The rain fell around them, a mist had claimed the distant peaks and vales, and all within view was etched in myriad shades of grey. The orchard was silent but for the muted patter of raindrops on deadened leaves and the echo of their footsteps.
Brianna was fiercely glad to be sharing this moment with this man. She wanted very much to hear his tale. Luc guided her gently by the elbow until they halted beside the stone wall, then the heat of his hand fell away.
The River Darrow chortled far below, a chill whisper of winter in the rushing water. The lands of Tullymullagh swept into the distance, veiled by the rain, but Brianna looked at her companion. She shivered, folded her arms beneath her cloak and waited.
When Luc flicked a vibrant blue glance her way, she knew he was to begin. Anticipation rolled through her, for Brianna guessed that this was no trivial tale. She was honored that Luc had chosen to confide it in her.
Luc’s words came in a low murmur. “ ’Tis true enough that once I was a knight,” he acknowledged, propping his hands upon his hips and surveying the distant hills with unseeing eyes. “And I suppose, in some way, I must yet be. ’Tis meant to be a pledge a man makes for his entire life and, though I have left that life far behind me, the words I once vowed yet color all I do.”
Luc paused for a long moment, as though he sought where to begin. “You must understand that Llanvelyn was all that I knew of life, for through my childhood I never left its lands. My sire was a man of distant repute and when he rode into Llanvelyn’s bailey in my eighth summer, I was dazzled by his person. He was more richly garbed than any man ever I had seen, his steed was larger and prouder than any of my limited experience.”
Luc grimaced. “Perhaps ’tis a reflection upon the simplicity of my life thus far that I was so readily impressed. Perhaps I did not want to believe that the whispered tales of cruelty could be true of my own blood sire. At any rate, when he declared he had arranged for me to train for knighthood at an estate adjacent to Montvieux, there was naught that could have kept me from going.”
He flicked a glance to Brianna, his lips twisting wryly. “ ’Twas beyond belief, that this man would sweep up his forgotten child and set that boy upon a path to win his spurs.”
“Like the tale of a troubador,” Brianna commented, and Luc’s answering smile warmed her heart.
“Indeed.”
“But where is Montvieux?” Brianna asked, uncertain of the connection to Luc and Gavin. “Why squire you there?”
“My sire’s second and current wife is Margaux of Montvieux,” Luc explained. He leaned his hips against the wall, the move setting his gaze on a level with her own. “When my dame passed away, Gavin won Margaux’s hand and they brought Burke to light.”
“And Rowan.”
“Nay.” Luc shook his head firmly. “Rowan is the result of one of Gavin’s dalliances.” He met Brianna’s gaze somberly. “With a woman in a travelling troupe of entertainers.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” Luc grinned. “Though Margaux had considerably more to say of the matter. She is a woman of strong opinions and Rowan’s delivery to Montvieux at four years of age, when his dame died, was the reason Margaux finally cast Gavin out of her bed. ’Twas a vicious battle, from all accounts.”
Brianna frowned in recollection. “But when King Henry was here, Gavin said that Rowan was with Margaux.”
“Aye, she took a fancy to him, and to her credit never blamed the child with the circumstance of his conception. She raised Rowan as her own and they are yet close. ’Twas Margaux who saw Rowan named for her hereditary estate, much against Gavin’s wishes. He is not heir, for that is Burke’s honor, but carries the appellation ‘de Montvieux’ all the same.”
While Brianna puzzled over this, Luc shook his head. “But, Rowan must have been yet a babe, if indeed he had been conceived, when Gavin came to Llanvelyn. Both Burke and Margaux were unknown to me in those days. I knew only Pyrs, the steward of Llanvelyn, who treated me as a son though he himself had never wed.”
Luc pursed his lips. “Pyrs was not pleased by my father’s sudden arrival, no less by my departure. I was so delighted, though, and he held his tongue.” Luc shrugged. “I was but a boy and did not realize the reason for his reservations.”
“He knew the manner of the man Gavin was,” Brianna guessed.
Luc nodded, then continued. “Gavin and I rode to Cardiff, then sailed to Normandy. We were met by a grand party of knights and squires who escorted us to the luxurious keep perched on a cliff high above. Gavin left me there, to that lord’s care, and I trained more determinedly than any of the dozen boys consigned to squire within those walls.”
