Luc sat at one end of the hall as the evening shadows drew long, Uther’s copious notes spread before him. Somewhere in this stack of vellum lay the answer to Connor’s murder. Somewhere, there lurked a lie.
And Luc had but to find it. He frowned as he reviewed the observations of Cook, a flicker of movement distracting him from the task.
Brianna dropped onto the bench opposite and leaned closer. She was yet pale, Luc noted with concern, and there were shadows beneath her bright eyes.
“Did you find anything?” she asked anxiously and Luc knew she referred to the hiding place in the chapel.
He shook his head. “ ’Twas empty.”
“Oh.” Brianna sat back and folded her hands together before herself, her gaze dropping to the sheaves before Luc. “Have you talked to all?”
“Aye.” Luc could not keep his frown from deepening. “Yet come no closer to the truth for all of that. Someone must be hiding the truth!”
He glanced up to find Brianna smiling slightly. “Your eyes are very blue,” she murmured enigmatically.
Luc studied her for a moment, liking well how a faint flush stained her cheeks at his perusal. “You seem to find significance in that, my lady,” he suggested and she flushed crimson.
“I have noted that they are thus when you find a matter—” she hesitated, licked her lips, then flicked a shy glance to Luc “—interesting.”
Her embarrassment only made Luc wonder when else his eyes had been blue.
“Indeed?” There was a prospect of tempting the lady to smile, Luc was certain of it. And that prospect was infinitely more intriguing than that of reading Cook’s recollection again. Luc set a sheet of vellum aside and propped his elbows on the trestle table to regard Brianna. “And what matter has prompted them to be so blue before?”
“You tease me again!” Her eyes danced, her gaze falling to Luc’s lips, then back to his eyes again. Her cheeks were aflame. “You know!”
“Nay, I do not.” Luc heaved a mock sigh and shook his head. “There is naught for it. You shall have to confide in me, my lady.”
Brianna glanced to the left and to the right, evidently satisfying herself that none was listening, then leaned across the table to whisper. “ ’Twas thus when you kissed me,” she confided.
“Ah!” Luc let a slow smile ease across his lips. “You speak aright, my lady, that was most interesting.”
Brianna caught her breath, her lips parted. The hall felt markedly warm as she stared back at Luc.
Luc suddenly recalled an issue that had been forgotten these past days. He deliberately tapped a fingertip on the board. “Do you not still owe me another four of those kisses?”
Brianna grinned and tossed her hair, granting him a cocky glance that was more like the woman Luc first had encountered. “I do not know,” she said archly. “I must demand an accounting to be certain.”
“Ah, but if you demand the accounting of me, I can promise you what the result will be,” Luc mused. Brianna’s gaze flew to meet his. He winked and she smiled fully.
“ ’Tis true enough,” she conceded with mock resignation, then wrinkled her nose. “You, sir, only see such matters to your own advantage.” Their gazes held for a long moment and Luc dared to hope that the lady would grant his suit serious consideration.
He hoped that Connor had read his daughter aright.
Brianna tapped a fingertip now on the vellum, not glancing downward quickly enough to hide the mischievous gleam in her eye. “Although, Luc, I must wonder that stacks of vellum could be as intriguing to you as a lady’s kiss.”
Recalled to his task, Luc smiled slightly for her, then shoved a hand through his hair as he regarded the volume of Uther’s notes. “Rest assured, ’tis not the vellum,” he confided grimly, “but the desire to find your sire’s killer that captures my interest in this.”
Brianna leaned closer, her eyes wide. “Do you know who did this deed?”
“Nay!” Luc grimaced. “And there are precious few hints of the truth. I overheard whispers on Sunday eve but now can only conclude ’twas Dermot and Fenella.”
“What did they say?”
“That the lady must never know, never guess the truth until ’twas too late, that secrecy was imperative.”
Brianna straightened. “Do you think they planned to elope?”
“Nay,” Luc said grimly. “I think they planned the loss of Fenella’s maidenhead. The woman protested, the man insisted that they must finish what they had begun to see matters resolved to their satisfaction.”
