Claire Delacroix (40 page)

“Thus wrote Frederick II, who knew so much of falcons and their ways,” he says. “They sewed the eyes of eyasses closed to train the birds until he advised the use of the hood. He saw further than most from his court in Sicily.”

He smiles, holding my gaze. He turns then, as regal as I recall, and lifts a fist as he whistles an imperative. I remember now his three note whistle, how every falcon in the mews turned at its sound. And I see now a tracery of feathers in his shadow, a hint that there is some commonality betwixt us all.

The gyrfalcon lands with a cry upon the fist of my father’s specter, so beautiful and white and wild as to stop a heart with joy. My father lifts his face to her, something in the crook of his nose echoing her beak, something in the brightness of his gaze echoing her stare.

And when he launches her again, I feel something rise within my breast as if I could fly with her.

The impulse is forgotten when my father kneels before me, this man who bent his knee only to king and archbishop. He bends and looses the jesses I have only now noticed upon me.

They are wrought of leather and fastened about my ankles, tethering me to the roof of Inverfyre’s chapel just as falcons are tethered to their perches. I even wear a bell as the falcons do, a massive bell which sits behind me on the thatch, a bell which ensures that strays can always be found by the falconer.

My father casts my jesses aside, then stands anew. He frames my face in his hands, kisses my brow and releases me with tenderness in his smile. “You have done more than a man could expect of a daughter, more even than one could hope from a son,” he says, then offers me all of the sky with an expansive gesture.

An urge claims me and I impulsively spread my arms, raise and lower them in a move that is instinctively right. I part my lips to speak but a cry comes from my lips.

I take flight effortlessly, unfettered by obligation and birthright, free as I have never been free. I cry out with delight at this gift, I soar joyous in my new agility, and then I fly so high as to touch the stars.

It is there that I turn my gaze back upon the earth, then that I spy a lone man standing on a peak so distant as to be foreign. The moonlight touches his hair, gilding it, and I know my destiny with a surety all should envy.

* * *

I awakened once, lulled by some unfamiliar rhythm. I did not know the chamber but I knew the man opposite. Tarsuinn was in the midst of shelling a boiled egg. He smiled when he saw my eyes open and lifted the arm below his wounded shoulder. “As good as ever, my lady.” He stretched out the arm and flexed his fingers. “A fine job, my lady, and a service for which I am most grateful to you.”

“Peregrines,” I whispered, my dream clouding my thoughts, my memories of Tarsuinn’s father mingled with the sight of him.

Tarsuinn’s face crinkled in a smile as he held the egg aloft. “Fear not - it is pigeon, not peregrine.” He winked, buried the shelled egg in a dish of salt, then ate it.

I closed my eyes, exhausted beyond belief, confused.

“You knew as much.” Tarsuinn nodded when I opened my eyes again, chewing as he studied me. “But of peregrines? Ten years is my wager, my lady, ten years for the peregrines to recover their numbers at Inverfyre. Twenty would be better. Is this the query you have of me, the falconer’s son?”

I could not summon the strength to reply, but closed my eyes again, troubled.

* * *

I dream of hunters and prey, a vague dream of shadowed threats and veiled dangers. A cool touch lands upon my brow, something wet and soothing pushes my fears away as a candle will chase the shadows back to the corners.

“Ranald is dead,” Malachy says softly. “Alasdair is dead. You have nothing to fear from the MacLaren clan, my lady, not here, not now.”

But Dubhglas is not dead. He is blinded, blinded by me, and I feel his lust for revenge reaching out to snatch me from my sanctuary. I cannot name Fiona’s fate either, but sense her malice breathing in the distance. The shadows loom high, rising over me like an ocean wave, then fall, sealing me alone in darkness and despair.

* * *

I awakened to the sense of being rocked in a cradle. I felt well enough, restored and rested, if somewhat hungry.

Intriguingly, I was not anywhere I had been before. The wooden walls were unfamiliar, the strange curved shape of the chamber unknown to me. I certainly did not recognize the young woman who nursed a babe on the far side of the chamber.

And surely, she could not hold my son? How long had I slept? I felt my belly, but it was still barely round.

She smiled at my alarm, then bobbed her head. “Good day, my lady. My name is Anna and it is my duty to serve my lord Gawain’s daughter.” She changed breasts then, showing me the healthy babe with some pride.

“But I have borne no daughter…”

Anna flushed. “This babe was wrought of my lord Gawain’s seed, so said my lady Ysabella after he brought the babe to Ravensmuir.” She swallowed but did not seem to take a breath. “And thus she said that he must have a care for what he had wrought and that if he left Ravensmuir, he must take his child with him. And thus it is that I am here, for my lord Gawain is possessed of no milk to feed the babe, nor indeed of the knowledge of what she needs.”

Anna fell silent abruptly and turned a brighter hue of red, as if fearing she had said too much.