“You wanted to please your sire,” Brianna suggested softly.
Luc’s intent glance told her that she had found the truth. “I wanted to be worthy of his continued attention,” he admitted quietly, then frowned anew. “Though he never returned. In two years, though, I earned the right to serve as the lowest of the lord’s own squires.”
Luc paused for a heartbeat.
“ ’Twas then that I met Tyrell. He was another of the lord’s squires, a year older than I but markedly less driven. To be sure, Tyrell had a grand legacy awaiting him as the eldest son of a mighty lord. But he was a merry lad, always interested in a jest or a prank. He even could coax the stern marshal to chuckle. He seemed to take naught seriously beyond his own amusement and I had never met the like of him.
“It seemed we were as dissimilar as chalk and cheese, yet Tyrell took me beneath his tutelage in the lord’s service. He aided me when I knew not what to do, he took pains to show me court manners of which I knew naught. ’Twas evident to all that I did not share their privileged background, but Tyrell cared naught for my rural past. It became clear that we actually held many convictions in common.”
A half-smile of recollection tweaked Luc’s lips. “We were inseparable, Tyrell and I, and we pledged—one night when some scheme of Tyrell’s had landed us in disfavor together—that we would serve together for all time once we earned our spurs.”
Brianna grinned and leaned against the wall beside Luc. She was very aware of the strength of his leg so close to her own, no less the heat emanating from his flesh. “ ’Tis difficult to imagine you possessed of such whimsy,” she teased and Luc’s grin broadened.
“I was young,” he declared and winked. “Tyrell, like you, had a great fondness for bard’s tales and chansons. Over the years, we spun grand tales of the damsels we would rescue, the fortunes we would win, the castles we would besiege. Six years we trained together, six years we drank of the conviction that the world of men is a good and just place.”
Luc looked at his boots and his voice dropped low. “But that was a childish conviction, destined to be lost.”
And he halted his tale for a long moment. Brianna did not dare interject her opinion of that. He was serious, too serious for her taste, his thoughts clearly on some painful memory.
Brianna feared that she had asked too much.
She thought Luc had forgotten her presence, he stood still for so long, but he abruptly threw back his head to stare into the distance again.
There was a suspicious shimmer in his eyes.
Words fell quickly from Luc’s tongue now, his tone flat as he recounted the tale. “We were granted our spurs on the same St. John’s Day, in the midst of a grand fěte whence six of our companion squires were also granted their spurs. The lord knighted us with his own blade, Tyrell’s sire had swords forged for each of us, our patron granted us each a fine steed.”
Luc’s voice softened slightly. “Mine was a dapple, name of Grisart.” He swallowed visibly and continued. “I had never known such generosity and, on that day, I truly believed that I had joined the ranks of a fine and exalted elite.”
“And your sire’s gift?”
Luc snorted. “He was not there and he sent naught.”
Brianna was outraged that Gavin would have missed such an event in his son’s life. “How could he not attend? ’Twas a day of great import to you and one he had set in motion!”
Luc glanced at her and away. “He cared naught for my training. ’Twas all for his own ends. He had some grand scheme to win alliance with this lord by entrusting me, his eldest son, to the care of that man’s household. Evidently the plan had failed, for the lord yet loathed my sire. ’Tis a testament to that man’s fine character that he expended the coin to train me, all the same.”
Brianna could well imagine that this lord had immediately discerned the difference betwixt Luc and Gavin. “He must have seen promise in you,” she suggested.
“Or determination.” Luc’s gaze burned into her own. “I wanted those spurs, my lady, I wanted them with all my heart and soul. I believed that their absence alone was what kept me from this gifted circle of the nobility, from the respect of a family such as that Tyrell knew. Indeed, I could not have been more wrong, but I was young and had much to learn.”
“What happened?”
“Tyrell pledged immediately to his sire’s hand and I, of course, followed suit. We were to be together, as you recall, and I had no demands upon me.”
Brianna smiled slightly. “Aye, you two had damsels to save and keeps to storm in the name of righteousness.”
