Claire Delacroix (33 page)

“Connor MacDoughall is the name,” I growled, sparing a stern glance for each of them. “I come solely to celebrate the laird’s wedding feast, and to warn you of a traitor in your own ranks.”

You are surprised, perhaps, by my choice of moniker. The name had brought me such foul fortune that I assumed matters could only improve with its continued use. The wheel of Fortune turns, after all, and persistence in a course marked by bad fortune often results in remarkable bounty.

It could not hurt.

“Aye, he sits opposite me,” Dour retorted.

“He sits at the head table,” I asserted. “You can aid your lady and the memory of her sire by heeding what I have come to say.”

“But…” began Tarsuinn’s protest.

“Would I risk my life for no good cause?” I demanded.

Both men watched me warily, though Dour gave a minute nod of acknowledgement to this point. Tarsuinn eased back into his seat, his expression confused. He stared at the empty trencher before him, then seized his ale and drank it all.

“Courage, my friend, is not to be found in a cup of ale.” I surveyed the company and discovered - not to my surprise - that neither Niall nor Evangeline were present.

Dour snorted. “You are no friend of ours, upon that you can rely.”

“Am I not?” I accepted a cup of ale from a serving boy with a cursory smile, then sipped at it carefully. Either it was less foul than was typical or I developed a taste for the fare in this land.

There was an unsettling prospect.

“And who would be your friend? These men of repute?” I gestured with the cup to Fergus’ three kin who now entered the hall. Alasdair, who was dressed most richly for a mere guest, surveyed the hall with the look of a man with a scheme. Ranald kept his devoted gaze upon his older cousin. The youth, Dubhglas, appeared smug to me.

They tried to take seats at the high table but were turned away, much to their evident dissatisfaction. A brief argument ensued which was abandoned at Alasdair’s word. The three sat together at a table close to the high table and called for ale.

“They are no friends of ours,” Tarsuinn said. “Indeed, I am surprised they chose to remain for the nuptials, for there is nothing at Inverfyre for them now.”

“They will not linger long,” Dour predicted, drinking of his own ale. “They wait only to ensure that the wedding occurs.”

“I would not rely upon that,” I said. Both men glanced at me with curiosity, then shook their heads.

“Niall will see them gone if they do not leave of their own volition,” Tarsuinn insisted.

“And why is that?”

“Because they covet Inverfyre, everyone knows as much.” Tarsuinn smiled amiably as a woman from the kitchens brought a steaming bowl to our board. Tarsuinn fairly licked his lips at the custard therein and ladled a goodly serving onto his trencher.

“Custard? At this hour?” Dour made a face, but the woman shrugged.

“Fine fare for a fine day,” she said, then thumped a similar bowl on the next table before returning to the kitchen.

I cleared my throat. “What of Fergus’ family’s own lands?”

“The lands of the MacLarens were claimed by the crown some twenty years past,” Tarsuinn confided between bites. “The MacLarens have become tenants instead of lairds, by the king’s own decree.”

“So, they would claim Inverfyre instead,” I mused.

“Not now,” Dour said with resolve. “Not now that Niall will take the lairdship. He has long suspected their scheme and will see them banished from Inverfyre. Fergus was indulgent of his kin, but Niall will not be so.”

Tarsuinn gestured to the custard. “It is good, thick with raisins. Indeed, I doubt that we shall have Fergus’ favored dish oft after this day, and all the worse the fare shall be for its lack. You should eat, Malachy, you should savor this treat.” The other man grimaced and clung to his ale.

“Indeed, you should eat,” I said, leaning back to sip of my own ale. “With every bite, you ensure the MacLarens’ plan comes closer to fruition. Eat, eat so that Inverfyre’s fortunes never recover.”

They both regarded me with new suspicion.

“What is this?” Malachy demanded.

I leaned forward, tapping my finger on the board. “What if I could prove to you that Inverfyre’s fortunes have failed because the MacLarens planned its downfall, that they ensured the estate was weakened so that they could claim it more readily?”

