’Twas late when Luc still lay awake, trying to both cast the woman from his mind and find comfort in the hay. On either side of the stall he had chosen, warhorses and palfreys stamped in their stalls and nosed in their feed bins. Otherwise the stable was shadowed and silent.
A whisper sliced through the quiet like a knife through fresh cheese. Truly there was naught more effective than a hushed voice just beyond earshot to make any man stop and listen.
Which Luc did.
“What has taken you so long?” the voice demanded, frustration evident even in the low tone. “I have been waiting and waiting, with no word at all.”
“The land is besieged,” retorted a second even lower voice, tinged with impatience.
Two men ’twas, of that Luc was certain. He could not guess their identities when their voices were so low. And in this keep, there was no shortage of options, for a good hundred people—few women among them—made their homes here.
But why meet in the stables in the midst of the night? There could be no good reason for such secrecy. Did this have something to do with Brianna’s scheming? Luc strained his ears to catch their words.
“One cannot simply come and go in these times. Surely you have the wit to realize it. Now tell me, what news?”
“The keep is lost to a Welsh mercenary, seeking both territory and the favor of the English king,” retorted the first.
The second swore eloquently.
“He has already pledged fealty to that king.”
The second muttered another curse. “Who is it who holds Tullymullagh, then? Who is this mercenary?”
“Gavin Fitzgerald, though he only holds the seal in trust.”
There was an incredulous pause. “What is this?”
“The mercenary is wed, so the king decreed Brianna should wed Gavin’s son. He has three sons and the princess sent those sons on a quest to compete for her hand.”
Now the second man’s low chuckle throbbed through the stable. “Trust Brianna to unwittingly play to my hand.”
“What of your news?” Now the first voice was impatient. “What have you learned?”
“Ah, only that all we heard rumored is true.”
The first man exclaimed in delight. “All true?”
“Aye, the Rose of Tullymullagh is more a prize than anticipated, though I did not plan for this intrusion. It complicates matters considerably.”
“One son remains.”
“Nay!”
Luc’s ears pricked at this mention of himself.
“Aye, the princess tried to dissuade him of his course, but to no avail.”
The second man swore again. “That is less than good news. The Rose of Tullymullagh must be mine!”
Silence echoed once more through the stables and Luc did not dare even breathe for fear of discovery. Who were these men—and what dark intent did they have for Brianna?
“Perhaps matters yet can be turned to our advantage,” mused the second man.
“We have need of a plan,” declared the first.
Luc dared to ease closer to the stable door and inadvertently rustled the straw. The stallion in the next stall tossed his head and snorted at the disturbance. He snapped the reins with vigor and Luc froze.
“What is amiss?” demanded the first man anxiously.
“That fool stallion Raphael,” the second said dismissively. “Never have I laid eyes on so witless a steed. No doubt, the ostler will come along to see what ails him. ’Twould be better if we talked elsewhere.”
There was a stealthy tread of footsteps and Luc leapt for the stall opening. He peeked around the edge just in time to see the last of a man’s boot disappear around the far corner. He could not even discern its color in the wan light.
Then, both whispers and footfalls faded to naught.
The inconveniently sensitive stallion snorted and stamped impatiently as Luc tossed himself back into the straw. Indifferent to Raphael, Luc folded his hands behind his head and stared into the shadows of the rafters.
’Twas clear the men spoke of Brianna and ’twas equally clear that she would be a markedly fine prize of a bride for any ambitious man. There was naught precise to be gleaned from the words he had heard, though Luc had an undeniable sense of foreboding.
Why else meet in the stables when all were abed?
And whisper.
Luc could not stop a protective urge from rising to the fore. ’Twas his cursed training at root, and Luc wished heartily that his finely honed instincts would let him be.
“Gavin means to sleep here?” Brianna stood before her sire, incredulous, as a trio of her maids busily set her belongings to rights in the solar. Uther grimly supervised the move.
The difference in Brianna’s sire was remarkable—but a month past he had been bent beneath the weight of his loss and old beyond his years. But now he stood tall and straight, regal as he had been before Gavin came. On this night, a gleam of resolve shone in his grey eyes the like of which Brianna had never seen. Her sire fairly bristled with determination.
She had had but a moment to marvel at this before he confessed his intent to vacate his own chambers for none other than the mercenary himself.
