Brianna stretched luxuriously as she awakened, then reached for Luc’s heat.
He was not beside her. Surely he had not abandoned her! Brianna sat up in alarm.
But Luc sat quietly opposite, his gaze steadily blue, his hands upon his knees. He was fully garbed and the first of the night’s shadows were being dispelled by the promise of daylight.
Brianna recalled well enough that Luc had held her while she slumbered and was disappointed to be denied the gift of awakening within the circle of his arms.
“My lady,” Luc said softly before Brianna could utter a sound. “I would have you make me a promise.”
She blinked. “Aye?”
Luc’s gaze was solemn beyond all. “Do not suffer yourself to be alone, for even a moment, on this day or any other. Pledge to me that you will never be alone.”
Brianna frowned, not understanding his concern. “But why?”
“Your sire was murdered, I know not why or by whom.” Luc’s gaze was steady, his expression stern, his voice low. “Lady Ismay may have been cast to her death, as well. I believe ’tis because of the Rose of Tullymullagh.”
Brianna was no less confused by this. “But that is what people call me! I had naught to do with this.”
“Aye, I know it well.” Luc cleared his throat and came to sit beside her. He took her hand within the warmth of his own. “My lady, did your sire ever confide in you of a treasure he kept hidden?”
For a moment, Brianna thought Luc meant her dame’s letters, then she dismissed the thought. They were treasures only to a bereaved daughter, a daughter who would hear her dame’s beloved voice echo once more in the written words.
She shook her head. “What manner of treasure?”
“A crucifix, a token from that gem merchant in Outremer.”
Brianna shook her head once more. “I know naught of it.”
“ ’Tis important, my lady, for I fear ’twas the pursuit of this gem that led to your sire’s death. Perhaps he would not confide its hiding place, perhaps ’tis long gone and the thieves did not believe your sire’s claim.”
Brianna’s heart clenched at the very prospect and she recalled again the expression of betrayal etched upon her sire’s features. “Or perhaps he recognized them.”
Luc nodded. “Aye. It could well be so.”
“But what is this token? Perhaps I know it by another name.” Brianna entangled her fingers with Luc’s, instinctively liking that they tried to solve this together. “Perhaps I have seen it and never knew its name. Do you know what it looks like?”
“You are a woman of good sense.” Luc’s eyes glowed with approval and Brianna felt herself flush beneath his gaze. “ ’Tis said to have been wrought of gold, embellished with amber and a great ruby. A ruby said to be as big as a man’s thumb, and one that once was known as the Rose of Tullymullagh. Do you think your sire might still have possessed it? Can you guess where he might have secreted it?”
Brianna gasped in sudden understanding and her free hand rose to her lips. “They sought it in the chapel!” she declared, horrified. “My sire must have surprised them in the midst of their search! Oh, Luc, this is horrible!”
Luc leaned closer. “Why would they seek it in the chapel?”
Brianna understood to keep her voice low that none anywhere might overhear. “Because there is a place there in the chapel, a hidden place.”
Brianna’s mind flew like quicksilver and she knew the quartz on the great crucifix had been resolutely locked in place when she had been there the day before.
Perhaps this treasure Luc spoke of had not been found! ’Twould be no small thing to have a token her sire had once held dear, a gift that had been granted to him long ago.
She gripped Luc’s arm. “If it still was within my sire’s possession, it must be yet there!” Brianna declared. She began to rise to her feet. “Come! I will show you.”
But Luc shook his head. “Nay, my lady, ’twill arouse suspicion if you and I ascend there together. Tell me of this place and I will seek your sire’s treasure for you.”
Brianna knew full well that she could trust Luc with the telling. Without hesitation, she bent and whispered to Luc of the hiding place in the crucifix.
Luc nodded, stood, then gave her shoulders a minute shake. “And you will not be alone in the keep,” he reminded her with a stern glance. “Pledge it to me.”
“Aye,” Brianna said with a smile. “I pledge it to you, Luc Fitzgavin.”
“Good.” Luc’s eyes flashed brilliant blue as he leaned forward to touch his lips to Brianna’s. Her heart skipped a beat at his fleeting touch and he smiled, as though he discerned even the pulse of her heart. “Now, we must hasten back to the keep before you are missed.”