Luc nodded but did not smile. “Tyrell’s sire dispatched us to support a distant cousin in Norman Sicily. ’Twas the best of possibilities, to our thinking, for our destination was distant and exotic; our responsibility solemn in representing Tyrell’s own sire. It seemed our glorious fates were to begin more quickly than could have been hoped.”
Luc kicked at the dirt and his tone turned grim. “ ’Twas not exotic. ’Twas hot beyond all else and filthy, and we both were briefly ill. We marched south from this cousin’s holding and thence across the sea to Ifriqiya where the battle raged.
“The true horror began when we rode first into battle, for the slaughter was no game. Men with whom we had ridden died, and they did not die nobly. ’Twas all over a patch of land unfit for any purpose but prized for its location. The Moors desired to connect their far-flung kingdom, the Normans wanted it to control trade in the Mediterranean Sea.
“The battle for it was brutal.”
“And yet more brutal was the price paid by those unfortunate souls living upon that land. Golden and brown of hue, they were unlike any folk I had seen before, yet they tilled and toiled much as those I knew well at Llanvelyn.”
Luc swallowed awkwardly. “I could not look upon them without thinking of Pyrs.”
Brianna did not fill the silence that stretched between them. She watched Luc closely, knowing she could barely imagine such an alien world. She knew little of battle, naught of what men faced on the field itself.
“Yet they were as chattel or dogs to the nobility sweeping through their lands.” Luc’s voice echoed with low outrage. “Those knights took anything they desired for their own with no care for what damage they left in their wake. Anything.”
Brianna did not know what to say. She could barely imagine the horror of what Luc had witnessed, yet she saw in his eyes that he recalled every detail. She realized suddenly how very sheltered her life had been, at least until two months past.
Luc shoved a hand through his hair. “In the eternity of those two years, I cannot list the crimes I witnessed. I cannot imagine how many bastards were left in the wake of those two armies.”
“Aye. Homes were pillaged and churches defiled, goods stolen from people unfortunate enough to profess a different faith. Our troops left devastation in their wake.”
The bile rose in Brianna’s throat at the very thought. Indeed, when the minstrels sang of battle, ’twas a noble undertaking, but Luc’s recounting made the savagery most clear. His words conjured such a vivid image that Brianna knew he shared the truth.
Luc, after all, would not lie to her.
Luc’s lips tightened and his voice dropped low. “Yet, oddly enough, all the knights had taken the very same pledge of honor.” He flicked a glance to Brianna and she could only watch him.
“You may believe that we made our disagreement clear, though such argument was not welcome among our companions. After one particularly vicious brawl over the matter, Tyrell and I conceded that we could not change the ways of these marauding knights. We could but hie to our own moral code. Indeed, we were convinced that these Norman men, so long in Sicily that they no longer spoke or even looked as us, had lost the true way of knighthood.”
The conclusion made good sense to Brianna.
“I dare say we were relieved when the holdings in Ifriqiya were finally and irrevocably lost. There were rumblings of war upon our return to Sicily, for the Pope had implied the Holy Roman Empire was but a papal fief and Frederick Barbarossa was prepared to make his argument with bloodshed. But Tyrell’s sire had sent a missive, summoning him home.”
“And you went with Tyrell.”
“Aye.” Luc nodded. “We were both convinced that our dreams would be confirmed upon more familiar soil. We believed Tyrell’s sire to be a man of honor and repute, and that beneath his hand, our vows would see their full glory.”
There was an undercurrent to Luc’s words that caught Brianna’s attention. “Do not tell me that you were wrong.”
Luc slanted a glance her way that spoke volumes and indeed, its steadiness chilled her heart.
But he did not immediately answer her question. “Imagine, if you will, our return to Tyrell’s home estate after nigh upon three years abroad. The entire keep turned out in festivity for the eldest son and heir. To them, Tyrell had gathered glory in his service, though I saw the shadow our experiences had cast into his eyes.
“His sire, though, saw naught of that. That great man raised a chalice in the hall that eve and drank the health of his returned son. He declared that Tyrell would lead his assault upon an acquisitive neighbor in dire need of a lesson.”
There was a tightness in Luc’s voice that made cold fingers clench around Brianna’s heart. His gaze was determinedly locked upon the orchard, but she glimpsed the brilliant sapphire hue of his eyes.