The lady’s eyes widened. “Oh!” Then her brows drew together. “That shameless cur!” She turned an outraged gaze upon Luc. “What if he does not return for Fenella, but merely abandons her in such shame?”
Luc shrugged. “Shame may be easier to bear than a poor spouse.”
Brianna’s concern for her maid was evident. “Perhaps he truly does love her,” she murmured, plainly not convinced. “Perhaps he will change his ways and be a good spouse to her.”
There was a hopefulness to her tone that Luc did not have the heart to contest.
“Perhaps,” Luc conceded grimly, still not prepared to wager on any such optimistic possibility. “I hope, for Fenella’s sake, that he does.”
Brianna eyed him carefully. “You are skeptical of love,” she charged.
Luc met her gaze without embarrassment. “I have known little of it,” he admitted. “Though it seems to be oft used as an excuse for foolishness.”
“Like Fenella’s.”
Luc nodded firmly.
Brianna frowned and leaned across the board once more, her delicate hand coming to rest on Luc’s own. As previously, he was transfixed by the contrast between their hands.
“But a man and a woman can have a noble love between them, as my mother and father did. I have seen it.” Brianna’s gaze clung to Luc’s as though she would persuade him of this fact.
She swallowed and when she continued, her words were uncharacteristically tentative. “Do you believe it possible that you could feel such love for a woman?”
Luc could not halt his smile. He captured her hand and leaned across the board. “Any woman?” he teased. “Or one woman in particular?”
“You!” Brianna retorted and made to withdraw but Luc held fast to her hand. “I meant whether you might love your wife.”
Luc folded her hand between his palms, interlacing her fingers with his own. He eyed her over their hands. “You meant,” he corrected smoothly, “whether I might love you.”
Brianna flushed, the only answer Luc needed. She parted her lips, then closed them again, clearly fighting to find something to say.
But Luc knew precisely what she wanted to hear.
“My lady,” he rumbled in a low voice, willing her to understand his intent, wanting only to reassure her. “Brianna.” Her eyes flashed at his use of her name and Luc slid his thumb across her hand in a smooth caress. “I have not a shred of doubt that you will claim my heart as securely as I intend to claim your own.”
Her emerald gaze danced over Luc’s features, as though she sought some sign that he was not to be believed.
But Luc knew there was none.
“Oh.” The acknowledgement was no more than a breath but Luc heard the weight of Brianna’s relief within it.
Uther, to Luc’s mind, showed markedly poor timing in that moment. The steward appeared by Brianna’s elbow and cleared his throat portentously. Brianna jumped at the sound. “My lady? Perhaps you see fit to retire?”
She looked startled by the option and charmingly reluctant to leave. Brianna hesitated and looked again to Luc.
“Perhaps ’tis a sensible idea,” he suggested, then subtly reminded her of her pledge to him. “Especially as Uther can accompany you.”
Brianna smiled then. “Of course, Uther.” To Luc’s delight, she squeezed his fingers and cast him a shy smile before easing her hand from his own and rising from the board.
’Twas no accident that Luc’s gaze followed the lady’s figure as she made for the stairs, nor no coincidence that his heart leapt when she paused at the foot to look back at him.
Nay, Luc was fairly enamored of the lady already, and he knew well that time would only increase her hold over him.
And that suited him well enough.
Luc lingered over his wine until he heard the faint echo of the latch dropping home on Brianna’s door. Then and only then did Luc feel assured that Brianna was safe for this night.
Luc quaffed his wine and gathered Uther’s notes in a semblance of a pile. He was bone-tired and unlikely to discern any anomaly this night.
Sleep would do him good, as well. When Uther returned, Luc asked him to see the notes made secure, then strode from the hall.
Yet ’twas not the prospect of sleep that claimed Luc’s thoughts. ’Twas Brianna’s little sigh of acceptance and the accompanying shine of anticipation in her eyes that captured his thoughts. Aye, he would win this lady’s heart, if ’twas the last thing he did in this world.
The prize was worth any price.
The moon was full, the bailey quiet. The wine drifted warm in Luc’s veins and such was his mood that he did not think anything amiss when a footstep echoed behind him.