Tarsuinn shook his head and shoveled custard into his mouth with gusto. “The root of the matter lies with the falcons. No man can plan that wild birds become impotent.”

“But any man can ensure that eggs are not allowed to hatch. One does as much with chickens all the time.” I nudged the bowl of custard. “Who could tell if these were the eggs of falcons or of chickens?”

Malachy gasped. Tarsuinn dropped his spoon with such a clatter that several of the men at neighboring tables looked our way. He flushed and made a fuss about reclaiming the utensil. “So clumsy!” he said with a smile that might been born of embarrassment. “I have need of more ale this morn!”

The other men laughed and turned away, then both Tarsuinn and Malachy leaned close to me. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Are you certain?” Tarsuinn asked.

“Can you prove this assertion?” Malachy demanded.

“Show me where the refuse of the kitchen is tossed and you will see the truth of it,” I said. They exchanged a glance, then nodded agreement as one. I drained my ale, knowing that such sustenance would be welcome in the job ahead.

* * *

I have never had a fondness for sifting through kitchen waste, but that was the sole source of evidence in this instance. I dearly hoped that my suspicions would be proven right. I needed the aid of these men to ensure that proof was found by witnesses Evangeline could trust. I needed the MacLarens to be fool enough - or confident enough - to have grown careless with hiding their scheme.

I like risk as a rule, though in this case, my teeth were nigh on edge. The initial waste was discouragingly benign, so I insisted that we dig. We were knee-deep in rotting peelings, blackened pits, bones and enough grease to make a dog die happy when Malachy cried out.

“It is true!” He held half of an eggshell in his hand, a shell of creamy white adorned with speckles.

Tarsuinn’s eyes widened in horror. The pair dug with new fervor, unearthing an enormous cache of falcon eggshells. We made a pile of them, a pile which grew with every passing moment.

“Enough!” Tarsuinn groaned. “There are so many that there can be no doubt.” He sat down and put his head in his hands. “This has been happening for years!”

“Fergus favored eggs at every meal,” Malachy concurred. “He brought his own cook to Inverfyre so that there would be a complicit soul in the kitchens. He must have begun this travesty afore he came to our gates, knowing he and his chickens would be welcomed.” He spared a shocked glance for his companion. “It is true! We have eaten Inverfyre into poverty!”

Tarsuinn turned away from us, his expression dismayed, then vomited the custard he had recently consumed. Fortunately, we stood in refuse and none would comment upon the mess.

“What a scheme,” Malachy said sourly. “Indeed, one must admire how clever it was.”

“And mourn how gullible we were,” Tarsuinn added.

I recounted my tale of Dubhglas’s deed to them and they nodded grimly. “Niall must learn of it,” Malachy said with resolve.

“And afore the nuptials,” Tarsuinn concurred.

“No, there must be no nuptials,” I insisted, and both turned to me in surprise. “Evangeline and Niall are half-siblings.”

Now, Malachy looked green, while Tarsuinn’s lips tightened in disapproval. “This is why the old laird forbade them to wed all those years ago.”

I nodded.

“Does Niall know?” Malachy demanded.

I nodded again.

Malachy exhaled with a frown, his gaze trailing over Inverfyre’s high walls. “Niall sees nothing beyond his own aspirations,” he said with a shake of his head.

“And the lady?” Tarsuinn asked anxiously.

“She knows now for I told her. She says she has no choice, and that she must wed Niall to save herself and her child and her child’s legacy.”

“She would say as much,” Tarsuinn said.

“She is the spawn of her sire,” Malachy agreed. The pair nodded solemnly for a moment. “The old laird must be rolling in his grave at this travesty,” he muttered, then turned and offered his hand to me. “I am Malachy and my loyalty is pledged to the old laird, and thus to the lady Evangeline, his sole get. If you aid the lady, you may rely upon me to aid you, as well.”