There was a surprising amount of activity in the kitchens for so early in the day. Cook was busy shaping loaves of bread, dozens of scullery boys and maids were scampering to do his bidding. Brother Thomas was nestled in a nook beside the ovens, partaking of a morning mug of ale. Brianna thought a quick glance flashed between the monk and Luc, but could not be certain.
And Ruarke was in the kitchens, much to Brianna’s surprise, his golden brows drawing together in disapproval when he spied her.
“Where have you been this morn?” he demanded, his voice loud enough to draw the eye of every soul within the kitchens. Ruarke glared at Luc, as though he longed to do serious damage to him. “What have you done to the princess? Do you dally where you have no right?”
“Nay,” Luc said mildly. “The lady merely had need of an escort from the garden.”
Ruarke turned his condemning glare upon Brianna. The anger lurking in that knight’s usually complacent gaze gave Brianna a start.
She forced a smile. “I wished to pray by my mother’s grave,” she lied weakly, then passed a hand over her brow in a bid to distract him. “Perhaps I consumed too much mulled wine yesterday, Ruarke, for my head aches this morn.”
The knight swept protectively to Brianna’s side and captured her elbow in his broad palm. He drew Brianna to his side, even as he glowered at Luc.
“Aye, I knew it well,” he declared coldly. “A noblewoman is too fine a creature to drown her sorrows like an alewife.” Ruarke arched a fair brow. “Doubtless there are those among us who do not understand the difference.”
“I do not doubt that there are those among us who do not know how to treat a lady,” Luc retorted coolly. He bowed slightly to Brianna, then strolled toward the hall. Brother Thomas rose and trailed behind him.
Brianna knew as well as any other that it had been Luc’s advice to grant her mulled wine, and indeed, the beverage had dulled the ache of her sire’s loss.
As had Luc’s beguiling touch.
Cook shrugged and cast Ruarke a glance. “There is little enough harm done in a fortifying sip from time to time,” Cook declared, his girth revealing that he often considered himself due for a consoling sip or a nibble.
Ruarke’s expression softened slightly. “Perhaps ’tis harmless enough,” he conceded genially. “I was but worried for our princess.” Ruarke then granted all a sample of his winning grin, a marked sign that his mood had improved.
Brianna suspected ’twas Luc’s departure alone that improved the knight’s spirits. Indeed, Ruarke was not nearly so interested in remaining beside Brianna as he had been just a moment before.
“My lady, I must thank you,” Cook declared suddenly. “ ’Twas a fine treat indeed to have Fenella among us once again yesterday.” Cook began to stir some stock and shook his head. “Aye, that girl has a taste for news like no other and we have missed her.”
“Missed her?” Brianna halted midway to the portal “But Fenella is always in the kitchens.”
Cook glanced up. “Aye, once she was. But not of late.” He looked at his staff. “We have seen precious little of her this past week.”
“ ’Tis true enough, my lady,” confirmed one lad, glancing up from the potatoes he peeled. To Brianna’s astonishment, all the others nodded in vigorous agreement.
But if Fenella had not been in the kitchens all those times she had been absent from Brianna’s side, then where had she been?
Brianna had a feeling she would not like the answer. ’Twas time enough that she knew the truth. Brianna marched with purpose toward the hall.
“But, Brianna, I thought your head ached this morn!” Ruarke called after her. Brianna disregarded him, her pace increasing as she crossed the near vacant hall and made for the stairs.
Moments later, she threw open the door to the lady’s chamber and was confronted by dozens of slumbering and awakening noblewomen in various states of dress and undress.
But Fenella was quite absent.
Brianna cast off her cloak and rummaged for a clean chemise, hauling on a different kirtle and stockings with purpose, her annoyance growing with every passing moment. Fenella had been sent to Tullymullagh to be educated for her eventual role of lady of her family estate. And in Connor’s absence, the responsibility for ensuring that naught ill befell that maid landed squarely on Brianna’s shoulders.
’Twas not an obligation she would ignore.
Luc watched Brianna depart in a noisy assembly of maids and nearly smiled. She had taken his advice with a vengeance—and that could only ensure her safety.
