“Father?”
Connor started at the sound of his daughter’s voice and propped himself up in his bed. He scanned the room and his tension eased when he saw Brianna’s familiar silhouette in the portal. Aye, he had been slumbering and this in the midst of the day.
Truly, he had become an old man.
Brianna stepped out of the shadows of the portal, her features etched with concern. She was so vibrant that Connor’s heart contracted with pride. Her golden hair snared the light from the brazier Uther had lit, her cheeks glowed with youth and vitality. And in the tilt of her chin was something of a young woman who had once granted him a kiss farewell.
As was there in the radiant sparkle of her eyes. Was this due to Ruarke’s return? Did he dare to hope his plan might come to fruition?
“Are you well, Father?”
“Tired, child. I am but tired.” Connor forced a smile and patted the edge of the bed. “Come and chat with me for a moment. What news of Ruarke?”
“Gavin would have him left to rot, but Luc stood for my request to tend his wounds.” There was a thread of pride in his daughter’s voice that caught Connor’s attention. That ’twas not in reference to Ruarke was doubly interesting. “I may visit him in the morn.”
Connor glanced beyond her to the door to assure himself that no one was there, then dropped his voice all the same. “And our task?”
“Oh!” Brianna gasped and flushed. “ ’Tis not done yet, Father. I am sorry.” Her hand rose to the wide belt twined around her waist and Connor knew the box he had granted her was yet safely in her possession. “I have not yet had an opportunity, for Luc is oft in the orchard.” Her blush deepened in a most intriguing way.
Connor sat up a little straighter, but tried to keep his tone idle. “This Luc is the son who did not go on your quest?”
“Aye.” Brianna swallowed visibly and seemed fascinated with her hands.
Perhaps his daughter had seen a similar glimpse of that man’s character. ’Twas appealing how this Luc had confronted Gavin, at Ruarke’s behest.
Perhaps one of Gavin’s sons at least had been spared that man’s cruel character. ’Twas a matter to watch closely. For as much as Connor believed his daughter’s conviction to wed for love whimsical, he still would prefer to see her happy in the end.
’Twas his great weakness.
And Ruarke, ’twas true, had proven somewhat disappointing thus far. Why had he taken so long to return?
Faced with his daughter’s uncharacteristic silence, Connor seized the chance to deliberately steer their conversation in a direction he wished to pursue. First, he cleared his throat. “It seems to me that this Luc is as unlike his sire as any man could be.”
Brianna glanced up quickly, too quickly for her to be disinterested in the subject. “What do you mean?”
“It takes no small courage to defy a man like Gavin Fitzgerald, yet this Luc does so, and on the side of honor.” Connor watched his daughter carefully. “ ’Tis rare indeed to meet a man of such lofty principle. Did I not understand that he tends a small Welsh barony?”
“Oh, but Father, Luc was a knight!” Brianna’s eyes shone.
Connor arched his brow. “But now he tends the fields?”
“Something happened, I know not what, but he—” she blushed once more “—he has promised to tell me of it on the morrow.”
Connor interpreted the blush as a sign that his daughter had bent her considerable will upon uncovering this man’s secrets.
He found that most intriguing.
Brianna looked to him then, sympathy shining in her eyes. “It must have been a blow of rare power, for he is not a man to lightly cast aside anything of merit.”
Nay, Connor would have guessed as much. There was a strength about Luc Fitzgavin that he found appealing—and Connor understood well enough that the life of a knight could provide many an incentive to seek a more peaceful life. ’Twas a burden upon the spirit to always be at war, to always be a witness to death. Connor could not blame a man of honor for taking a more peaceful course.
And from events of this day, Connor had the distinct sense that Luc was just such a man of honor. He thought of Ruarke and long-laid plans as he watched his daughter, still reluctant to cast aside a cherished scheme.
But Brianna’s eyes had never shone like this when she spoke of Ruarke. Would Connor’s course ensure his daughter’s happiness? Surely, Ruarke had just been unavoidably delayed? The man’s loyalty was beyond question, as was his affection for Brianna.
Connor would have to reflect upon the matter and keep his eyes open for this Luc. He forced a smile and flicked an affectionate finger across Brianna’s nose.
