
lexander watched his lady
with mingled awe and
pride. She stood as straight as a finely wrought blade, her
chin high and her bearing regal. She spoke clearly and with conviction, her words carrying over the company with ease. The sunlight glinted on the gold of her hair, for her veil had been lost in her pursuit of him, and burnished her finely wrought features. She was beautiful and pained, and his heart ached at her courage.

“Once there was a woman whose father saw her wedded to a man many years her senior,” she said. Alexander knew full well who that woman was, and saw that others in the company had also guessed as much. “She was twelve summers of age, while he had seen two and sixty summers. He was a corpulent man, enamored of the pleasures of the table and one disinclined to deny himself any indulgence. He was rumored to be cruel, albeit in a cunning way, but he was a comrade of the maiden’s father and she chose to believe that he could not be guilty of what was whispered of him.”

She nodded slightly. “And truly, the evidence seemed to support her faith in him, for he was kind to her. She had brought a palfrey of her own with her whe
n
she joined his household, a steed of chestnut hue with a white star upon her brow. As a young girl, she had thought the mark looked more like a flower and so she had called the horse Blanchefleur. The steed was treated well in her lord husband’s stables, though he oft teased her that she loved the beast more than she loved him.”

Eleanor looked down at her slippers for a moment. “She denied this, though she feared that he had discerned her secret. It would have been uncommon, indeed, for such a young woman to have held such a man as he in her most ardent affections.” She swallowed and looked over the company. “And so it was that the maiden was relieved
beyond belief when she learned that she bore her husband’s child. He had made it known that he wished for nothing more than a son, and she hoped that she might fulfill his desire.”

Alexander frowned at this reference to a son. Was this where Eleanor had learned her insistence upon a babe of that gender?

“But Fortune did not smile upon the maiden. The babe was only five months in her womb when her water broke. She fought against her labor, not wanting to surrender the prize her husband sought, but the babe came all the same. It was small; it was wizened and red; it was dead.” She licked her lips. “And it was a boy.”

The ostlers fidgeted at this unwelcome detail, and Alexander noted that sympathy lit the gaze of more than one of them. He waited, for he guessed the loss of the child, even so late in her pregnancy, was not the origin of whatever scar Eleanor retained of those events.

“The maiden feared the reprisal of her spouse, but he was charming. He was solicitous and sympathetic. He urged her to lie abed, to recover, to eat tempting morsels. He coaxed her smile when she felt she had no reason to smile. Indeed, he proved himself to be more gallant than she had ever imagined, and she faulted herself for not having seen his merit. Three days after this sorry loss of their child, he announced that he had prepared a feast in his wife’s honor.”

There was a murmur in the company at this. Eleanor looked over the sea, her eyes narrowed, though still she recounted her tale. “No expense was spared, to the maiden’s astonishment, for she could not understand why her deed was so worthy of celebration. The hall was filled
to bursting with nobles and neighbors, all in their finest garb. The board groaned with the quantity of food prepared and her husband insisted that all drink to the maiden’s health. She was grateful for his understanding and newly determined to provide him with his son.

“Then the great dish was served at the husband’s dictate, a stew that the maiden was told had been wrought for her own pleasure. It was laid before her with a flourish on the finest silver plate in their home. Her husband insisted that she eat first of it, that she eat heartily of it, for she would have need of her strength. Indeed, no one could eat a morsel of it before she had eaten all she could bear to consume.”

Eleanor’s teeth visibly set on edge. “It was strange stew, the like of which the maiden had never eaten. It was redolent with spices, for no expense had been spared in its preparation, yet the meat was odd.”

Owen, the ostler, turned away, his expression sickened. “It was silky on the tongue, unctuous even, and the maiden had little taste for it. Her husband insisted, though; indeed, he filled her trencher and stood beside her until she ate it all. And when she sat gorged with a meal she had not desired, he laughed and his was not a pleasant laugh. He grasped her elbows with force when he whispered in her ear, ensuring that she could not escape whatsoever he told her.

‘“We have each lost what we loved best this week, which is a kind of justice,’ he said, and she did not understand his import. ‘You lost my son and the price to you is Blanchefleur.’ It was then that the maiden knew what she had eaten, what meat had wrought that stew.”

The ostlers roared at this travesty. “Barbarian!” cried the ostler from Ravensmuir.

“Death is too good for such a villain,” declared Owen.

Eleanor straightened. “And the maiden ran to the stables, even as her husband laughed at her dismay, for she could not believe that any soul could be so wicked. But Blanchefleur was gone and the ostler told her the truth of it. She vomited all that day and all that night as she wept in the stall that her beloved steed had occupied.” Eleanor lifted her chin, even as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “And so she resolved that she should never love another steed, the better that she could not cast that beast’s life in peril.”

She turned to Alexander, her cheeks wet. “I am sorry, for I lied to you. But the cook said there was need of meat, and that you would resolve the menu upon your return from the stables, and the ostler said you had a scheme for the foals and”—she took a choking breath— “and you insisted that you must make me a gift of one of these wondrous horses and I was afraid as I have never been afraid.” She ran a hand over her brow. “I am sorry, for I have the wits to know that no man would serve you so loyally as these men do, if you were of the ilk of Millard.”

“It was not your wits that fed your fear,” Alexander said quietly. He went to her side and took her hand within his, lowering his voice. “It was love and fear of its loss. It was your heart, Eleanor, the heart that you would feign not to possess.”

She stared at him, weeping yet still proud, and he kissed her palm, even as she trembled before him. He folded her fingers over his salute, then pulled her fast
against his side. He could see how difficult this confession had been for her—and indeed, it was a horrific one. What kind of man would do such a deed? Alexander could not think upon it.