Luc cleared his throat deliberately, but did not look at her. His voice thrummed low, his words fell in haste. “ ’Twas uncommon cold that April, and the march to the keep took nigh on a week, all of it through chill rain. Naught could have dampened our spirits, though. When the fortress rose above us, silent and dark, Tyrell suspected ’twas virtually undefended.”
“He did not send spies?”
Luc’s gaze was deadly blue. “He believed his sire had ensured this would be an easy victory, a homecoming gift for his heir.”
Brianna raised a hand to her lips, suddenly fearing the outcome of this tale. She held Luc’s gaze for a moment, then he continued, again in that low monotone.
“On the eve of our assault, the rain turned cold and driving. ’Twas slick on the roadway, the horses lost their footing, the men were coated with ice. The wet soaked through the leather of our gloves and nigh froze our fingers, the very wind had a bite. By the time we stormed the gates, our troops were sorely weakened by the cold.
“But we took the gates and it seemed then that Tyrell would be victorious. We surged triumphantly into the bailey, knowing the keep was virtually our own, and stepped into a baited trap.”
Brianna gasped, but Luc continued grimly. “There were hundreds of men waiting in the shadows, many times our small force, many battles more seasoned. My steed was hacked from beneath me before I saw the fullness of our peril. I was on my feet alone and facing attack from all sides.
“In a heartbeat, the bailey was ankle-deep in blood and rain, the surviving horses had bolted and fled in terror. I spotted Tyrell just as a wicked swipe of a mercenary’s blade slashed his belly open. I ran to defend him, but ’twas too late.”
Luc closed his eyes and paled slightly at the memory. “ ’Twas too late. His own innards spilled from between his own fingers as Tyrell caught at the wound. He was yet aware of all around him, he knew what he held, that was the true horror of it all.”
A lump rose in Brianna’s throat, Luc’s words stealing her very breath away. She could not imagine how she might have faced such a challenge.
Luc swallowed heavily and clearly fought to keep his voice dispassionate. “I held him while he died, I tried to grant him some dignity amidst such chaos. Suddenly he cried out, I thought in pain, but too late I realized it had been a warning. The hilt of a sword was cracked over my head, I saw my own blood flow, and then naught.”
Luc sighed and his eyes narrowed. “I awakened outside the walls, amidst the carcasses of all those who had ridden with us.” He took a steadying breath, his gaze clouded with memories. “ ’Twas cursed cold. Beside me lay Tyrell, who never would jest again.”
Brianna bit her lip, knowing that this man would take the loss of such a friend even harder than most.
“I could not leave him there,” Luc confessed with a shake of his head. “I could not do him such disservice. He was my friend, my partner, my companion. So, beneath the eagle eye of the keep’s sentry, I lifted Tyrell onto my shoulders and began the long walk to his sire’s gates. They let me go, I know not why.”
He fell silent and Brianna ached for what Luc had endured.
A moment later, she dared to touch his sleeve. “They must have wanted your lord to know what had transpired,” she suggested softly.
Luc’s expression turned yet more grim. “That man never doubted the outcome.”
Brianna frowned. “But why? I do not understand. Surely he must have been devastated by the loss of his heir?”
Luc’s lips twisted and his words were cold. “On the contrary, he informed me that he had yet two more blooded sons to call his own.”
Brianna was horrified. “He could not have known the battle would be lost!”
“Aye, his manner made me believe as much. Indeed, he was quite delighted that the loss of Tyrell had won him the seal of a prosperous monastery.”
“I do not understand.”
Luc pursed his lips. “Tyrell’s sire was a strategist beyond all. I am convinced that he knew all along that his forces would lose this fight. But he had a hankering for a prosperous monastery endowed by that other lord, one that nearly bordered upon his own holdings. And he guessed that if his eldest son—his heir, no less—marched to attack the other lord’s keep, ’twould provide a fitting distraction for his real intent. He dispatched six mercenaries to claim the monastery while the lord defended his keep. ’Twas an easy victory and Tyrell’s sire won precisely what he desired.”
Brianna gasped. “He deliberately sacrificed his son to win property?”
Luc merely held her gaze, challenging Brianna to believe that such cruelty was possible.