“Ah, you must be feeling better!” She kissed him on the cheek and smiled with a sunniness that warmed Connor’s old heart. Brianna looked so much like her mother when she smiled so merrily. “I suppose then there can be no harm in confessing that Cook has candied some elecampane, just for you.”
“You all indulge me overmuch,” Connor said gruffly, knowing that ’twas evident he was pleased. A boy from the kitchens tapped on the door, his nervousness evident in how carefully he balanced the dish he bore. The considerable bulk of Cook hovered behind.
“You must be surprised,” Brianna whispered, then turned with a welcoming smile. “Enter!”
Aye, she was a rare one, Connor thought with a surge of pride. Brianna would cheat none of even the most simple pleasure. ’Twas as Father Padraig said—she had a heart that was pure.
And a compassion that knew no rival.
Connor coughed and donned a puzzled expression when the pair drew near. “Uther brought me soup earlier,” he began, then feigned astonishment at the confection proudly presented to him. “Cook! You outdo yourself in these times! Elecampane! ’Tis my favorite and you know it well.”
Cook beamed. “I hope ’twill lift your spirits, my lord.”
“Aye.” Connor accepted a pink sweet and rolled it around in his mouth. “I feel better already! Ah, Cook, your talents increase every day. Come, child, move these cushions that I might sit up.”
Cook snapped his fingers and the boy quickly ducked to aid Brianna. When Connor thanked the pair, they bowed low. Cook was positively radiant as he lumbered back out the door.
“Well done!” Brianna declared, claimed a sweet herself, then eased farther on to the massive bed. “Come, Father, tell me again of your travels in the East. Tell me about returning to Mother.”
“You have heard it oft enough,” he grumbled, as always he did.
Brianna smiled. “And I would hear it again.”
Connor returned his daughter’s smile, then settled back to recount the tale he knew—and loved—as well as his own name.
Luc was in a conundrum. He spent the day working diligently in the orchard, his thoughts churning as he sought some escape.
But there was none. Not only had Luc pledged to answer any question Brianna might ask, but he had given her his word again that he would confide this particular tale on the morrow.
And Luc Fitzgavin was a man who kept his word.
Even if the story of why he had abandoned his spurs was one he had never before shared. Nay, Luc had never even considered sharing it! The very prospect left Luc feeling as though he rode to battle with no ranks behind.
But he had granted his word.
Luc created arguments aplenty, but there was not a one that could counter that responsibility. He cursed his own weakness in the waning light of the afternoon, a weakness that had seen him grant such a pledge in exchange for a woman’s kiss.
For Brianna’s kiss.
Truth was, Luc was coming to desire the lovely princess. And ’twas not just because of her sweet kisses or the nectar of her lips.
Luc liked how Brianna’s eyes flashed, her cleverness, her determination. There was something exhilarating about matching wits with her, for Luc could never be certain of reigning victorious.
’Twas more than intriguing. And Luc liked very much that her resolve was bent on ensuring the happiness of those she loved, even with a disregard for her own welfare.
He had seen enough of selfishness in his days.
Aye, Brianna was a woman unlike any Luc had met before. And her kisses were not to be spurned either.
Luc cast a glance to the keep where he knew she was, then frowned and turned back to his labor. Denis and the boys were busily gathering stones for the addition to the stables and the bailey was filled with activity.
But Luc missed a certain golden-haired woman. He told himself that he was just concerned for Brianna’s welfare and took reassurance in Gavin’s periodic appearances in the bailey. Hopefully, Brianna merely remained with her sire. ’Twould be like her, Luc concluded, to cheer that man in this trying time.
He hoped with sudden fervor that Burke was as protective of his princess as Luc knew he would have been in his brother’s stead. He recalled Burke’s indifference to the lady’s charms and was far from reassured.
Indeed, the request from Denis for advice distracted Luc from his thoughts at a most welcome time.
By the time the evening meal was called, Luc could not resist the lure of the hall any longer. He was certain ’twas only because he had need of a warm meal in his belly, but found himself anxiously seeking Brianna.
He wanted to be assured of her welfare, no more than that.