It might well be Uther. Luc managed to half turn and almost uttered a greeting before a cloth was cast over his head and someone punched him in the jaw.
But Luc was not so pensive that he did not reciprocate in kind.
Brianna awakened early Wednesday morn, Luc’s declaration echoing in her ears once more. Her dreams had been filled with Luc; she could not evict him from her thoughts.
She wanted to see him again.
Brianna dressed in haste as the first light of the morn crept through the shuttered window. Fenella was already awake and, mindful of the pledge she had granted Luc, Brianna indicated for that woman to accompany her.
No matter that the maid sulked and dragged her feet, decidedly unhappy in Dermot’s absence.
Luc was not in the hall, nor was he to be found in the awakening kitchens. Fenella fast on her heels, Brianna headed for the stables and the spot in the loft where Luc slumbered. She wondered whether there was some way to be rid of Fenella to have a moment alone with Luc, then knew she should not have such disregard for her own reputation.
’Twas a paltry example to set for those looking to her for guidance. Not to mention that she had granted Luc her pledge to not find herself alone. Brianna climbed the ladder and called softly.
But Luc was not there either. Brianna frowned with new concern. ’Twas not like Luc to simply disappear.
The ostler was yawning in the corridor when Brianna descended. “Denis, where is Luc?”
Denis’ brow worked up and down. “He always slumbers in the loft.”
“But he is not there. Indeed, his pallet looks undisturbed. Are you certain he returned here last eve?”
The ostler frowned. “I do not know. I did not see him.”
“Do you think something has befallen him?” Fenella gave voice to the thought that lurked in every mind.
“Edward!” The ostler bellowed. “Andrew! Cedric!” The three boys came running, stumbling to an attentive halt before Denis. They glanced as one to Fenella, then studied their boots guiltily. “Have you seen Luc this morn? Or last eve?”
The boys shook their heads and exchanged puzzled glances. “Not since the evening meal,” claimed one, the others nodding assent.
“ ’Tis no good omen,” Denis declared. “You and you, check the village and bailey. You and I shall seek him in the stables and addition, then check the other outbuildings. My lady, perhaps you might survey the hall once more. ’Tis easy enough to miss a man in such a large keep.”
“Of course.” Brianna felt a stubborn thrum of anxiety. “Thank you, Denis.”
“We shall find him, my lady.” The ostler bowed low, then snapped his fingers at the boys. Brianna summoned Fenella and stepped back into the bailey, just as two of the boys ran past, their footsteps turned toward the gate and village beyond.
What had happened to Luc? Brianna had a terrible sense of foreboding and she could not keep her gaze from trailing to the orchard where first they had met.
And matched words.
Something dark fluttered in the wind and blew against the stone wall of the keep. ’Twas not far from where Luc had demanded his first kiss. ’Twas not far from where Luc had spied Ismay.
On impulse, Brianna strode into the orchard.
“My lady, your kirtle!” Fenella wailed.
Brianna had no concern with the state of her kirtle. She wanted only to find Luc, only to assure herself that naught was amiss.
But ’twas only a piece of cloth that fluttered against the wall. Black cloth. Brianna frowned, noted its frayed edges, and wondered why it was here.
When she picked it up, something clattered to the ground from within its folds. Brianna saw the dark stain in the midst of the cloth almost at the same moment she saw the bloodstained dagger in the turf. Her heart stopped, a lump rose in her throat. She touched the stain, found it yet wet.
And her fingertip was smeared red.
Brianna gasped. She looked wildly over the wall to where Ismay had been found and went cold.
For a man lay on the rough ground that stretched from the wall down to the rushing Darrow. There was blood on his face, his garb was torn, and he did not move.
His matted ebony hair was graced with a white forelock.
“Luc!” Brianna screamed. “Nay, not Luc!”
Not her Luc! Brianna leapt to the top of the low wall, kicking her cursed skirts beyond her, then vaulted to the other side, running to Luc’s side as soon as her feet hit the ground.