At least for the moment. Luc frowned, fearing anew that Connor’s assailants might decide Brianna herself held the key to her father’s treasure. ’Twas not so unreasonable that she would know her sire’s secrets. Indeed, that was why Luc had asked her counsel.
That thought was far from reassuring. But without knowing who had been responsible, Luc could only strive to ensure Brianna remained unharmed. He hoped fervently that this day would shed some light upon the mystery before them all.
“As I said,” Brother Thomas murmured into his mug of ale. “Our quarry was much more squeamish than ever I might have expected.”
Luc pushed his errant thoughts aside and turned his attention to the monk without appearing to do so. Although the two sat at the same trestle table, they both strove to appear absorbed in breaking their fast alone.
Brother Thomas was evidently speaking of Dermot, a man Luc had already noted was conspicuously absent from hall or kitchens this morn. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Brother Thomas accepted a proffered chunk of bread with a smile to the servant. Luc took one as well. When the boy stepped away, the monk dropped his voice anew. “He was most unsettled by tales that had even the smallest measure of bloodshed. I cannot believe that he could have done a deed of such violence.”
Luc considered this as he drank of his own ale. “His response to your words could be due to his own surprise at what he had done. Perhaps he feels guilty.”
“Perhaps.” Brother Thomas frowned at his bread, as though surprised to find it devoid of honey. “But I think he does not have the fortitude within him to strike such a blow.”
“He is reputed to be a knight.”
“By his own word alone. He has never ridden to battle, and indeed, was said to have been particularly futile in the assault against Claremont.” Brother Thomas waggled his brows. “I gathered that his ineffectiveness was at the root of Lady Ismay’s complaints with him. She did not take well to the loss of her holding.”
“All the same, he could have panicked and struck a telling blow to Connor.”
“Seven times?”
“Seven?” Luc looked up in surprise, but the monk held his gaze steadily, then nodded once before glancing away.
Seven times Connor had been stabbed. Luc swallowed and stared at his ale, no longer having the thirst for it. Brother Thomas had dressed the body—he would know the truth.
Aye, none could strike so viciously without intending that Connor should die, and die without uttering another word that might reveal his assailants. The very prospect sickened Luc.
“Boy!” the monk called. “Have you any honey?”
“The liquid or the comb?”
Brother Thomas rolled his eyes with delight. “A sliver of comb, boy, and you should make me a happy man.”
’Twas time Luc checked what Brianna had told him. This matter could not be resolved quickly enough for his taste.
Luc pushed to his feet, murmuring some excuse about meeting his sire, and slipped toward the stairs. No one noted his departure. As near as Luc could discern, most of the hall’s occupants were still asleep. And many had gone with Brianna, after all.
The second floor was quiet, its landing vacant. Luc opened the portal to the solar and listened. There was not a sound. He slipped silently through the door and stealthily climbed the stairs, halting at the sound of breathing.
Luc peeked over the lip of the stairs. Gavin slumbered in the pillared bed on the far side of the solar, his hand flung out across the mattress. The braziers had burned down to glowing coals and the room was chill.
There was no one else present but Gavin.
And Luc did not want even that man to know what he did. He crept up the last of the stairs, and Gavin slept on undisturbed. Luc crossed the floor carefully, wincing when a board betrayed his step with a squeak. He stood in frozen posture and eyed his father, certain an explanation would be demanded with a bellow loud enough to wake the dead.
But Gavin rolled over, snorted, and began to steadily snore.
’Twas ironic that the one man Luc knew was capable of such violence was the same one he knew to be innocent. And his sire might well have wanted Connor—the old king to whom Tullymullagh was yet so loyal—safely out of influence’s way.
Could Gavin have bidden two of his men to do the deed? Luc could not believe his sire could have feigned such surprise and shock. Gavin was not a subtle man, by any means. And Connor would not likely have recognized two of Gavin’s men.
’Twas not reassuring to consider that the killers had been among Connor’s own household. Uther? For what reason? He might well have known about the Rose; he might have wanted to protect the gem from Gavin’s greed. But could he have killed Connor? Luc could not believe it. The steward’s loyalty was unswerving and, no doubt, self-sacrificing.