But Luc’s first glimpse of the lady made his heart thunder with more than relief. Brianna was already at the high table, resplendent in sapphire embroidered with gold. Though her garb was rich, ’twas naught compared to her vivid beauty and Luc stood silently for a moment to watch her.
She was a veritable fairy queen.
Brianna’s grace was no less than Luc had first perceived and ’twas clear from her manner that she was in fine health as she had been earlier that day. Luc forced the tension to ease from his shoulders.
He watched as Brianna initiated conversation all along the dais, a perfect hostess, even in the face of trial. Her sire sat by her side, a small smile toying with his lips, his color markedly better than it had been earlier. Connor was once again the wise, if deposed, king. Luc was quick to lay the credit for the improvement in the elderly man’s manner at Brianna’s feet.
Dermot sat to Brianna’s left, Ismay upon his left, and even that man seemed to be contributing to the conversation. Ismay, Luc noted, seemed overly interested in the contents of her chalice.
But, like a moth to the flame, Luc’s gaze was drawn back to Brianna. The lady nigh sparkled—indeed, the mood in the hall was markedly lighter than when Luc had last crossed its threshold.
Gavin had absented himself, but Luc guessed a good measure of the change was due to Brianna’s efforts. To be sure, none had forgotten Gavin’s cruelty or the knight imprisoned far below, but some festivity at the board could lighten a man’s heart.
Brianna glanced at Luc and smiled, her entire face brightening when she spied him. Luc stared back at her, snared by her regard, his heart thumping painfully.
And he thought unexpectedly of Pyrs. The memory of their last venture into Llanvelyn’s gardens together pushed its way into Luc’s mind uninvited. There had been no swaying the older man from the walk, no matter how painfully he coughed that day.
They had gone because ’twas of such import to the man who had asked so little of Luc, even while he gave so much.
Pyrs had made his way painstakingly to a gnarled ruin of a tree and commanded that Luc look upon it. Luc had, seeing in its blackened heart the tale of the disease that had struck it dead. He had turned to Pyrs, uncomprehending their pilgrimage to this place.
Luc could still recall the resolve burning in Pyrs’ tired gaze. “I had not the wit to see what ailed it,” the older man had confessed. “By the time I cut out the illness that milked its will to survive, ’twas too late.”
Pyrs had fixed Luc with a demanding glance, one that insisted Luc see the import of his words. “You must have the courage, Luc, the courage to cut deeply when a wound embitters the heart. You must remove all of the poison that taints the future. And you must do so afore ’tis too late.”
At the time, Luc had assumed Pyrs was confessing guilt for letting any plant falter beneath his fastidious care, but in this moment he wondered. Had Pyrs been granting Luc more personal advice?
Had his loss, the same loss that made him abandon his spurs, embittered Luc’s heart? He did not know, but he was suddenly afraid it might be so. Luc stared into a lady’s eyes, distance obscuring their marvelous color, and wondered.
Perhaps Pyrs had seen aright.
Before Brianna could invite him to the high table, if indeed she intended to, Luc sat down hastily at the closest table. He needed a moment’s solitude to reason this matter through.
Luc glanced to the dais and acknowledged the rare compassion that Brianna carried. He had seen ample evidence of it in the sympathy she extended to Ismay, indeed, in the understanding she showed of her own father’s history in Outremer.
He instinctively knew that Brianna would not judge him or his decision harshly. And that was the only certainty Luc needed to make his choice.
After all, one could not be too careful with one’s own heart.
The wine was good, the meal better, the companionship fine, and Luc savored them all in the wake of his decision. He felt more at ease than he had in years and more alive. More than once, Luc caught himself glancing to the high table.
The candles were burning low when an overwhelming fog of musk and ambergris surrounded him. Luc coughed, certain there had been no harlots at Tullymullagh, then met the unsteady gaze of the Lady Ismay.
“Aye, here you are!” The kohl with which Ismay had outlined her eyes had run slightly in the heat of the hall, half the carmine from her lips graced the cuff of her chemise. Her cheeks were flushed, her veil askew, and she was far from a fetching sight.