Brianna fell on her knees beside him and touched the gash upon his cheek. His skin was pale beyond all, the cut ugly and clearly not his only wound. His cheek was cold and when Brianna touched him, he did not move. Her heart clenched with fear.
Brianna whispered Luc’s name, barely aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. There could not be another funeral at Tullymullagh—she could not lose Luc.
But Luc did not move.
Brianna heard Fenella call from behind her, but she had no interest in what the maid might say. She reached beneath Luc’s tabard with trembling hands, not balking at the chore even though she feared what she might find.
But her fingertips found the faint drum of Luc’s heart.
Brianna cried out in her relief. She leaned over Luc, whispered his name repeatedly, even while she kissed his cheek, his bruised knuckle, his brow. Only when she leaned this close did Brianna hear the whisper of Luc breathing.
Who had done this to him? And why? Why?
Just when Brianna was convinced that Luc could not hear her, he cautiously opened one eye. ’Twas bruised and clearly painful to move. The wedge of color that Brianna could see was a wintery silver.
“You are alone,” Luc noted, his voice ragged.
The very words brought tears to Brianna’s eyes. How could he be concerned first and foremost with her welfare when he lay wounded like this? Truly Luc was a man like none other.
Brianna bit her lip, unable to stem the flow of her grateful tears. She thought suddenly of the night he had consoled her and deliberately chose to misinterpret his concern.
“Nay, I am not alone,” she whispered unevenly and touched his shoulder. “I am with you.”
Luc closed his eyes, grimacing against his pain. “You pledged it. Not alone.”
He could be stubborn when an issue seized his mind, that much was certain!
“Aye, I did. Fear not—Fenella is behind and Denis shall shortly be here.” Brianna bent and touched her nose softly to Luc’s. “We are alike, Luc, in our determination to keep our pledges.”
Luc’s lips moved as though he might have smiled, had they not been so cracked. He made a sound suspiciously like a snort and his hand closed tentatively over her own.
His skin was so uncharacteristically cold that Brianna feared anew for his life.
“Careful,” Luc urged hoarsely. “Father Padraig. Watch.”
The priest? “But why?”
Luc frowned, every word obviously an ordeal for him. “There when Ismay talked. Behind me in the chapel yesterday.”
Brianna gasped. “When you checked the crucifix?”
Luc murmured assent, then frowned. “Not closed, my fault, surprised.” He heaved a sigh, no doubt born of disappointment in himself. “Father Padraig came.”
Brianna’s eyes widened as she understood. The hiding place had not been fully closed because Luc had been surprised by the priest’s arrival.
Brianna clutched Luc’s hand and leaned yet closer, her other hand stroking the hair away from his brow. “But what happened? You were in the hall when I left last evening.”
Luc licked his lips but his eyes did not open again. “You were safe.”
Brianna smiled at his gruff protectiveness. “I was and I am,” she assured him quietly. “Tell me what happened.”
He frowned again. “Could not see.”
“But the moon was full.”
“Dark cloth.” Luc made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “Surprised. Again.”
The cloth in the orchard. Father Padraig must have ambushed Luc, casting the cloth over his head so that he could not fairly defend himself.
Or identify his assailant.
Father Padraig must have thought that Luc had the Rose. Was it because the gems were shaped into a crucifix that the priest thought the prize should be his own? Or was he as susceptible to greed as any other man?
Despite his frustration, Brianna had no doubt that Luc had fought back when he was attacked. The bruises on his face and hands alone revealed that it had been no short scuffle. She bent and kissed his temple again, hating that he had been lying out here all night long.
“Aid is coming,” she whispered. Luc’s only response was to tighten his grip upon her hand and Brianna’s heart wrenched at the delay.
What kept Fenella? Brianna looked up, surprised to find so many flanking Fenella along the wall. And not a one of them moved! Brianna waved desperately to win their attention, only to realize that they were not even looking at her.
Their gazes were fixed on a point far below. Brianna turned, looking past Luc for the first time.
In the river far below, a man’s figure was caught on the rocks. It bobbed lifelessly in the current and Brianna had no doubt that that man drew breath no longer.
There would be another funeral at Tullymullagh, after all.