Could Dermot have wanted the prize of the Rose enough to kill his old neighbor? Was Brother Thomas right about that man’s inability to strike a blow?
Had Ismay been killed? And if so, by whom? Luc could not help but recall her certainty that she knew something of the Rose that all others had forgotten. Had that been the claim that ensured her demise? And who else in that crowded hall that eve might have heard her words? Indeed, how often had she proclaimed it?
Luc did not know. He darted for the chapel stairs. They creaked softly as he climbed, but Gavin remained sound asleep.
Then, Luc was finally in the vandalized chapel. ’Twas tragic to see what a shambles had been made of this sacred space, but he dared not linger to look upon it. Quickly, Luc crossed the floor and bent over the crucifix that had been hauled from the wall.
The massive cross lay propped against the exterior wall, the long arm of it splintered and broken. But at the juncture of the arms was the gem that Brianna had told him about. ’Twas a half-sphere of polished quartz so smooth that Luc had never seen the like.
Brianna had said it opened on a hinge. Luc ran his fingertips across the stone and around its setting, but could feel naught even remotely like a hinge.
Much less a clasp. He had best look well, for this might be his only chance alone here. Luc lifted his lantern and leaned closer. To the right, he thought he could see a tiny shadow that should not be cast there. He reached for the shadow and felt a thrill of victory when it clicked.
And the stone moved toward him with a creak. Marvelling at the craftsmanship, Luc eased the little doorway open and touched the secreted hinges. A space the height and width of his fist extended into darkness there. Luc held his breath and reached in to the shadows, but his fingers closed upon naught at all.
Connor’s hiding place was empty.
The stairs groaned behind Luc and he knew that someone came. Had his sire awakened? Luc cast a glance over his shoulder, pushed the secret doorway closed, shoved to his feet, and turned.
And managed it just as Father Padraig’s tonsured head became visible. The priest’s stern glance sharpened as their gazes met. The two men stared at each other, as though challenging each other’s right to be in this chapel.
Had the priest come for the same reason as Luc?
Luc took the offensive, folding his arms across his chest to glare sternly at the priest. “Does my sire know you are here?”
Father Padraig cleared his throat. “I had thought to tidy the chapel, in case your sire wished to partake of the Mass upon his awakening.”
“Did you knock upon his door?”
“He did not answer.”
“Yet even while he slumbers, you hasten to prepare a Mass.” Luc eased into the center of the room. “I did not realize Gavin had become so religious.”
The priest’s eyes flashed. “There is hope for all of God’s sinners, that they might repent and learn the error of their ways before ’tis too late.”
“Do you oft invade the sleeping chambers of the household?” Luc demanded.
The priest snorted. “I am naught if not vigilant in tending my flock. ’Tis a responsibility which demands my every waking moment.”
Before Luc could respond, Father Padraig advanced into the chapel. Space did not permit the two men to stand far apart. “And what brings you to this place so early in the day, master Luc?”
“I thought I had dropped something when we gathered here two days past,” Luc lied. “My sire is untroubled by the passing of family through his chambers.”
Father Padraig lifted his chin. “And what might that have been?” he asked.
“Ah, a buckle I was repairing from a steed’s harness,” Luc prevaricated. “It did not seem fitting to trouble my sire over such a trinket.”
“And you look for it beneath the very cross?”
Luc smiled easily. “One never knows where such things might roll.”
But the priest’s manner remained decidedly frosty. “Have you found it?”
“Nay.” Luc strove to look unconcerned and shrugged. “I must have dropped it somewhere in the stable, after all. Good day, Father.”
Luc ducked for the stairs. He glanced back to find the priest’s quelling glance fixed upon him. When his gaze danced beyond the man garbed in black, Luc’s heart sank to his toes.
For the tiny compartment was yet open. Luc was certain he had securely pressed it closed, but the hinge must have caught.
And now Father Padraig would see what he had found.
There was naught Luc could do about the matter now. He could not dodge past the priest to close the latch without drawing the other man’s attention to the tiny treasury.
’Twas too late.