She wavered slightly on her feet, the ruby contents of her chalice slopped over one side, then she winked at Luc. “I have been seeking you, Luc Fitzgavin,” she confided unevenly.
Luc could not imagine why. “Indeed?”
Ismay leaned toward him and lowered her voice, a drunken and aged would-be seductress. Her kirtle gaped open to grant Luc a view he would rather have been spared. Luc knew ’twas deliberate that both chemise and kirtle were unfastened, just as he knew that the tired breasts revealed would not have incited lust in any healthy male.
’Twas an awkward moment.
“Oh, aye.” she purred. “ ’Tis clear enough that you are a man who sees a task completed.” She hiccuped. “A man who does not back down before a challenge. An effective man.” Ismay slanted a killing glance toward the high table, before smiling once more at Luc. Luc had but a moment to consider how he might best escape her amorous intent before the lady stepped closer.
Inadvertently, Ismay trod on the dirtied ends of her trailing sleeve. She lurched suddenly forward. Her eyes widened as her wine took to the air, she wailed, and she toppled.
Luc could do naught but catch her before she hit the stone floor.
Ismay swooned in his arms and one breast burst free of her chemise. Her besotted smile turned to a parody of coyness and Luc fairly dumped her on to the bench beside his place. He hauled her kirtle hastily over her nakedness and heartily wished he were anywhere else in Christendom.
Luc looked around for relief, but Dermot had disappeared. Uther was carrying a candle toward the stairs, while Connor and Brianna embraced, clearly before the old king retired.
And no one took any note of Luc’s plight at all.
He fell upon Ismay’s now-empty chalice like a drowning man seizing upon a straw. “I shall fetch you some more wine, Lady Ismay.”
But the lady propped her elbow on the table, thunked her chin into her hand and eyed him dreamily. “I have no more need of wine, master Luc. What I need is a man’s love.”
’Twas truly an inopportune moment for Dermot to be absent.
“Come.” Ismay patted the bench beside herself. “Come and talk with me, Luc, for I am in dire need of companionship.”
Luc could not be rude. He could not walk away, yet he could not take the seat beside her. Mercifully, the bench on the opposite side of the table had become vacant, so Luc sat there.
He turned the chalice restlessly in his hands and silently begged Dermot to make all haste.
Wherever that man was.
Ismay leaned across the table, her eyes gleaming, and her breast fell out of her kirtle again at the move. “What ails you, Luc? Have you no desire for me?”
Luc cleared his throat and strove to look anywhere other than at the pallid breast lying upon the board. “Surely Dermot claims that honor?”
Ismay grimaced. “No more often than he feels is necessary to ensure his place.”
If Luc had thought matters were awkward before, he now understood his own folly. Truly, the last thing he wanted to know was the state of intimacy betwixt Ismay and Dermot!
But when he might have excused himself, Ismay snatched at his hand, claiming it with surprising strength. Luc looked reluctantly to her eyes and found an unexpected anger burning there.
“Do not imagine that my husband has any tender feelings for me. There was a time when I was so foolish as to believe that Dermot was all he seemed, but those days are long gone.”
Her lips twisted ruefully and she seemed suddenly somewhat less inebriated. “As, indeed, is the only reason he saw fit to wed me. Aye, ’tis only now that I clearly discern the sorry excuse for a man who has lain beside me all these many nights.” Her lips twisted. “And lain elsewhere on so many others.”
Luc could not keep himself from looking to the high table in search of that man. He saw that Brianna had risen from the board and the flutter of maids about her indicated that she too intended to retire.
Yet Dermot had not yet returned.
But Luc could not sit and hold Ismay’s hand all the night long. Truly this conversation grew awkward, and he was tired. “I am sorry, Lady Ismay …” Luc began, intending to excuse himself.
Ismay snorted laughter. “As am I, you may be certain.”
Luc did not know what to say to that.
But Ismay squeezed his hand. “Why should I be the only one to hold my marital vows in esteem?” She walked her fingers up Luc’s arm and struggled to look beguiling.
Luc was put in mind of an old whore who had followed an invading army of knights from the many years past when he had been young and impressionable. Yet even then, he had felt naught but sympathy for the sorely used creature.
As he did now.
