Brides of Ireland Read online

  Keeva rolled her eyes. “God’s Blood, the woman lives and breathes that lad. You think she’d birthed the Christ Child.”

  Eiselle couldn’t help the laughter. They reached her chamber and Keeva bid her a good sleep with a kiss to the cheek, leaving Eiselle thinking that she was coming to like Lady de Winter, just a little. She seemed honest, brutally so, and that was a welcome attribute as far as Eiselle was concerned.

  Heading into her chamber, she shut the door and bolted it.

  Her bower was still and quiet, the only sounds coming from the crackling in the hearth. Someone had stoked the fire, swept the floor, and put an iron pot full of water on the arm that hung over the hearth. Eiselle stuck her finger into it; it was delightfully warm. She was eager to use it to wash with.

  Throwing open her trunks, she pulled forth soaps and combs and her sleeping shift. Given that her father was a merchant, she often had access to things most people didn’t – she had three bars of hard, white soap that smelled of almond blossoms, and a fourth bar that smelled of lemons. She had skin oils that smelled of flowers, and a salve for her lips that tasted of honey. Every product she had was something she’d simply taken from her father’s shop, and he’d simply ignored whatever she did. He father wasn’t one to pay much attention to her, anyway.

  Unfortunately, there was no tub in which to take a bath in her chamber, and she didn’t want to call for one, so she made due with the warmed water from the pot and a bowl on the table. Stripping down, she used a rag and the soap to wash herself, all the while thinking of this momentous day and of the man she’d been pledged to marry.

  Bric…

  Truthfully, she was disappointed that he’d not been present for the evening meal, but she understood it was unavoidable. Eiselle had spent most of her life at a manor house, with several servants and about twenty men her father hired as protection, and there was never anyone riding out to protect a village or fight a battle. Even when she’d been at Framlingham, she was never directly exposed to the knight who served Bigod. She’d been kept with the other wards, and Lady Bigod made sure her ladies were kept well away from the lustful men. At least, that was the way she’d phrased it.

  But that had been Eiselle’s only exposure to fighting men, and the military function of a castle, so her experience at Narborough was new and, frankly, disappointing. It was also a little frightening – men riding out to battle, with their sharp weapons and war horses.

  It was a very long way from her father’s quiet shop.

  But it was something Eiselle realized she was going to have to resign herself to. She was to marry the man known as the High Warrior, and she assumed that he would ride to any battle de Winter was involved in. She knew nothing of knights, of their lives, and of how they lived. She hoped her husband would be patient enough to teach her.

  If he didn’t send her back to her parents first.

  Thoughts lingering on her betrothed, and the entire situation, she finished washing and pulled on her sleeping shift that smelled of lavender. Her mother had sprinkled it in her trunks, and everything was infused with the fresh, clean smell. It reminded her of home, and of the garden her mother kept but, oddly enough, she didn’t long for what she’d left behind. The only things at home were her indifferent parents, and she wasn’t sad for them. As anxious as she had been for coming to Narborough, she actually felt welcome in spite of everything. Now that the excitement of her arrival had died down, she was coming to think she might like it here. At least, she hoped so.

  But all of that hinged on Bric MacRohan.

  Brushing out her long, dark hair, she re-braided it and stoked the fire once more before climbing into bed. It was quite comfortable and warm, and as she lay back on the pillow, she realized just how exhausted she was. It had been a very eventful day.

  Sleep claimed her before she was even aware of it.

  Bric had just passed beneath the portcullis of Narborough’s gatehouse when Daveigh was standing in his path.

  “Well?” Daveigh demanded. “What happened?”

  Bric pulled his war horse to a halt, climbing off the beast and handing him over to a waiting stable groom, the only man that the horse wouldn’t snap at. Liath was the horse’s name, a massive dappled-gray horse with a nasty temper, but in battle he was invaluable. He could anticipate Bric, so it was like having a shadow. He adored the animal and the feeling was mutual, but it was only Bric that the beast adored.