’Twas but a heartbeat later that Brianna realized the man’s sodden dark garb was none other than the robe of a priest.
And she knew that there was naught to fear from Father Padraig any longer.
Luc awakened in the midst of unfamiliar softness and warmth, the familiar scent of attar of roses filling his nostrils. He stretched back against the pallet and might have smiled, knowing full well who was close at hand, had the move not sent aches right through him.
Too late, Luc recalled the battering he had taken. There would be evidence aplenty as to whom he had battled, for Luc had not fallen easily.
Aye, he had ensured that his opponent had a blackened eye.
“Not so quickly!” Brianna chided. The heat of her breast pressed against Luc and she dabbed some herbal concoction against the cut upon his cheek. It stung wickedly, both that and his body’s enthusiastic response to the lady’s presence, assuring Luc that he was not dead yet.
Indeed, he could not be that sorely injured. He forced open his eyes to find Brianna right beside him, her complexion pale, her lovely features drawn with concern.
Apparently for him.
Luc’s heart pounded and he scanned the room while he pondered that marvel. He must be an occupant in the men’s chamber of the keep. Uther hovered behind the lady with a tray of various ointments. Gavin himself loitered on the far side of the room.
Luc propped himself up on his elbows at the sight of his sire’s bruise. “You have a blackened eye!”
“You must rest,” Brianna chided, but Luc had no interest in her counsel in this moment.
“At least I look to have won my fight,” Gavin snapped.
“What fight?” Luc demanded.
Gavin limped closer, snorting in disdain. “ ’Twas that champion knight, no less. Filled with the wine of my own cellars, he decided to teach me the price of disciplining a knight.”
Gavin snorted. “ ’Tis he who will have time aplenty to consider his own folly. No one picks a fight with me.” Gavin flicked a baleful glance at Brianna. “And no one will be taking him morsels from the kitchens this time.”
Brianna did not even look inclined to challenge that statement. Luc was relieved that she appeared to have learned not to press his sire.
He had more than enough cause for concern on her account without Gavin angered as well.
Luc leaned back against the pallet, wincing slightly at the move, and decided to be less direct with the others than he had been with Brianna. “Are there any others in the keep with a blackened eye this morn?”
“Nay,” Uther said crisply. “Except, of course, Father Padraig.”
Luc’s eyes flew open. “And what news of Father Padraig? How did he come by his bruise?”
“Presumably from you, though he will never tell the tale,” Gavin said harshly.
Luc felt his eyes narrow. “What is this?”
“He is dead, drowned in the Darrow.”
“Dead?” All nodded in unison and Luc feared their suspicions. “I did not kill him,” he said quickly, for he knew he had not.
“Nay, you did not,” Brother Thomas confirmed from the portal. He wiped his hands as he strolled into the room, his assessing gaze slipping over Luc’s bruises.
“You understand my expertise is more with the dead than the living,” he rumbled with a wink, “but I do not imagine that you will be joining their ranks soon.” He took a sniff of the concoction Brianna was using and nodded approval, pointing at another gash on Luc’s jaw. “Put some more of it on that one.”
The princess did as she was bidden and Luc stifled his response to the twinge the ointment sent through him. Brother Thomas smothered a smile, clearly well aware of that effect.
“What of Father Padraig?” Uther asked.
“He drowned,” Brother Thomas declared. “Nearly on the other side of the river and facing away from the keep. I believe Father Padraig was fleeing Tullymullagh in the wake of his battle with Luc.” He nodded to Brianna. “The dagger he dropped in the orchard could easily have been the one that spelled your sire’s demise.”
Luc looked at Brianna in confusion. “I found a bloodstained black cloth in the orchard,” she supplied.
Luc nodded grimly. “The one used to blindfold me.”
“Aye,” Brianna agreed. “But a dagger was wrapped within it.”
Luc straightened at that, only to find Brother Thomas nodding agreement. “Aye, a dagger that matches Connor’s wounds well. It would seem that Father Padraig was responsible for the deaths of both Lady Ismay and Connor.”