“Lady Ismay!” The priest of Tullymullagh clucked his tongue gently as he passed their table. He was of the lanky and quiet class of priests, and Luc did not imagine the man had ever truly smiled.
He arched a brow as he paused alongside, his gaze never falling to the wedge of flesh Ismay exposed though Luc knew the priest was well aware of it. “Do you not imagine that you are somewhat casually attired for the hall?” His disapproval was more than clear.
Ismay had the grace to flush and clutched at her chemise with a mumbled word or two. As she fumbled with the tie of her chemise, Luc extricated his hand from hers.
The priest looked pointedly from Ismay to Luc. “I expect I shall see you both at Mass on the morrow?”
Luc contented himself with a nod, but Ismay held the priest’s gaze defiantly. “Aye, Father Padraig. If all goes well. I shall have a confession to make.”
The priest straightened, clearly appalled by the noblewoman’s words. He might have made a quelling comment, but Ismay snatched up her chalice and bellowed for wine. In that moment, Luc saw that Father Padraig realized Ismay’s drunken state.
“If not more than one,” the priest murmured with a frown. He nodded to Luc and moved to the next table.
“Come, master Luc, let me show you the merit of the woman that I am,” Ismay cooed. ’Twas clear the priest’s manner had not altered Ismay’s intentions, but Luc straightened with purpose.
“I am sorry, Ismay, but ’tis not my way to dally with wedded women.”
Ismay eyed him for a long moment, then sat back, her lips tight once more. Then she glanced to the high table and Luc fought his urge to follow suit.
When Ismay looked back to him, a knowing glint lit her eyes. “The Rose of Tullymullagh,” she said mockingly and Luc hated that his interest was so transparent. “Every man loses his heart with but a single glimpse.”
Before Luc could argue the state of his heart, Ismay leaned forward and shook a finger beneath his nose. “But know this, son of Gavin, I remember much of the Rose of Tullymullagh that others have forgotten.” Her eyes narrowed. “There is a tale here that has not been told for a long time, a tale that will change your thinking about much of what you see.”
But Luc was not inclined to sit with a drunken noblewoman this night. Ismay was drunk, Luc was bone-tired from helping Denis, and Brianna was being safely ushered to her chamber by her maids.
All would be well this night.
“Perhaps another time, you might share the tale with me,” he said politely, then bowed. “I wish you a good evening, Lady Ismay.” And as Ismay’s brow furrowed, Luc made for the portal.
Little did he guess he would have no chance to hear Ismay’s tale, on the morrow or any other day.
Brianna awakened with a sense that something was amiss.
The steady drum of rain fell against the shutters. The keep was cold, ’twas yet dark, the deep breathing of the other women carried to her ears.
Aye, November had come with a vengeance. ’Twas when Brianna snuggled deeper into her bedlinens that she realized what was wrong.
Ismay snored like a bull.
But no one snored this morn.
Brianna sat up and scanned the slumbering women, disregarding the chill upon her skin. She frowned and looked again with growing concern, but there was no avoiding the truth.
Ismay was not there.
Had she perhaps found some private place to mate with Dermot?
Nay, Dermot had not remained long at the board, though Ismay had lingered, imbibing heavily of the wine. Brianna’s heart clenched as she recalled the last glimpse she had had of Ismay.
She had been holding fast to Luc’s hand and staring into his eyes.
In Dermot’s absence.
Brianna gasped in horror. She was out of bed in a flash and hauling on her chausses and boots and tunic, suddenly very certain where Ismay had spent the night. And with whom.
Luc Fitzgavin was no man of honor, after all!
A cold lump rose in Brianna’s throat, though she knew ’twas only because she had been deceived.
She did not care for Luc.
She could not care for him.
Nay, ’twas the knowledge of adultery at Tullymullagh that troubled Brianna. Aye! Her father had always insisted that all beneath his roof adhere to a high moral code. That was what upset Brianna. It made perfect sense, though the explanation did little to account for the sick feeling in her belly.
Fortunately, Brianna had no compunction about making the error of their ways clear to both Luc and Ismay.
Regardless of what state they might be in at this early hour.