And that news had stolen Brianna’s very breath away. It had nearly driven all thought of Luc Fitzgavin from her mind.
But not quite.
“Aye.” Her father bit out the word. “On the morrow, the solar will be made ready for Tullymullagh’s new lord.”
What madness was this? “Father, we cannot permit it! The solar is your chamber, and it is fully my intention to ensure—”
“Brianna!” Connor’s voice cracked like a whip. Everyone in the room straightened to look, for ’twas rare for the old king to chastise his child. Brianna could not look away from her father’s blazing glare.
She understood all too clearly that she had said too much.
Brianna felt her cheeks heat with self-awareness but stood proudly and tried to pretend that she was finishing her sentence as she had intended to begin it. “To ensure that the transition, when it comes, is an orderly one. Indeed, it is hardly reasonable to expect my maids and Uther to toil at this hour to see my belongings moved here.”
The fire abated in her father’s eyes and Brianna knew she had read him aright. He cleared his throat now and assumed a more benign expression.
“In truth, ’tis not Gavin responsible for this change,” he conceded with an apologetic smile to the busy foursome. All of them responded to his charm, any displeasure fairly melting from their faces.
“ ’Tis only I who would ensure that my daughter sleeps securely this night.” Her father met her gaze once more and Brianna knew his next words would be significant. “Gavin declared he would sleep on the floor below,” he added softly.
“He did not!” Fenella exclaimed, freezing in the act of plumping a fine feather pillow.
“He did that,” Uther confirmed grimly. “He was sorely vexed that our lady saw him locked out of the tower—” Fenella giggled at the recollection, but the steward did not smile “—and he is determined that ’twill not happen again.”
Brianna digested this morsel of news and concluded that her sire was being overprotective as was his wont.
Uther’s tone turned petulant when Fenella did not resume her labor. “How many times must I tell you to turn down our lady’s linens? She must be sorely tired after this day.”
“Aye, Uther.” Fenella flushed and hastened to the older man’s bidding.
“Immediately, Uther.” The other two maids fussed with the linens in question.
“And how many of you does it take for such a simple task?” the steward demanded testily. “You and you, fetch the lady’s embroidery and her garb for the morrow.” He snapped his fingers impatiently.
“Aye, Uther.” The pair scurried away.
“And where is the lady’s bath?” Uther continued, evidently put in poor temper by these quick arrangements. “Has everyone in this abode forgotten how to manage the simplest matters? Must I oversee every little concern?” He inhaled sharply once more, his bright gaze sweeping the chamber in disdain.
“I shall check upon the bath,” Fenella offered with a low curtsey that clearly won her naught in the steward’s estimation.
His lips thinned. “And become lost in the kitchens when the first gossip reaches your ears, no doubt.” Fenella blushed as she hurried from the room, but Uther was quick on her wake.
He pivoted on the threshold and bowed low to Connor. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. The keep is in an inexcusable uproar, but I shall endeavor to set matters to rights in short order.”
“Of course, Uther.”
“And on the morrow, I shall begin to teach the princess all she needs to know.”
“Impeccable, Uther. As always.”
The steward bustled off and Brianna had no doubt that he would lay siege to someone’s misconceptions. She turned back to find her father’s gaze bright upon her.
But they were alone. This was her chance to not only confess her plan but to win her father’s counsel in privacy.
“Do not give me that look,” Connor chided softly. “Gavin would have you learn the duties of a lady of the keep and ’tis not such a poorly timed thought. Uther will see that you know all you need to know.”
“Father, I care little of that.” Brianna closed the space between them with a quick step and seized her father’s hands. “We need not let Gavin gain the solar,” she said urgently. “You see, I have a plan to ensure that I need not choose any of his sons. And as Henry declared, Gavin cannot wed me himself for he already has a wife. So, once the sons have failed, then all we have to do to ensure that you regain suzerainty of Tullymullagh is to persuade Gavin to abandon—”
“Brianna!” Connor’s tone was chiding and he gave her fingers a firm squeeze. “Understand that Gavin will not abandon Tullymullagh, for any price. ’Tis his prize and one he labored to win.”
Brianna cared little for any sacrifice Gavin might willingly have made. To her it seemed her sire was bearing the full price of this change.
And unnecessarily so.
“But Father, Tullymullagh is yours! You have labored to build it from the ground and ’tis unfair that you should lose Tullymullagh on the eve of its completion.”