  Anyone else was a potential victim.

  “To be truthful, I am not entirely convinced it was Nottingham,” Bric said as he pulled off his helm, wiping a weary hand across his forehead. “Rather than engage us, they tried to evade us, so there was more chasing going on than combat. They headed west and we let them go.”

  “What about the town?”

  “The damage wasn’t too severe. It seems they were only interested in stealing supplies.”

  Daveigh frowned. “Foraging,” he muttered. “Peterborough is to the west.”

  Bric nodded. “I know,” he said. “John’s mercenaries held the city up until a few months ago, but it is possible there are still pockets throughout the area.”

  “Is that what you believe? These are simply vagrant mercenaries?”

  Bric shrugged. “It is as possible as anything else,” he said. Then, he looked around the outer bailey and at the massive walls, lit up against the night with fatted torches that billowed black smoke into the sky. “We were not attacked here?”

  Daveigh shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “All has been quiet.”

  Bric pondered that. He’d suspected the attack on the village had been a ruse, as they all had, and was both puzzled and pleased to realize it wasn’t. But he wasn’t going to ponder it further. He was exhausted, but there was more on his mind than simply sleep.

  There was the matter of a certain young woman he’d left behind.

  His focus turned towards the inner ward and the keep.

  “I saw the priest arrive when I was departing,” he said. “I suppose Lady de Winter is furious that the wedding did not take place tonight.”

  Daveigh looked towards the keep as well. “I do not know,” he said. “I have not seen her since you left, but I am sure she is waiting up for me.”

  “And me.”

  Daveigh grinned. “She will berate me for letting you ride to battle and avoid the ceremony before she will unleash her anger on you,” he said. “If I were you, I would retreat to my chamber and bolt the door. Do not come out until morning, no matter how much she bangs on your door and bellows.”

  Bric was still looking at the keep. He was thinking on retiring, but not to his chamber. The entire time he’d been away, his thoughts had intermittently lingered on the lovely young woman with the pale green eyes. Was he disappointed he hadn’t married the woman that night? In truth, he was, just a little. Other than the initial conversation they’d had, he hadn’t really had the opportunity to come to know her. Even so, he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. So rather than retire to his chamber for the night, he wanted to seek her out and talk to her. He knew it was late, but he didn’t much care.

  Bric MacRohan rarely thought of anyone else’s wants, comforts, or desires other than his own. If the woman was asleep, then he would wake her. He was fearful that if he didn’t take the time to speak with her, alone, then he might not have another chance in the near future because Keeva and Daveigh seemed to want to be present whenever he was around her. Therefore, he didn’t let Daveigh know what he was thinking. He simply nodded his head.

  “Mayhap I shall,” he said. “Where is the priest, by the way?”

  “I am not entirely sure. I have not seen him come out of the keep, so it is possible he is still in the hall.”

  “And my intended?”

  Daveigh gestured towards the keep. “I am sure that Keeva put her on the high floor, where we put our honored guests. I am sure she has been long asleep by now.” He paused. “Bric?”

  “My lord?”
>
  Daveigh scratched at his ear, a reluctant gesture. “I hesitate to ask you this, but what do you think of her?”

  Bric could see that Daveigh was living in fear of his answer. True to form, he was guarded. “She is pretty enough.”

  “Quite. I’d say she’s damned beautiful.”

  “I would agree with that.”

  “Then… you are pleased with her?”

  Was he? Bric’s first reaction was to the affirmative. Aye, he was pleased with her. But he wasn’t going to tell Daveigh that. He was too embarrassed to admit it, or anything like it. Instead, he forced a smile.

  “Ask me that in a week,” he said, turning for the keep. “I will see you on the morrow.”

  Quickly, he moved across the vast outer bailey of Narborough before Daveigh could stop him, heading through the maze of earthwork and into the inner ward where the keep was situated. Before him, the imposing structure of Narborough’s keep loomed against the night sky, and he entered the forebuilding, dimly lit by torches, and made his way up the stone steps into the entry.