“But that is barbaric!”
“He told me that ’twas good I had returned Tyrell because he could now fittingly bury his son at this monastery,” Luc confided with disapproval. “He openly gloated how Tyrell’s popularity would no doubt increase the offerings made in the chapel there.”
Brianna gasped. “How appalling!”
Luc frowned and his words rang with mingled anger and disappointment. “ ’Twas then I understood that Tyrell and I had been mistaken. There was naught corrupted in the nobility of the south that has not similarly gone awry in the north. Nobility like our fathers took whatsoever they desired and cared naught for what it might cost another.”
Luc continued in an angry monotone. “That a man could cast aside his son for such a minute gain showed me that this was a world of which I wanted absolutely no part. ’Twas then I knew that the most honorable person I had ever known was the one who had raised me.” He flicked a telling glance at Brianna. “And Pyrs was common-born.”
“Was?”
“He died two years past.” The tightening of Luc’s lips revealed how strongly the man’s passing had affected him.
Brianna laid a hand on Luc’s arm. “I am sorry. He must have been a wondrous man.”
Luc smiled sadly and closed his fingers over Brianna’s own. “He was.”
She took a step closer, unable to resist the urge to console this strong man who asked so little of those around him. “And Tyrell, as well.”
Luc almost smiled as he met her gaze. “Aye.”
Brianna toyed with his fingers. “And you gave up your spurs?”
“I put them aside, as I put aside all the trappings of knighthood. My steed was gone, the rest was quickly consigned to a trunk in Llanvelyn’s storeroom.” Luc frowned. “But ’twas the sword I pledged never to hold within my hand again. ’Twas the blade of a knight, after all, that was responsible for all the wickedness I had witnessed.”
Luc’s gaze bored into Brianna’s, the hue of his eyes an unearthly blue. “A knightly blade grants a man the opportunity to take more than his due, to slaughter any who defy him, to wreak carnage in his wake. A sword is a weapon I will never wield again. I left that life, I abandoned my blade, and I will not return to it.”
Brianna suddenly recalled another detail. “And your blade was a gift from Tyrell’s sire.”
Luc nodded once. “A taint ’twill never shake. I will never do him the honor of holding it within my grip again.”
“But,” Brianna frowned. “Surely you do not need to cast all aside?”
“Do you suggest that I break my pledge?” Luc’s tone was frosty.
Brianna flushed for she knew well enough that that was out of the question. Indeed, Luc’s determination to keep his word was one trait she admired about him.
“Nay, of course not. I know you would not do as much.” His manner eased slightly, even as Brianna fought to find some way to explain herself. “But surely you could find some compromise!”
Luc stared at her for a moment, then abruptly shook his head.
When he finally met her gaze, she was relieved to see a glimmer of humor lurking there. “You seem most concerned about my prospects, my lady,” he mused and she had the distinct sense that Luc was deliberately changing the subject.
She had no chance to wonder at that, though, for Luc took a smooth step closer and Brianna knew better than to trust the mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Do you show such interest in all who come Tullymullagh’s way?”
Brianna flushed scarlet. She took a hasty step backward.
“And it seems to me that you have asked a number of questions this morn,” Luc continued, a wicked glint in his eye. “Shall we tally them?”
“Nay!” Brianna danced away. She was certain she should protest, even if the prospect of Luc collecting his due made her catch her breath. “They did not count!”
Luc frowned with mock severity. “They all count, my lady,” he insisted. “ ’Twas our wager, after all.” He paused and folded his arms across his chest. “Unless you plan to break your pledge?”
Brianna barely bit back a chuckle. Truly the man let her escape with naught.
And she liked that very much.
“One kiss,” she suggested.
Luc’s dark brows shot skyward. “At least four,” he retorted, then counted on his fingers again. “You asked after Ismay in the stables, the location of Montvieux, the reason I was squired there, why Rowan travelled with Margaux—”
“That was no question!” Brianna darted toward Luc, shaking an indignant finger. “I took care to make that a comment alone!”