Brianna got no further before her father silenced her with a single fingertip touched to her lips. She looked into his eyes and her heart wrenched at the profound sadness she found there.
“Fair has naught to do with the way of the world, child,” he said sternly. Brianna tried to protest, despite the weight of his finger, but Connor pushed more firmly against her lips. “Brianna, you must face the truth. I will never be King or even Lord of Tullymullagh again.”
“But—”
“But naught!” Her father’s eyes flashed once more. “One does not win the war by fighting a single battle again and again and again.”
Brianna stepped back, confused by this claim. “I do not understand.”
“Tullymullagh is lost to me, but not to you,” her sire asserted. “Know this, child, you will be Lady of Tullymullagh, if ’tis the last deed I see done in this world.”
Brianna frowned. “But I do not intend to wed any of Gavin’s sons and Henry will not make me lady without a lord.”
Connor smiled slowly, his eyes sparkling silver. “Do you imagine, child, that I have not considered that issue?”
As Brianna stared at her father’s expression, she knew beyond doubt that she was not the only one with a plan.
Though she was sorely confused by his claim. “But, Father, how could you have found my one true love without my even knowing of it?”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“My one true love.” Repeating the words evidently did naught to enlighten her sire. Brianna smiled. “I will only wed my one true love, Father. If there is to be a Lord of Tullymullagh who claims me as his bride, that can only be my one true love.”
Connor seemed slightly dumbfounded by this confession.
Undeterred, Brianna squeezed her sire’s hand. “Father, surely you know that your own tale, the power of the love that you and Mother shared, could only inspire me to desire the same manner of match?”
Connor released Brianna’s hands and strode across the room, rubbing his temple. He pivoted to face her where the shadows cast by the oil lanterns obscured his expression.
When he spoke, his words were strained. “Have you, perchance, found this one true love of yours?”
Brianna was surprised to find herself assaulted by the memory of a very steady, very blue gaze. ’Twas a gaze that lurked between an impressive nose and a startlingly white tuft of hair, a gaze that sparkled when a certain man teased her unexpectedly.
Nonsense! ’Twas no more than her vigorous curiosity at work.
“Of course not!” she declared with unnecessary vehemence. “But I am certain that I shall know him the very moment my eyes land upon him.”
Connor’s words carried an affectionate smile. “Will you now, child? And how will you know?”
Brianna shrugged. “Why, the way that you and Mother knew. Because your hearts were as one.” She took a step closer to her father. “Tell me exactly how it was that you knew the truth.”
Connor cleared his throat. “I did not guess the truth when first we met. Indeed, I was long away from your dame before I knew that she had captured my heart,” he confessed quietly. “And I feared then that I had guessed the truth too late to ever win her hand.”
“In Outremer,” Brianna breathed, loving every nuance of this tale.
“Abandoned for dead in Outremer,” her father corrected sternly.
“But you came home to Mother. ’Tis so romantic!”
“Aye,” Connor admitted. His eyes glittered even in the shadows. “But never was there a certainty in my heart that the lady felt the same regard for me. ’Twas no more than a hope, a distant hope, until I returned and saw the welcome in her eyes.”
Brianna smiled. “But she did love you. And she was feeling precisely thus about you. How can you imagine that I would not want the same love in marriage for myself?”
Connor stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Brianna. “Child, understand that what we felt then was but a faint shadow of what ultimately grew between us. You may well have already met this one true love you seek.”
“How would I know?”
“Think, child. Think of a man who stands by you with honor, a man who prompts your smile, a man you would be proud to call sire of your sons. A man who will take his place beside you in this solar and command Tullymullagh as his own.”
Brianna could not quite stifle a feeling that her sire had very definite ideas who that man might be.
She might have thought further upon the matter if she had been able to evict those blue eyes from her memory. But Brianna knew that Gavin’s uncooperative son was not for her.
Luc Fitzgavin had as much as told her that he had come to precisely the same conclusion.
’Twas odd how Brianna did not find his words encouraging.
Her sire laid a hand upon her shoulder, his voice sounding low in her ear. “Make no mistake, Brianna, there is much yet at stake. Use the wits granted to you and consider our situation. Already our forces have lost to Gavin’s own, and many valiant knights have paid the price. Beware that any further protest against this invader may bring his retribution upon us.”