He respected not only that Eleanor had faced her fear in surrendering a secret she held fast, but that she had done so for the sake of his trust.

“We return to Kinfairlie,” he said. “My lady and I will ride the palfrey she rode here and Uriel will be led.”

Owen, the ostler, stepped into their path, his manner contrite. “My lady, I beg your forgiveness for the charges I made against you this day. There is no person who could both feel such pain as you did in the loss of your palfrey and commit such a crime as that committed against Uriel.”

“Appearances were against me, Owen,” Eleanor said quietly. She clung to Alexander’s side, seemingly weakened by the tumult of her tale. “I appreciate as much and hope that you never cease to surrender such, good counsel to my lord husband.”

“Never!” Owen bowed. “I would ask a boon of you, my lady.”

Alexander sensed his wife’s confusion, though he guessed what the ostler would ask. “Your request cannot be filled unless it is shared,” he said when the ostler did not speak.

Owen spared a glance for Uriel, then cleared his throat “It is said that a healer’s talents can be used for a horse as well as a man. Is there a salve you might make to see Uriel healed more quickly? I would not see him suffer unduly for some soul’s cruelty.”

Eleanor caught her breath and Alexander smiled. The
other ostler and the squires stood and watched, approval in their eyes,

“You would trust me with this?” she asked, awed. Owen nodded, his manner gruff.

“I would be honored,” Eleanor said, her words husky. “I would be proud to aid such a magnificent steed.” Owen smiled and bowed, then hastened away. Uriel meanwhile tossed his head, seemingly in agreement with this sentiment, and snorted with vigor.

Alexander smiled down at his wife, well pleased with what she had achieved this day.

“You have made a conquest of every man in my stables,” he teased beneath his breath. “And that with a single tale. I shall have to pray that you are sated with the attentions of one man alone.”

Eleanor turned her shining gaze upon him. “I can only hope that he will prove to be attentive, indeed. Tell me, my lord husband, is there time for a
sweet
before the evening meal?”

* * * * *

S
he loved him.

It was as simple as matters could be and Eleanor marveled that she had not guessed the truth sooner. Eleanor loved Alexander, with his conviction that all was good, with his surety that honesty and good humor would make all come aright, with his determination to hear the whole of the tale before he rendered a judgment.

Alexander was fair, he was just, he was kind. She loved that those in his household served him with unswerving loyalty; she loved that he was protective of
every creature, big or small, human or horse, who relied upon him.

She loved that he could be pensive or playful, that he 1 was clever and unafraid to show his feelings. She loved that he cherished truth and honesty above all, and that he rewarded their surrender to him.

And that was but a smattering of what he offered to her. She loved that Alexander gave her the benefit of the doubt, as no soul ever had done, that h
e assumed that she had a rea
son for any deed she had committed. Alexander gave her choice, gave her time, treated her with honor and dignity.

He had persuaded her that the merit of what was offered by loving him far outweighed any risk. It was not an easy lesson for Eleanor and she did not doubt that she would err again in his company, but she knew that Alexander would always grant her the chance to remedy any misstep.

It was a weighty boon he offered to her and one she welcomed. With ardent pursuit of her secrets, he had broken the last shield protecting her battered heart.

She wanted to show him
as much, in the best way that
she knew.

Moira met them at the base of the stairs, but Eleanor smilingly turned the maid away. “There is no need for
your tally now,” she said, tugging at her husband’s hand.

Alexander followed her, only limping slightly, his eyes fairly glowing at her enthusiasm. “You are anxious to reach our chambers,” he teased. “It must be the lure of my ledgers.”

Eleanor laughed. “I a
m anxious to have your company
to myself,” she retorted, not caring what any person made of her bold words.

Alexan
der grinned. “But I am injured…”

“And I know the best tonic to see you healed.”

Alexander sobered slightly. “You should know that I am not so determined to have a son as other men have been. Sons and daughters may come in their own time or they may not—their presence or absence changes nothing in a good marriage.”

“It is not solely a son for which I would strive!”

Moira wrung her hands at the base of the steps, not sharing the pair’s merry mood. “But, my lady, there is another detail I would confide in you!”

“Later, Moira, later will serve well enough.”

“But…
”

Deaf to the maid’s entreaties, Eleanor tugged her husband’s hand until he stood on the step immediately below her. She framed Alexander’s face in her hands, ran her thumb across his smiling lips, then kissed him fully.

She heard him catch his breath at her show of affection; then his arms were around her waist. He pulled her closer, even as he opened his mouth beneath her assault. He let her take what she would have of him and Eleanor reveled in the awareness that she was not alone in responding to their embrace.

She broke their kiss reluctantly, only to find his eyes awash with stars. “You look so merry,” she whispered with wonder.

“How could a man not be merry, when his wife looks at him as you are looking at me?”

“How am I looking at you?”

His smile turned mischievous. “As if you mean to surrender more to me than a mere smile.”

Eleanor laughed. “I challenge you, sir, to take upon yourself another quest.”

“Another? Surely my lady’s esteem is well-earned?”

Eleanor made a mock frown. “But not her smile. You said once that a courtesan’s smile could be encouraged with an intimate tickle abed. I doubt that you can see the matter done.”

She saw only the flash of his eyes before he caught her in his arms; then he took the remaining stairs three at a time. He kicked the door to their chamber closed behind them and kissed her with lingering abandon, holding her fast against his chest. Eleanor reveled in his embrace, in the complete banishment of her fear, and knew with utter surety that Fortune finally smiled upon her.

When they finally parted, she lifted the key from her belt and turned it in the lock with satisfaction. “I shall not loose you from this chamber before you succeed in your quest,” she teased, then granted him a wicked smile.

“Then we had best begin,” he said with enthusiasm, “for I cannot imagine that such a goal would be readily won.”