Luc grinned. “Oh, I am not at all certain it sounded as such, my lady.” He shook his head solemnly. “Nay, not at all.” He winked quickly then began to count again. “Let me see. You also asked of Gavin’s gift for my knighting, what happened to Tyrell …” Luc glanced up at her with twinkling eyes. “I should think that four kisses would be a bargain you would leap to accept.”
“You!” Brianna sputtered momentarily. “You are audacious beyond all!”
“And you called me your favorite,” Luc clicked his tongue, then his smile broadened. “Four, or shall we continue to count?”
“Oh!” Brianna paced a few feet beyond Luc, wondering how she would survive four of his kisses in short order, then pivoted to face him anew. She lifted her chin as though undaunted by the prospect and braced herself for a sensory assault.
In truth, her heart was already hammering wildly; she was not precisely certain she was losing this negotiation.
“Four, then,” she declared. “I accept your terms.”
But Luc’s gaze had drifted past Brianna’s shoulder and his gaze sharpened. He frowned at the river coursing below, as though uncertain of what he saw there.
Brianna turned to look, but Luc immediately stepped closer and gripped her shoulders. “Do not look, my lady!”
But Luc did not move quickly enough to prevent Brianna from seeing the body broken on the rocks below.
Nor from recognizing it.
“Ismay!” Brianna gasped. “She fell! Luc, we must aid her! Who knows how long she has lain there? She must be injured—”
“My lady!” Luc interrupted Brianna tersely. She met his steady gaze and saw a hint of the truth there, though it made her blood run cold.
“Would you fetch the priest?” he asked with quiet certainty. “ ’Tis all Lady Ismay needs now.”
Brianna felt the color drain from her face. She blinked back tears of shock, looked to the left and the right, as she struggled with her realization.
Ismay was dead.
“Father Padraig,” she confirmed in a voice too small to be her own.
“Aye,” Luc agreed. He gave Brianna’s shoulders a minute shake, his voice dropping lower. “And, my lady, do not look back when you go.”
Brianna nodded, appreciative that Luc tried to protect her from another glimpse of Ismay’s broken body. Indeed, she wished belatedly that she had heeded Luc’s advice to not look at all.
For ’twas an image that could not be dismissed. ’Twas not the way she wanted to remember Ismay, not at all.
Brianna nodded again, feeling her tears rise, then slipped from beneath the warmth of Luc’s grip to do his bidding. She knew she did not imagine the weight of his gaze upon her as she made her way across the bailey, but she did not look back. And she did not stop until she found Father Padraig already awake in the hall.
As Brianna walked, then ran, across the bailey, Luc could not tear his gaze away from her departing figure. Even when she disappeared, the lady remained at the fore of his thoughts. He wanted more than the lady’s kisses, that much was certain.
Aye, Luc wanted more even than four kisses.
He realized that he had never confided in another soul these past eleven years as much as he had confessed to Brianna in a few days. ’Twas the way she listened, the way her eyes sparkled, the way she made each word seem of import.
’Twas the way she cared.
Luc turned back to watch the river churn around Ismay and let unexpected relief roll through him. ’Twas a relief born not only of knowing the telling of what had happened to Tyrell was over, he realized, but that ’twas shared. He had given voice to all his frustration and hurt, and the task had been easier than anticipated.
Indeed, Luc felt markedly lighter as a result. The world seemed full of possibilities he had barely glimpsed before.
For bringing the tale to light had made it seem less dire. Luc stood and questioned whether he had given his experience more than its due. ’Twas true enough that he had made a decision while he was riled and stubbornly clung to that choice even after the pain of his loss had faded.
Luc’s lips quirked despite himself. ’Twas a move not uncharacteristic of another determined soul he knew.
In that moment, the priest erupted from the keep, Brianna in his wake, Connor and Gavin, Uther, Cook, and the entire household trailing sleepily behind. The arrivals streamed across the bailey and lined the wall, each peering to the body fallen in the river below.
Father Padraig vaulted the wall with unexpected agility and scrambled down the muddy river bank. Luc was quick on his heels once he noted that Brianna hung back from the wall. It pleased him disproportionately that she heeded his advice on such a small matter.
The angular priest bent over Ismay just as Luc reached the bank, then closed his eyes in acknowledgement of her state. The rain had wreaked havoc with what remained of Ismay’s kohl and the dark line had spread down her cheek. There was a hint of carmine lingering upon her bottom lip, though her face was pale beyond all.