Brother Thomas frowned. “The cloth looks to have been torn from a tunic and there is old blood upon it as well as Luc’s own.”
The occupants of the room exchanged a glance. “My lord Connor’s blood,” Uther murmured and Brother Thomas nodded.
“Aye. I would guess that Father Padraig wore a black tabard that day as well.”
The sense of relief that flooded through the small chamber was tangible. Father Padraig had been the guilty party, after all. Luc leaned back and closed his eyes while Brianna tormented him.
“You are certain that he drowned?” Gavin questioned.
“Aye, ’tis easily done.” The monk gathered two handfuls of his ample habit. “These robes are cursedly heavy, thick wool, though that is naught compared to when they are wet. I have nearly lost my footing in fording quite a shallow stream when they wound about my legs. Father Padraig likely fell, perhaps he hit his head then, perhaps when the river cast him across the rocks.”
“But why would he kill Connor?” Gavin demanded.
Brother Thomas looked at Luc. “It would seem that Connor had a treasure yet remaining from his travels in the East, or at least, many believed he did. ’Twas called the Rose of Tullymullagh.”
Gavin looked at Brianna and frowned in confusion, but Uther’s eyes rounded. “I never truly believed it existed,” he admitted quietly.
“Apparently, Father Padraig believed it did,” Luc said.
“And he wanted it for his own,” Gavin breathed, obviously understanding that manner of motivation. “It should have been mine!”
“I believe ’tis long gone,” Luc insisted and his father’s face fell. “But Ismay told me she recalled something of the Rose of Tullymullagh that all others had forgotten, that last night in the hall. Father Padraig was there when she said as much.”
“He did not want any others seeking his prize,” Uther guessed.
“Aye, ’tis easier to hunt alone,” Gavin concurred.
“My father had a hiding place in the chapel,” Brianna contributed.
“But Father Padraig did not know where it was within the chapel,” Uther breathed in understanding. “And Connor surprised him when he sought it there. My lord must have recognized him!”
“So, he could not be left to live,” Gavin concluded. He jabbed a finger through the air at his son. “But why did he attack you?”
“Brianna told me of the hiding place in the chapel, and when I checked it yesterday, ’twas empty.” Luc shook his head. “Father Padraig surprised me there, but I did not manage to close the tiny door completely before his arrival.”
“So, he thought you had the Rose that he desired,” Uther concluded.
“And ambushed you in the bailey,” Gavin nodded.
“But why did he flee?” Luc asked softly. All eyes turned on him. “If Father Padraig wanted only the Rose of Tullymullagh, he did not win it by attacking me. He could not flee with the prize he sought, for I did not have it!”
“Perhaps he thought you dead, but his actions observed,” Brother Thomas speculated. “Perhaps another came along and saw what he did.”
“But no one raised a hue about Luc being injured,” Brianna observed. “ ’Twas this morn when he was found and thence by fortune alone.”
The monk frowned. “Perhaps he realized Luc knew his identity and dared not remain here any longer.”
“Aye. Or perhaps there is yet another piece to the puzzle we have yet to find,” Luc concluded grimly. He looked to his father. “Did you not say there were two in the chapel?”
Gavin nodded and scowled anew. “An accomplice!”
And Luc had heard two men conspiring in the stables. Father Padraig could have been but one.
The other could have been anyone at all.
The other might have been the one so determined to make the Rose of Tullymullagh his own. Luc’s heart clenched.
Uther flicked a cold glance Gavin’s way. “You could have been mistaken. Are you certain ’twas two?”
Gavin’s frown deepened. “At the time, I was certain.…” His voice trailed away and Uther snorted disdain.
Brother Thomas shrugged. “Or perhaps ’twas Dermot who aided Father Padraig.”
Luc watched his father. Perhaps it had been Gavin behind the foul deed, after all.
“I suggest we call the matter resolved,” Uther said tightly. “ ’Tis clear there is no certainty that Father Padraig did not labor in this alone.”
“Aye, we know he killed Connor.” Gavin declared. “We know he killed Ismay. Surely it matters little if he coerced another to aid him in his quest to the chapel.”