Luc folded his arms behind his head and listened to the rhythm of the rain upon the stable roof. The thatched roof was so close above his head that he could have stretched out his fingertips and fairly felt the impact of the drops. Instead, he breathed deeply of the mingled scents of the wet straw overhead and of the many steeds housed below.
And he uncharacteristically lingered abed. ’Twas warm here in the loft and Luc was loath to rise. ’Twas early yet at any rate, for even Denis’ footsteps did not carry from below. The horses snorted quietly, the dogs whimpered in their sleep, the squires around him stirred as they dreamed.
They all had taken to the loft the night before, tethering steeds throughout the length of the stables’ corridors until the new structure could be completed, pushing aside the straw that squire and soldier alike might nest like mice. ’Twas only in the middle of the loft, where the ladder rose from the stable, that a man could stand straight.
Luc eyed the many sleeping here and wondered where Dermot had taken himself the night before. He was notably absent. More importantly, where had he disappeared earlier?
Had Dermot been one of those who schemed within these very stables but two nights past? Luc heartily wished he could know for certain—no less that he knew the truth of those conspirators’ intent for Brianna.
He had a feeling ’twas naught good.
It seemed there was no end of perils confronting his princess.
Of course, Brianna had no need for Luc’s errant chivalrous impulses. Indeed, once she wed Burke, she would have chivalry aplenty within her very bed.
The thought annoyed Luc more than it should. He cast back his linens, suddenly impatient to rise. He had just hauled his chemise over his head when the door to the stables abruptly creaked open. A wedge of faint light shone through the loosely placed floor of the loft and illuminated the top of the ladder.
And a voice rose in an imperious whisper from below. “Luc Fitzgavin, show yourself!”
Luc’s heart skipped at the familiarity of those enraged tones before he grinned. ’Twas as though he had summoned her with his very thoughts!
He was only relieved because he wanted the telling of this tale behind him. Luc was certain of it and quickly hauled on his chausses.
The lady, though, was not patient.
“Luc!” she called again.
“Be silent!” Luc hissed through his teeth. “You will wake every soul within this place.”
Mercifully Brianna did as she was bidden, though Luc could well imagine that would not last. He sought his boots in the shadows, trying to dress with haste.
Before he had even completed his task, Brianna had climbed the ladder to the loft. She stood directly before him, her eyes flashed in fury, hot color burned in her cheeks, and her full lips were taut with disapproval. Raindrops, snared in the loose cloud of her hair, shimmered like jewels, but there was no mistaking the lady’s mood.
The only question was what could have angered her so.
Luc had no chance to ask.
“You!” Brianna charged with low heat, her voice rising slightly in her anger. “I believed you to be different from the others! I believed you were truly a man of honor and repute!”
Luc blinked—one boot on, one boot off—and struggled to think of what he had done to challenge that conclusion. “And now?” he dared to ask.
“Where is she?” Brianna hissed.
Luc frowned, yet kept his voice low. “Who?”
“Ismay!” Brianna fairly seethed. “Do not toy with me, sir. I know well enough that she is here!”
Luc was not nearly so certain of that. Why would Ismay be here? “I do not know what you mean,” he began, but was to have no opportunity to finish.
Brianna advanced upon him, shaking a finger the entire way. “I do not know what you have done with Ismay this morn, but I know well enough what you did last evening and I will have you know that no man—no man!—shall be allowed to behave thus within this keep!”
Luc donned his other boot, glanced at the still slumbering boys, then strode toward the infuriated lady with purpose. ’Twas clear there were matters muddled, for he knew he had done naught wrong.
“We shall talk elsewhere,” he informed Brianna, his voice quiet but firm. Luc captured her elbow within his grip, meaning only to guide her in the darkness.
But Brianna snatched her elbow away. Luc marvelled that she could be so troubled by what he had done, especially when he could not imagine what it had been.
“You will not take me away from here!” she charged. “You will not distract me while Ismay sneaks from your pallet!”
Luc eyed the princess incredulously, then glanced pointedly back to his decidedly empty bed. “From my pallet?”
“I saw you with her last eve and she did not come to chambers at all,” Brianna retorted, her chin held defiantly high. “ ’Tis clear enough she found another pallet to share and by the looks of your discussion last eve, ’twas with you she found companionship.”