This was precisely Brianna’s concern, but her sire granted her no opportunity to speak. “Understand, Brianna, that Gavin Fitzgerald is not the manner of man who ever forgets a slight granted against him.”
A chill hand closed around Brianna’s heart as she realized that she had already proven most defiant of the mercenary’s will. But she was only defending what rightfully belonged to her father!
Outrage rolled through Brianna once more, but her father granted her no time to indulge it. “On the morrow, Gavin lays claim to this chamber,” he continued intently. “But there is one thing I would see safe from his hand and I have need of your aid.”
Brianna’s eyes widened. “What is it? What can I do?”
A footstep sounded on the stair and Connor started. “We must not be overheard!” he whispered. His fingers tightened on Brianna’s shoulder as Uther’s complaints carried to their ears.
“By the saints above, one would think you never had brought a bath to the solar! Have you so soon forgotten the Lady Eva herself taking her leisure in these chambers?” The wooden tub was rolled into the solar by the cook’s largest helper who smiled apologetically at Connor and Brianna.
Uther was dissatisfied, though, and fussed over the placement of the tub. He continued to fret, even when three men carried steaming buckets of water into the chamber.
“Nay, nay, nay, move it over there. There will be a draft from that window. Now, you and you—fetch those two braziers from the floor below and we will have need of more wood from hall. The princess must not catch a chill!” Uther clapped his hands and servants scattered.
Connor winked so quickly at Brianna that she nearly missed the gesture, let alone prepared herself to follow his lead in whatever he might say.
“What is this, child?” Connor declared suddenly when Uther might have spoken. His tone was shocked. “You missed the Mass this day?”
Brianna had not, but she hung her head all the same. ’Twas clear this was some plan of her sire’s to win them their privacy once more. “I am sorry, Father,” she murmured, as she thought she should.
“An apology to me is naught before God!” Connor retorted. He squared his shoulders and spun to face Uther, the very image of moral indignation. “Uther! Please send my goodwill to Father Padraig. Ask whether he would be so good as to come and sing the Mass for Brianna and myself. In the private chapel.”
Brianna understood immediately. They would have a few moments in the chapel alone for her father to finish telling her what he wanted secured from Gavin.
Uther bowed. “Of course, my lord. I believe he was just in the hall below. I shall have the lady’s bath prepared by the time you have made your prayers.”
“Excellent, Uther. As usual, you have matters well in hand.” Connor turned a stern eye upon his daughter. “Child, you must learn that there is no excuse for failing to give thanks on each and every day you draw breath.”
“I am sorry, Father.” Brianna bowed her head as though ashamed of her behavior. Her father led her toward the tiny stair on the far side of the solar, then paused as though in sudden recollection.
His gaze, though, was markedly steady. “And bring your cloak, child,” he murmured with feigned casualness, his words loud enough for Uther’s ears. “The chapel is cold these nights.”
Brianna quickly did as she was bidden, curious beyond all as to what she was going to learn. Connor picked up a small oil lantern and followed immediately behind his daughter. As they climbed the stairs, the maids spilled back into the solar with all the belongings they had been sent to fetch.
“Make haste!” Connor murmured urgently.
Brianna did as she was bidden. “But why summon Father Padraig?” she whispered.
“We may have need of a witness to declare we took naught from the chapel,” Connor responded quietly.
And Brianna realized that her father’s secret was hidden there.
Father and daughter reached the floor of the chapel above and Connor genuflected before he lifted his lantern high. The light flickered off the simple contents of the chamber and, as always, Brianna was awed by its beauty.
A simple altar carved of wood spanned the middle of the room, a silver chalice and plate reposing in its center. A square linen cloth adorned the altar, IHS worked in gold thread on the corner hanging to the front. A thick rug was cast across the wooden floor that the family’s knees might be protected. ’Twas a small chapel, by any calculation, the roof was so steeply pitched that only the very center was usable.
But behind the altar on the east side rose a massive crucifix that had fascinated Brianna since her childhood. Wrought of wood, the juncture of the arms was marked with a great quartz half-sphere polished to a gleam. No matter where the light was in the chapel, that stone seemed to shine with an inner light.
’Twas said that a fragment of the True Cross was trapped within the stone, though Brianna had never had the opportunity to see it closely for herself.