Luc was not nearly convinced of that, but Uther and Gavin clearly considered all issues of import resolved.
“I agree,” declared the steward.
“To be sure, ’tis no loss to have such a man gone from this keep and this world,” Gavin declared with a frown. “And indeed, ’tis good to know the truth.” He nodded approval toward Luc and Brother Thomas, then commented gruffly to Luc. “I should see you well soon.”
Luc blinked in surprise, but his sire was gone.
Brother Thomas moved closer, his lips twisting as he examined the cut upon Luc’s cheek. “It has need of a stitch,” he declared, then turned a quelling eye on Uther and Brianna. “Off with you both. ’Twill not be easy and my charge must have the privacy to roar.”
Brianna smiled, then bent suddenly to brush the softness of her lips across Luc’s temple. A heat flooded through Luc at her unexpected touch and the lady flushed.
“I shall come and see you later,” she said hastily, then hooked her arm through Uther’s elbow.
“And I shall have Cook bring you soup,” the steward declared. “ ’Tis the best thing for you, soup and slumber. ’Twill see you healed in no time.” He bowed low, then actually smiled stiffly for Luc. “I thank you, sir, for seeing my lord Connor’s murderer brought to justice, in one manner or another.”
Luc nodded, but he was markedly less than convinced that all was resolved. The only thing he knew for certain was that his princess was far from safe as yet. He made to rise but Brother Thomas laid a large hand on Luc’s chest and pushed him back against the pallet.
“You have nowhere to go, my friend,” the man counselled firmly. “And you will be fortunate indeed if I permit you to leave this bed in time for Connor’s funeral two days hence.”
“But, matters are unresolved!”
“The killer is found, Luc. The accomplice, if indeed there is one, will wait.”
Luc heaved a sigh and frowned as he reluctantly lay back, not in the least bit persuaded of that.
“Aye, prepare for the worst,” Brother Thomas advised. Luc closed his eyes as the needle bit into his skin and fought his grimace, frustrated beyond all.
By Friday morn, Brianna was tired beyond belief. She was certain there had never been a keep in the throes of a second funeral while needing to plan the third to fall within a week. Another priest had come with haste from the priory to ensure the Masses were said for Connor. The prior himself had arrived thin-lipped to decide where Father Padraig should be laid to rest.
But ’twas not the activity that left her feeling drained. Indeed, such duties had occupied her thoughts when idleness might have left her weeping.
’Twas the knowledge that on this day, her father would be laid to his final rest.
And Brianna was not quite prepared to say farewell.
The gentle patter of rain echoed against the shutters and Brianna listened for a long time, half certain that if she did not rise, there could be no funeral.
’Twas whimsy, of course, and she knew it, but still she delayed the ordeal before her.
’Twas Fenella’s touch on her elbow that compelled Brianna to compose herself. Brianna knew that the people of Tullymullagh were waiting for her. They relied upon her for an example of strength and ’twas her duty to be gracious in her bereavement.
Brianna did not know how she would do it. Indeed, she nearly turned back on the threshold of her chamber, uncertain how she could manage even the procession when grief so crumbled her defenses from the inside.
But a man stepped forward from the shadows of the landing, a man in sombre garb with a steady blue gaze. Brianna halted, Luc offered his hand.
“I did not want you to walk alone,” he said simply.
Brianna caught her breath and blinked back unexpected tears. “I thought Brother Thomas consigned you to bed.”
Luc rolled his eyes and she knew he tried to conjure her smile. “Two days there gave me enough strength to wrestle him and win,” he jested.
Now that she truly looked, Brianna noted that the cut on Luc’s cheek was less angry, the bruise around his eye vastly diminished. Even the crack in his lip seemed to be healing.
Her heart swelled beneath his steady gaze and she felt herself straighten. Brianna liked that Luc had guessed that she would need him and had made the effort to rise.
She took Luc’s hand, savoring his gentle strength as his fingers closed over the chill of her own. “He was a wise king,” she said softly.