  It was deathly still in the keep when he entered, and very nearly pitch-dark. But he could see faint light coming from the great hall and as he moved through the darkness and into the cavernous room, he was immediately met with snoring. As he eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the priest at the far end of the room, sleeping on a bench before the gently snapping fire.

  There were a few others in the great hall, kitchen servants mostly, all of them sleeping near the fire in a group with the dogs nearby, all of them huddling up for warmth. It wasn’t unusual for the kitchen and keep servants to sleep in the great hall even though there was another open space on the top floor the servants used as well. In fact, the top floor was really only for sleeping and guest lodging, as it had four rooms that were used for visitors. It was where Daveigh had indicated Eiselle was being housed, so Bric took one of the smoking torches from the iron sconce near the entry and headed for the spiral stairs that led to the upper floor.

  The one good thing about the location of the visitors’ chambers was that they were well away from the master’s chamber where Keeva was sleeping. The master’s chamber was on the other side of the great hall, sealed off by two sets of massive doors. It was well protected and well-insulated from the noise of the rest of the keep, and Bric was counting on that. He didn’t want Keeva to come running up to Lady Eiselle’s chamber and chase him off.

  The smell near the top of the stairs told him he had entered the large open area where the servants slept. It smelled like a barnyard with piss buckets in the corner and old straw on the floor. Bric made his way through the snoring servants silently, going to the first door he came to and lifting the latch, only to be faced with an empty chamber.

  There was as small corridor to his left and he proceeded to open two more chambers, met with the same inky darkness. But lifting the latch of the forth chamber saw that it was unlocked, and he opened it slightly to reveal a warm room, a fire burning in the hearth, and neatly stacked trunks against the far well. He couldn’t quite see the bed with the door cracked open and, in truth, he didn’t want to be completely invasive, so he shut the door softly as if he’d never opened it to begin with.

  Quietly, he rapped.

  He rapped twice more before he received a response, a soft voice whose words were muddled by the heavy door. Assuming she had asked who had come, he tried not to speak too loudly for fear of rousing the servants.

  “It is Bric, my lady,” he said.

  He must have spoken the magic words because the latch lifted and the door cracked open. Looking sleepy, and with her dark hair mussed, Eiselle stood in the doorway, wrapped up in a heavy robe. Her expression was one of both surprise and curiosity.

  “Sir Bric,” she said, sounding anxious. “Is everything well?”

  He nodded, realizing that even sleeping and unkempt, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Probably more so in her mussed state because he found something unerringly charming about it.

  “Everything is fine,” he said quietly. “I came to make sure you were well-tended after your busy day.”

  Eiselle nodded. “I am quite well, thank you,” she said. “And you? Are you well after riding out to fight off the raiders?”

  “There was no fight. It was a waste of time.” When she simply stood there, gazing up at him, he thought to press his intention before the situation turned awkward. “I realize it is late, but we have had so little time to speak since your arrival. So if you are agreeable, I thought to only take a few moments of your time.”

  Eiselle appeared uncertain at first but, after a moment, she stepped back and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in where it is warmer?”

  Considering they were betrothed, it wasn’t an improper offer, to seek solitude in the lady’s boudoir. Bric took the torch and lodged it into the nearest sconce, lighting up the dim corridor, before entering her chamber. Eiselle shut the door quietly behind him.

  “I apologize that I missed the evening meal, but it could not be helped,” he said. “I trust the meal was pleasant.”

  Eiselle nodded, somewhat nervous about his presence. She kept a proper distance. “It was very pleasant,” she said. But when that wasn’t enough, she added, “Lady de Winter introduced me to Lady de Dere and Lady de Chevington.”

  “And the priest?”

  She appeared hesitant. “Of that, I would not know,” she said. “He kept to himself throughout the meal. I… I have never seen one man eat so much.”