“And I am Tarsuinn, similarly pledged. If you know how we might save the lady Evangeline, our aid is with you.”

I was as astonished as any to realize that I had enlisted the aid of two others - me, who always worked alone, had willingly sought out assistance. I had little time to reflect upon this oddity because the chapel bells began to ring, merrily summoning all to the nuptial mass.

“First, we must halt the wedding!” I said.

“We must hasten!” Tarsuinn cried and the three of us moved as one.

* * *

Despite our desire for haste, there was little progress to be made. The village square was thick with peasants come to celebrate the wedding. Indeed, their merriment was as likely due to the prospect of the feast the laird owed them on the day of his nuptials than any joy for the match itself - they were painfully thin, each and every one of them.

I was not surprised that after fifteen years of hardship, they looked so ravaged: I was surprised by how angry it made me that innocent people had suffered for the sake of the MacLarens’ land lust.

I pushed my way through the throng with new vigor. I had no other plan beyond stopping the nuptials, indeed, I was not certain what could be said to make a difference.

Evangeline waited on the steps of the chapel, her lips tight and her countenance pale. My heart leapt at the sight of her, tightly bound into the same plum-hued kirtle embellished with pearls. Her hair was not to be seen, pulled as it was beneath her veil and circlet. The amber crucifix gleamed upon her breast, the purple hue of her garb showing the golden stones to advantage. Her hands were knotted tightly together and I knew then that she was not as content with this match as she would have had me believe.

I was so focused upon her unhappiness that I did not realize immediately that something was amiss.

“Where is Niall?” Tarsuinn demanded. “How dare he keep his bride a-waiting?”

It was true. There was no sign of the tall warrior. The priest looked impatient and that Evangeline’s expression could have been one of vexation. The assembly began to whisper, more than one glancing over the crowd. Evangeline’s color rose.

When Alasdair stepped forward, garbed so richly that he might have known he would be the centre of attention on this day, a horrible suspicion filled my thoughts.

“Since your knavish bridegroom does not deign to greet you, I offer myself in his stead,” he said, then bowed low over Evangeline’s hand. “Indeed, no man of honor could not let such a beauteous bride come to the altar in vain.”

She visibly recoiled, but Alasdair gave her no chance to reply.

“It is only fitting that a man wed his brother’s widow, to ensure that his niece or nephew is raised with appropriate care.” Alasdair’s tone turned chiding. “Had you made your state clear sooner, I would have offered immediately for your hand.”

“My hand is not for you to claim,” Evangeline snapped, then pulled her fingers from his grip. “I will wait for Niall of Glenfannon.”

“You will wed the man who will become the Laird of Inverfyre,” Alasdair declared coldly. “And that man will be me.” He seized her hand and turned her to face the priest. A murmur passed through the crowd. Evangeline struggled for release, then abruptly froze.

“It is Ranald,” Malachy whispered, but I had already seen that deceptive snake slither into place. “To the lady’s left. Did you see the flash of his blade?”

I nodded. I did not like it. The blade was too close to Evangeline for us to risk an assault. Tarsuinn grimly fingered the hilt of his own dagger. Dubhglas too was near the chapel steps. They could not win this day simply by proximity!

“The blade is against the lady’s ribs, if I do not miss my guess,” I whispered. “Do nothing, lest we risk her survival.”

They acquiesced with a nod, clearly unhappy with this state of affairs. I looked again for Niall as the barely cooperative priest began to bless the couple, but he was not to be found.

These MacLarens surely offered a greater threat to the lady’s survival than even Niall might have done. Indeed, there was an ease in their manner - as if they were unsurprised by the groom’s absence - that made me wonder whether they had ensured that Niall could not attend his own nuptials.

I had no time to ponder such treachery. I had to act.

“Evangeline!” Every head turned at my cry, but I strode forward with a smile. “I do apologize for my tardiness on this day of days. Details took somewhat longer than anticipated.”