“Aye,” Luc agreed. “ ’Tis the mark of a good administrator to put selfishness aside to serve his responsibilities, to weigh the testimony of those around him, and make decisions for the good of all. Your sire left you an uncommon example of such ability. I have no doubt that his memory will long burn bright in every heart in Tullymullagh.”
The very reminder that her father would live on in her own heart, as well as the hearts of all those on this estate, made the rite of this day seem a little less final. Others had said as much, but Brianna believed Luc when the declarations of others had seemed no more than words.
Luc arched his brow ever so slightly as he held Brianna’s gaze. “You will do Connor’s memory proud as Lady of Tullymullagh.”
Luc’s thumb moved across her palm and Brianna knew he was telling her that she could survive this day with aplomb.
And he spoke aright, the ladyship of this keep would be hers. ’Twas no small responsibility, as she had already glimpsed in laboring beside Uther. And to serve the good of all beneath the lord and lady’s hand, ’twas necessary to consider matters beyond oneself.
Brianna realized suddenly that it had been willfulness alone that prompted her refusal of Luc—no more than a selfish desire to see all dance to her tune. It seemed a childish choice to have made and she felt suddenly that she learned much in recent days.
Aye, Luc was a man whom her sire had thought a fitting choice for Brianna. That much was clear from Connor’s defense of Luc in the orchard when Brianna laughed. Luc was a man who challenged her and made her smile, a man who protected her, a man well accustomed to administering a holding, a man who had seen Connor’s killer named.
Luc would be a good lord of Tullymullagh.
And Luc had pledged to win her heart. Brianna straightened and met his gaze, knowing the time for willfulness was past. She tightened her fingers over Luc’s hand.
“Would you walk with me this day, Luc Fitzgavin?” she asked softly, holding his gaze all the while. “ ’Twould be the only fitting place for the man I mean to wed.”
Luc’s eyes widened ever so slightly, their vivid hue evident even in the shadows, then his firm lips curved in a smile. Brianna’s heart leapt for she saw the evidence of his pleasure and knew that could only be a good portent for their years together.
“I should be honored,” he declared with a conviction that left no doubt of his feelings. Luc kissed Brianna’s knuckles, then fitted her hand in his elbow. “Indeed, my lady, by your side is the only place I desire to be.”
And Brianna knew the satisfaction of having made the right choice.
’Twas a foul day for a funeral, not only cursed with driving, cold rain, but plagued by a wind that tormented the mourners. ’Twas as though the environs of Tullymullagh itself protested the loss of its lord. Luc remained steadfast beside Brianna, striving to keep her dry despite the elements, ensuring he was there when she faltered.
The funeral itself was solemn and elegant, no expense spared in the burning of candles or incense. Uther’s eulogy was long and left not a dry eye in the tiny chapel. The villagers clustered through the doors to mourn their overlord.
Brianna did her father’s memory proud, but then, Luc had expected as much. Only he knew when she clutched his fingers tightly. Only he and Uther could discern her tears during Uther’s emotional farewell to his liege lord.
The lady’s kirtle was indigo, dyed so dark as to be almost black, and the color made her look as fragile as a rare flower. Though Brianna was veiled, the wondrous golden gleam of her hair could not be disguised through the sheer fabric, nor could the fair perfection of her features be marred. Her full lips were ruddy, though Luc guessed ’twas no carmine that granted their color. Brianna’s only ornament was the gold circlet that held her veil resolutely in place.
There was no arguing that she was a rare beauty, and Luc was humbled that she had chosen to accept his offer of marriage. He would do her proud, he solemnly vowed, unable to shake the sense that Connor lingered in their midst.
Luc would treat this woman with the honor she deserved.
No less would do.
In the windswept cemetery, Brianna cast the first handful of dirt upon her father’s casket. It echoed hollowly and she winced when the gravediggers began to shovel the wet soil into the grave. She turned away, leaning more on Luc than she had thus far, and he led her, without apology, from the churchyard.
’Twas time the lady had a hot drink within her. Aye, he would have Cook conjure more of that mulled wine and again, sleep would soothe the lady’s hurt.
On the morrow, they two would plan their nuptials. Aye, ’twould be time enough for such merriment.