So, Luc forced a smile, hoped for the best, and trotted down the stairs, cursing his own stupidity every step of the way. How could he have been so careless?
Did he dare to hope that Father Padraig would not notice? Or perhaps, Connor’s confessor would already know of the hidden compartment. Perhaps Father Padraig would merely close the door, keeping another secret to himself as priests were charged to do.
Luc fervently hoped as much as he slipped from the solar, his sire still snoring in the great bed, and darted down the stairs to the hall.
He reached there just in time to hear the roar of outrage from outside. ’Twas easy enough to blend into the assembly that rolled from the hall into the bailey, murmuring in confusion, as they sought the source of the sound.
Luc blinked and realized that that could have been precisely what Connor’s attackers had done on Sunday. They could have descended from the chapel as Gavin bellowed, perhaps to a room on the second floor, perhaps even tucked into a corner in the solar. Then when the assembly surged into the solar, they had simply mingled among them.
As though they had just arrived.
But what of the blood? Someone must have been splashed with Connor’s blood or wiped their blade on something. Had any among them changed their garb? Luc could not recall every one who had been there, but between himself, Brother Thomas, Uther, and Brianna, much could likely be concluded.
As he thought, Luc matched his pace to those racing toward the noise coming from the armory. Luc was far from surprised to find the lady Brianna at the very center of matters there.
’Twas the moan that gave them away.
Brianna’s head snapped up at the unmistakable sound and she felt a flush stain her cheeks. Indeed, it sounded so much like the noises she had made beneath Luc’s caressing touch that she feared someone had overheard and mocked her before all.
But the moan came again, and ’twas clear it did not come from the party of maids seeking Fenella.
In fact, it seemed to come from the armory.
’Twas strange, for ’twas far too early for any who labored there to have broken their fast and fired the forge. Could Fenella have fallen?
The moan came again, this time rising so clearly in pleasure that several maids giggled. Several others flushed and Brianna had quite a good idea in that moment which of her handmaidens were innocent and which were not.
There were rather more who understood this particular sound than Brianna might have preferred. But she forced herself to think of the problem at hand.
No doubt, some scullery maid had tumbled one of the fighting men. All the same, Brianna could not ignore the sound now that all ears had discerned it. And perhaps ’twould make a good example to chastise the girl before those less-than-innocent handmaidens.
Brianna picked up her skirts and headed for the armory with purpose, ducking beneath the portal and blinking in the dim light within.
“Nay, lower!” breathed a voice that was very familiar. “Lower and lower again.”
“Fenella!” Brianna’s call cracked like a whip. The other maids clustered behind their lady with undisguised curiosity.
Far within the armory, there was a rustle of hay, then a gasp. Whispers were exchanged and Brianna’s lips tightened as she strode farther into the building.
“Fenella, if that is you—and I know full well that it is—I demand that you show yourself and make an accounting for your behavior.” Brianna’s voice was cold. “And whoever ’tis you whisper with can step forward as well, that you might answer for your actions together.”
The maids giggled excitedly at this, then gasped as one when a decidedly dishevelled Fenella stepped into the ray of light. Her hair was entangled with hay, the neck of her kirtle gaped open, her lips were swollen, and her expression dreamily unrepentant.
Even though she had been caught.
Brianna’s heart skipped a beat. This did not bode well for her maid’s reputation.
“Good morning, my lady,” the maid said with a soft smile. “I do apologize for not being in chambers when you awoke, but I was … distracted from my duties this morn.”
Then Fenella turned and offered her hand to someone in the shadows behind.
The women exclaimed as one when Dermot joined Fenella, her hand fast within his own, his garb no less rumpled than that of the maid.
He even bowed slightly to a stunned Brianna. “Good morning, my lady.”
Brianna inhaled sharply. “ ’Tis far from a good morning. Fenella, you were entrusted to my father’s household to learn the duties you must one day take for your own. Surely you know better than to dishonor both your sire’s reputation and my sire’s hospitality by such behavior?
Fenella stepped out into the wan light and smiled sweetly. She turned that smile upon Dermot who, to Brianna’s astonishment, responded in kind.
In truth, the pair of them seemed oblivious to all, including their own predicament.