  Bric grunted unhappily. “I would have at least hoped he would speak of plans for our marriage tomorrow,” he said. “Did Lady de Winter speak of any such plans?”

  Eiselle pulled her robe more tightly around her in the chill of the room. “Nay,” she said. “She only said it would be on the morrow, but I do not know anything more than that. Are… are you still certain you wish to go through with it? As I said when I arrived, if the arrangement displeases you, then I may still be sent home.”

  He just looked at her; petite, curvy, and that face… was he so fortunate that he was actually going to wake up to that face every day for the rest of his life?

  “Do you want to go home?” he asked. “You have made this statement more than once and I am coming to think that it is your way of telling me that you are not pleased with this arrangement. If that is the case, you need only tell me.”

  Eiselle shook her head quickly. “I did not mean to imply that,” she said. “I simply… that… well, if I may be honest, my lord?”

  He fought off a smile. “Please.”

  Eiselle drew in a long, thoughtful breath and perched herself on the end of her bed. “It is simply that ever since I arrived, I get the feeling that you are not agreeable to this betrothal,” she said. “Lady de Winter seemed to apologize for you far too much, as if she thought you were offending me somehow. You even asked me if anyone had told me of your reluctance to the betrothal. In all, I received the impression that this marriage was not a happy circumstance for you. Am I wrong?”

  Bric couldn’t help it; a smile broke through, tugging at the corners of his mouth. With a heavy sigh, he turned to the nearest chair in the chamber and sat down on it, so heavily that the wood creaked. He’d left his great helm down in the hall when he’d picked up the torch, but he was wearing mail over his entire body along with weapons and a heavy tunic, among other things. He was greatly weighted down and greatly weary, but he didn’t feel like retiring in the least.

  He had a lady to know, and perhaps there was no better time than now for honesty.

  “Since you are being truthful, then I should be as well,” he said. “Nay, you are not wrong. Do not misunderstand me, my lady – it is nothing personal against you. While I love your cousin, Dash, and he is like a brother to me, he also knew that I had no desire to marry. I am a busy man, and my vocation is my wife. There is not time for a family. But Dashiell seemed to disregard my personal feelings by proposing this
marriage to de Winter, who gladly accepted it to unite the House of de Winter not only to the House of du Reims, but also to the Dukes of Savernake since Dash’s wife is the daughter of the former duke. To say that I was resistant to the betrothal is an understatement.”

  Eiselle was hurt by his words, but not surprised. “I see,” she said bravely. “I suppose I suspected all along. The betrothal was so unexpected and sudden, I wondered if you could truly be happy about it. You are a great knight, my lord. Certainly, a merchant’s daughter is not the fine marriage you would expect for a man of your station.”

  He was looking at her, bathed in the firelight. “Normally, that would be true,” he said. “But that did not have anything to do with my feelings. I simply do not wish to be married, to anyone.”

  Eiselle averted her gaze, looking at her lap. “Then I shall pack my trunks and leave on the morrow,” she said quietly. “I will not hold you to this betrothal. There is no crime in a man not wanting to be married.”

  Of all the things Bric thought his future wife would be, a gracious and understanding woman who understood his resistance to a marriage had not been among those thoughts. He’d once thought that any woman fortunate enough to be his betrothed would be most eager to sink her claws into him, eager to bind herself to the High Warrior, but Eiselle was far from it. She seemed not only willing to agree with him, but she wasn’t thinking of her own wants in the least.

  Or… was she?

  “You will not pack your trunks,” he said. “What you did not let me say was that this was my position before I met you today. I was certain you would ride in here, gloating over the fact that I was to be your husband. You did not do that and, even now, you are willing to do whatever I wish. I must say that I am quite surprised.”

  She glanced up at him. “Why?” she asked. “I do not wish for you to be miserable, because if you are miserable, I will be miserable. My lord, we do not know each other. Marriage is difficult enough without the added burden of the husband not wanting a wife.”