What had possessed her to leave the hall the night before and wander through the shadowed garden? She must have been pickled indeed to have climbed the wall without realizing the peril of what she did.
And she had more than paid the price for her recklessness.
As Father Padraig began to intone last rites, Luc could not tear his gaze away from Ismay’s impassive features. Would Tyrell have expected Luc to spurn all in the wake of his death?
Luc knew his friend would not.
’Twas time he made a change.
The priest’s “amen” hung in the air as boys bearing a litter drew closer, then the priest closed Ismay’s widened eyes. Luc watched him mark a cross on the fallen lady’s pale brow. The track left a dry line for the barest moment before the raindrops washed the symbol away.
“ ’Tis a sign,” Father Padraig muttered, his glance rising ominously to those peering over the wall. His voice grew louder. “ ’Tis a sign that the hand of God takes retribution for the wages of sin.”
The priest looked both grim and smugly satisfied when he turned his regard upon Luc. “I was not the only one who noted her wayward manner in the hall last eve, ’tis clear, for the eye of the Lord is ever vigilant.”
Luc could not bring himself to speak poorly of the unhappy woman who now lay dead at their feet. “Ismay may have overindulged in the wine,” he conceded when ’twas clear the priest expected his agreement.
“May have? She did—and I can only guess where such weakness of the flesh did lead in the end!” Father Padraig spun and flung his hands into the air for the benefit of his audience. “Gluttony! Pride! Fornication!” Father Padraig hissed the last word, his eyes blazed, then he looked coldly back to Ismay. “You see the Lord’s judgement before you.”
The boys came to an uncertain halt beside Luc, the priest glancing to each of them in turn. “I shall expect you immediately at the Mass. We shall have need of every voice to intercede in prayer for Lady Ismay’s immortal soul.”
“Aye, Father.” The boys nodded agreement, clearly uncomfortable in the priest’s forbidding presence.
Luc stepped forward and directed them with the litter. He lifted Ismay’s broken body from the cold riverbed, considered the chattering souls lining the wall above, then cast his own cloak across Ismay as a shroud. There was little to be done for Ismay, but he suspected she would have been appalled to be viewed in such a state.
The cold rain soaked his tunic in a heartbeat, but Luc savored the chill tingle against his flesh. He was alive.
And time ’twas he did something about the matter.
“Someone must ride to Endlist,” Father Padraig asserted as they all began to climb up the bank. He punctuated his words with a solemn glance to Luc. “The monks at that priory have always dressed Tullymullagh’s dead.”
“Where is it?”
Father Padraig lifted a lean hand and pointed back to the north. “The road winds past that hill, and there a trail breaks to the right. Two miles down the track is the priory that Connor’s father endowed.”
Luc impulsively decided that he would perform this errand. The opportunity to indulge his newfound vitality was irresistible. “I will go.”
Father Padraig nodded once, then gestured regally to the litter as he reached the wall. His voice rose as he addressed the assembly. “This sheep stumbled from the path of righteousness last eve and paid a toll for her wandering ways.”
The household fidgeted like errant children caught at some prank.
“ ’Tis a sign that the eye of the Lord is upon us. ’Tis a sign that sin will not be left unaddressed.” The priest cast a quelling glance over the dampened assembly. “Come to the Mass. We shall raise our voices together in prayer for Lady Ismay’s immortal soul.”
The priest swept across the bailey, the village church his obvious destination. The boys carrying Ismay’s litter trudged behind, every inhabitant of Tullymullagh fell into step after the sad party.
The rising sun made an orange streak through the dreary grey clouds, the silhouettes of the party etched dark against the heavy sky. Connor offered Brianna his elbow and the pair took their place at the front of the group.
Luc watched the lady and savored the quickening within him at the sight of her. He felt as though he had slumbered since Tyrell’s death, or at least, buried himself in obscurity, but now Brianna had awakened him with a vengeance.
Dermot pushed past Luc, his features as expressionless as a mask. Ismay’s own accusations against her spouse echoed in Luc’s ears once more.
What had Ismay recalled about the Rose of Tullymullagh that all others forgot?
Would Luc ever know?