Her father quickly lit the two plump beeswax candles on the altar and the wicks sputtered fitfully before they caught the flame. The tiny room suddenly danced with warm candlelight, the gold of the crucifix gleaming mysteriously. The quartz glowed, as always it did.
In the blink of an eye, Connor had set aside his lantern and reached for that very stone. Brianna watched as he ran his hands over it. Her father moved so quickly that Brianna could not have said precisely where he touched the great jewel.
She did, however, see it open like the lid of a box and hear the faint creak of a hinge. Brianna gasped, her father fired a quelling look across the chapel, and footsteps sounded below in that very moment. Connor reached inside what looked to be a tiny chamber hidden behind the stone, removed something roughly square, then closed the compartment again.
Then the priest’s blessing echoed from the solar below. Brianna heard the servants’ murmured greetings to the man of the cloth passing through their ranks. She smelled the tang of the incense in the censer Father Padraig always carried and heard his footfall on the ladder.
Her sire fairly flew across the chapel. He pushed Brianna to her knees before the altar and pulled her cloak closed.
And just as the priest’s shaved pate glowed in the shadows of the stairs, Connor shoved whatever he had retrieved into Brianna’s hands. ’Twas a flat cold box and she immediately pulled it beneath her cloak. Her fingers told her ’twas metal and unadorned, about the size of her hand laid flat and as thick as both hands together.
“Letters penned to me by your dame when we were betrothed,” Connor whispered. “We must hide them anew.”
Brianna clutched the precious relic of her mother and hid it deep within the folds of her cloak. “But where?” she murmured, barely daring to give voice to the words as the priest drew near.
“In Eva’s crypt,” her father declared without hesitation. “You know the place. Your dame will see that they are held secure, for she intended them to be yours.”
Brianna’s fingers curled around the cold metal hidden within the heavy wool folds of her cloak. “I shall read them!” she breathed, unprepared for her father’s fierce glare.
“Nay! They must be hidden, immediately, and none must see you at the deed.” Connor’s hand closed tightly over Brianna’s own when she wondered at his urgency. “Swear to me that ’twill be precisely thus,” he whispered urgently.
Brianna had only a moment to make her pledge, even though she did not fully understand her father’s reasoning. The tension eased from his features and they both inclined their heads to pray.
“Good evening,” the priest declared from the stairs behind.
Connor raised his voice then and turned slightly. “Good evening, Father Padraig. I would thank you for coming to us this night.”
The priest smiled as he stepped across the room. He was a man of middle years, so slender as to be nearly gaunt. The hair left from temple to temple below the tonsure that marked his profession was iron gray and bristly. His expression, though, was always contemplative and Brianna found his presence remarkably peaceful.
Indeed, Father Padraig was a walking testament of the tranquility that could be found in contemplation.
“ ’Tis my vocation, Connor,” he said mildly now and swung his brass censer to perfume the air of the chapel. “When the flock needs tending, ’tis my pledge and my task to be there.”
Brianna’s sire inclined his head slightly. “And how fortunate we are to have you in Tullymullagh. I have bidden Brianna pray these past few moments and reflect upon the import of taking daily Mass.”
The priest’s smile widened slightly as he came forward. Reaching into the vial of holy water hanging from his belt, he anointed his finger, then traced a damp cross upon Brianna’s brow. “You have naught to fear. She is a fine child, Connor, and her heart is pure.” He arched a brow and smiled. “And I recall the Lady Brianna’s presence at the Mass this morn, even if she does not.”
The priest made his mark upon Connor, his smile turning thoughtful. “ ’Tis the mark of the mortal father to occasionally err in punishing too severely.” Father Padraig turned to genuflect before the altar. He gave the censer one last swing before setting it beside the altar and folding his hands together. “Let us pray to the Father who never errs.”
And Connor bowed his head without a glance to his daughter. Brianna clutched the token of her dame, closed her eyes, and prayed fervently that one day, she would have the opportunity to open the box and unfurl these precious pages.
One day, she would run her fingers across her dame’s own confession of love and hear the echo of that woman’s voice in her ears once more. One day, she would read her mother’s own telling of how a woman might know that a man had captured her heart.
’Twas a gift beyond anything Brianna had ever dreamed. As Father Padraig began to sing the Mass, Brianna vowed that no man would ever steal this token away from her.
Her father might be overly cautious, but Brianna would do as she had pledged. Indeed, she could not risk losing this valuable gift.