Brianna pointedly refused to meet Luc’s gaze. “I thought you were a man of honor,” she said with low heat. “I thought you were a man who would not seduce a woman already wed, let alone while her spouse lingers nearby.”
Brianna took a ragged breath that tore at Luc’s heart before he could defend himself, her vehemence was undiminished. “Ismay is vulnerable, she has lost much of late. I never would have believed that you would take advantage of her or any other woman in such distress.” She clenched her fists and glared at Luc. “Such behavior is lower than low, you, you adulterer!”
Ismay? She thought he had bedded Ismay? Luc could not completely quell his smile. How could Brianna even imagine that he could be tempted by the likes of Ismay? The very idea made Luc unwillingly chuckle.
“Oh!” Brianna’s eyes flashed and she made to swat his shoulder. “Do not mock me!”
Luc snatched her hand out of the air and folded it within his own. She fought his gentle grip and fairly spit sparks at him. “Brianna!” Luc spoke with low urgency and bit out his declaration. “I did not bed Ismay.”
“So you say!”
“Where is she, then?” Luc challenged.
Brianna scanned the loft and Luc knew she saw only men and boys. She flicked a glance to Luc, as though she wanted to believe him but did not dare. “But I saw her with you last eve. You held her hand!”
“She held mine,” Luc corrected. “Ismay was lonely last eve and Dermot not to be found. I spoke with her, ’tis true, but I assure you, my lady, I left Ismay in the hall when I retired.”
The princess studied Luc with more than her usual intensity, as though she would discern his every secret in his eyes. Luc did not dare break her gaze, for he wanted beyond all else for this woman to know he was honorable.
Though he did not dare to consider why ’twas of such import to him.
“You did not bed her?” she asked hopefully.
“Nay!” Luc shook his head with resolve. “I did not. How can you imagine I would even be tempted?” He grimaced comically and was relieved when Brianna’s tension visibly eased.
“You are uncharitable to say as much,” she charged, though ’twas clear she thought the opposite. A decidedly mischievous gleam lit her eyes. “I shall have to tell Father Padraig.”
Luc grinned down at her. “Now there is a threat to curdle a man’s blood. Your priest is dour, indeed. Does he ever smile?”
Brianna shook her head, then her brow puckered with concern. “But what of Ismay? She did not come to our chamber to sleep, Luc.” She squeezed his fingers with concern. “Do you think something is amiss?”
Luc’s heart swelled that Brianna not only believed him, but trusted him to resolve her concern.
“Perhaps she found Dermot,” he suggested with a shrug. “And they found a corner together. Last evening, she seemed in need of … reassurance.”
Brianna’s lips quirked at Luc’s discreet choice of word. “Yet you gave her none.” There was no question in her tone, no doubt of his intent, and Luc found himself relieved.
’Twas just because he took pride in his credibility, no doubt. “None,” he agreed, just to ensure matters were clear.
And the lady smiled.
The change in her regard warmed Luc like the sun appearing after a hard rain. He could not look away from the shine in her eyes. Brianna’s hands fell upon Luc’s chest, the steady pounding of the rain hammered overhead. He could smell the sleepy musk rising from her skin mingled with the rose scent she favored and he guessed that she had leapt from bed to make her accusation.
Before he could reflect further upon the warm intimacy of that, a squire rolled over and snorted loudly in his sleep. The lady started and looked for the source of the interruption.
’Twas only a moment that she broke his gaze, but ’twas long for Luc to realize the lady’s folly.
“My lady, you should not be seen here,” he counselled quietly. “It could be misconstrued. I would not have your reputation sullied within your own home.”
Brianna sighed and wrinkled her nose. “But I do not want to go back to my chambers. And no one is up as yet.”
“Then, come,” Luc invited, gallantly offering Brianna his elbow. “I have the perfect solution.”
“And what might that be?”
“Let us walk in the rain while I grant you the tale you are owed this day.” Luc summoned a smile for Brianna, knowing this telling would not fall easily from his lips.
But he had promised it to her, and he would keep that pledge.