“I love him,” Fenella breathed, her eyes filled with stars. Then she looked at Brianna, her expression far from apologetic. “I cannot explain the feeling to you, my lady, but I care naught for convention and reputation when Dermot holds me in his arms.”
The maids gasped and began to chatter, their consternation masking Brianna’s own. People joined their ranks, evidently having heard the commotion and come from the hall to see its source. The maids dutifully recounted what had transpired thus far as more and more souls pressed into the comparatively small armory, craning their necks for a better view.
Brianna looked over the group with some dismay, for she could not imagine how she might salvage Fenella’s reputation now. She jumped when she saw Luc leaning against the pillar beside the doorway, and met his gaze.
The glow in his eyes revealed that Brianna was not the only one recalling what had passed between them the night before. ’Twas different from this, however, for Luc had ensured that Brianna’s reputation was untainted.
He had given her pleasure but taken naught, denying his own desire. Which left Brianna less than impressed with Dermot’s behavior. Why, he should still be in mourning for Ismay!
“And what of you, sir?” Brianna asked. “Can you not even wait for Ismay to grow cold before you lavish your attentions upon another? What manner of faithlessness is this? What manner of husband are you?”
Dermot cleared his throat and frowned. “A poor one, no doubt,” he conceded, then raised his strange pale gaze to meet Brianna’s own. “And I can make no apology for that. ’Twas true enough that I made undue haste to find myself a wealthy wife when my sire cast me out all those years past. Had I granted more attention to the manner of woman I wed, then I might have been a better spouse than I was.”
“I know you will be!” Fenella declared and the pair were lost in each other’s eyes once more.
“What is this?” Brianna asked. “You cannot mean to wed this man! Fenella, where are your senses? Your sire will choose you a spouse—and ’twill not be this man who willingly admits he wed Ismay for her dowry!”
“My sire will have no choice,” Fenella insisted with rare quietude. She met Brianna’s gaze steadily. “ ’Twas from you I learned the value of love between man and wife, my lady, and ’twas from you that I learned to ensure I won my own way.”
Saints above. Brianna’s mouth went dry and she could not find the words to argue with that.
Fenella squeezed Dermot’s pale, elegant fingers. “ ’Twas to ensure my sire’s agreement that I granted Dermot my maidenhead. I love him, as he loves me, and now my father will have no choice.”
Brianna exhaled shakily, her gaze dancing between the pair before her. ’Twas clear that Fenella believed she followed Brianna’s lead and did not see the pitfalls before her. But, Brianna was far from convinced that Dermot had changed his ways, much less that he loved Fenella in truth.
No doubt he had an eye upon her significant inheritance.
But the decision was not Brianna’s to make. She looked Dermot in the eye and hoped her glance was chilling. “What do you intend to do about this matter, sir? You must answer for what you have done.”
“Aye.” Dermot straightened. “I shall go immediately to Fenella’s sire and plead my case. I shall ask him for Fenella’s hand in marriage.”
The women broke into excited chatter, but Brianna was not satisfied that Fenella’s fortune was so very good. “Aye, you will ride and you will ride swiftly, sir. And I shall send a runner to tell Fenella’s sire that you come and what you have done.”
Dermot looked alarmed. “Do you not trust me?”
“In a word, nay,” Brianna retorted.
“And rightly so,” Uther contributed. “As I recall, the lady Ismay made a markedly similar prenuptial choice some years past.” The older man glowered at the guilty pair. “Your inheritance is a significant one, is it not, Fenella?”
The maid blushed crimson. “My lady, tell them the import of wedding for love!”
Brianna felt the regard of all gathered there, most particularly one steady blue gaze. “Fenella,” she said softly, “a man who deserves your love will treat you with respect from the outset. Dermot has not troubled himself with anything more than his own pleasure.” She cleared her throat softly. “I am sorry, Fenella, but this is no good sign.”
“I love him!” the maid protested hotly.
“And I love her,” Dermot argued, clasping the maid’s hand in his own.
Brianna felt her expression turn stern. “Then, hasten to her father. But be warned, Dermot, should you not arrive at Fenella’s home estate, should you forget to make an honest woman of Fenella, you may be certain that word of your deed will be made known to all within the kingdom of Henry II of England.”
Brianna took a deep breath, hearing a conviction in her voice that was but an echo of her father’s authority. “I pledge it to you, sir, that this woman, left to the care of Tullymullagh, shall not be left sullied and abandoned by you.”
Twin spots of color burned in Dermot’s cheeks and he held his chin high. “But I love her, my lady Brianna,” he declared. “You have naught to fear.”
Brianna shrugged. “Then, neither do you.”
To Brianna’s surprise, Luc’s steady words interrupted. “Unless, of course, you know something of how the lady Ismay met her demise.”
The assembly gasped as one and pivoted to eye Luc, his own gaze fixed on an increasingly flustered Dermot as he pushed his way through the throng.
“But she fell!” Dermot protested, rare color staining his face. “You all said she fell!”
“Or perhaps she was pushed,” Ruarke declared savagely, stepping forward in turn. “How long have you courted this maid, sir? Have you been adulterous?”
The assembly leaned forward with gleaming eyes. Fenella blushed scarlet and Brianna had a horrible feeling of dread. “I loved him long,” the maid confessed. “But ’twas only on this visit, when Dermot looked so unhappy, that I sought to console him.”
Dermot hung his head. “ ’Tis true matters proceeded too quickly,” he admitted gruffly, then looked up with bright eyes. “But I did not push Ismay! She was drunk, I left her in the hall that Friday eve, disgusted with her behavior yet again. She turned me from her bed years past and mocked me before all since the loss of Claremont.”
“And where did you go?” Luc asked coldly.
If Fenella’s cheeks had seemed red before that was naught compared to this moment. But she stepped forward proudly and laced her fingers tightly with Dermot’s own. “We were here, together, until ’twas nearly morn,” she declared.
The maids cackled like hens at this revelation and naught else could be heard in the armory. “We were together!” Dermot cried. “We each can speak for the other.”
“And you each had a stake in seeing Lady Ismay gone,” Luc commented with quiet authority.
The lovers looked at each other in dismay, but Brianna noted a trio of stablehands exchanging sheepish expressions. Luc evidently followed her gaze. “What do you know?” he asked the tallest.
The boy stepped forward. “We saw them, sir, and we heard them, as well,” he declared. “Denis bade us sleep in the armory, for the stable was overfull.” The ostler nodded acknowledgement of this, his single brow bobbing up and down. The boy turned on Fenella and Dermot with a grimace. “All that moaning,” he complained. “We had barely a wink of sleep.”
“Are you certain ’twas them?” Luc asked.
The boys nodded in unison. “Oh, Dermot!” cooed one in obvious mimicry of what they had heard.
“Fenella, my own sweet maid,” rumbled another, then the trio erupted into giggles.
“You listened!” Fenella cried.
“We could hardly do anything else!”
“Oho, but that was naught to Sunday eve!”
Fenella and Dermot went white, then their faces were suffused with scarlet. “You did not listen to that?” Fenella roared.
“My lord, take me!” one boy mimicked. “Take me now!”
Fenella gasped and set after the boys in outrage. They scampered into the assembly, their taunting parodies carrying from every corner of the armory as Fenella desperately sought them.
Brianna fought against her smile. Dermot might not be as honorable a man as Luc, but he was no murderer.
“Adulterer!” Father Padraig hissed. “Your sins will not be forgotten.”
“We should toss him in the dungeons,” Ruarke declared.
Luc shook his head. “We should send Dermot to make his pleas to Fenella’s sire,” he said firmly with a single glance to Brianna. “The lady’s decision is a sage one. ’Twill be Fenella’s father’s right to mete out any repercussions due.”
Dermot grew markedly paler, though he nodded agreement. A murmur of approval slipped through the ranks, but Brianna only had eyes for Luc. The assembly filtered into the bailey, but Luc lingered, a proud smile curving his lips.
“Well done, my lady fair,” he murmured. “You have learned quickly to take a keep in hand.”
Brianna smiled in return, unable to halt the glow that spread throughout her at Luc’s praise. She knew he would not grant it idly, so the words pleased her even more.