But I leaned back against the pillows in understanding. This was Adaira’s granddaughter, whose mother had died in labor and whose father was the unlamented Connor MacDoughall. This was the child Adaira had pressed upon Gawain and that he had brought to his brother’s wife at Ravensmuir in desperation.

If Merlyn’s wife Ysabella believed the child to be Gawain’s own, her insistence that he see to the child’s care made sense - especially as Ysabella was the woman Gawain had deceived to steal the
Titulus
.

I imagined that he would have done well to escape her annoyance with him so simply as this and smiled despite myself. “May I see her?”

Anna finished nursing and fastened her chemise with haste, willingly bringing the babe to me. She was a lovely cherub of a child, all fat cheeks and good health.

“She is a beauty.” I touched a fingertip to her cheek and the babe smiled, dimpling in a delightful manner. Her eyes were blue and her hair dark - she could have been mine own. I felt a desire to hold this child close.

Anna seemed to sense as much, for she was quick to offer the child to me. With some effort on the part of both of us, I was propped up a bit more, the baby girl nestled in my embrace. She burped mightily once she was settled, prompting Anna and I to laugh.

“Indeed she is lovely, my lady. I fear that if she also has my lord’s charm, she will lead an interesting life.”

I laughed aloud then, for I could do nothing else. “No doubt you speak the truth, Anna.”

Anna cleared her throat and shuffled with anxiety. “But my lady, no one will tell me this child’s name. My lady Ysabella said she had none, but that is not natural.” Her sweet face tightened with concern. “You must know her name, do you not?”

“Of course, I know her name,” I said with an ease I did not feel. Adaira would not suit, for it would identify her grandmother too readily. Adaira’s daughter had been Annelise, so that would not do either, and Anna was a servant’s name. I seized upon the first pretty name that came to my thoughts. “She is Rosamunde, of course.”

“Rosemunde.” Anna leaned over us, cooing the name to the babe. The babe smiled and fidgeted, managing another belch that left a milky froth upon her lips. “Is that a manner of flower, my lady?”

I smiled. “Of a kind. It means the rose of the world and implies that she is beauteous indeed.”

Anna nodded, well content. “And so she is.” She tickled the babe’s chin and Rosamunde chortled. “I am delighted to meet you, my lady Rosamunde Lammergeier.”

I opened my mouth to correct Anna, but the words froze on my tongue. Connor MacDoughall was of no more use in death than he had been in life to the child he spawned. His name was of no merit and would bring the girl no advantage. Indeed, she might be poorly served to be known as orphan, bastard and commonborn.

What harm to give Rosamunde a protector in name as well as in duty?

“Rosamunde Lammergeier,” I echoed, lying with a bravado that I might have learned from a certain rogue. “It is a name truly fitting for a great lady.”

We smiled as Rosamunde yawned fit to swallow both of us, then endeavored to fit both fists into her mouth. Anna began to sing softly and I rocked the child, even though the chamber itself seemed to rock.

Rosamunde’s lashes landed on her cheeks, so dark against the fairness of her skin that I caught my breath. Her little hands were so tiny, the finger of the hand locked around my own finger so impossibly perfect. She dozed finally and I peered about myself with new interest, feeling a pain in my back when I moved too much.

“Oh, you must not stir yourself, my lady! I forgot! Your wound is only just closing and my lord will be most irked if the stitches tear again.” Anna lifted the child from me and saw to my comfort even as she cuddled the babe close. “You had such nightmares when first we left Ravensmuir that I thought the flesh would never heal.”

A hundred details made sense to me suddenly. I remembered that flight to Ravensmuir with clarity, and some snippets of conversation as well as a haze of pain. “What of my child?”

“Lady Ysabella said you would ask. She bade me tell you that it is hale. She told me to tell you not to fear for its welfare, for you alone took the blow.”

I leaned back against the pillows again, reassured.

Anna perched on a stool beside me as Rosamunde drifted to sleep. “It was most curious, my lady, for you and Lady Ysabella are each nigh as ripe as the other. Had you stayed at Ravensmuir, your children could have been milk-siblings as well as cousins!”

We had left Ravensmuir, then. I caught a whiff of sea salt and heard suddenly a creak from overhead.

“Are we on a ship?” I demanded.

Anna smiled. “Yes, my lady. The Melusine it is and a finer ship I have never seen. My lord Gawain undertakes a journey for my lord Merlyn…”

“An honorable mission, if you can believe as much,” Gawain interjected wryly. He leaned in the portal, looking hale and healthy. His flesh was tanned to a rich golden hue again. He wore a white chemise and dark tabard, dark chausses and boots. His hair seemed to have captured more of the sun’s glint, but his gaze was guarded.

My heart leapt in painful fashion at the sight of him.

“Merlyn would renew his former trade in silks and seeks my aid. He is disinclined to leave Ysabella while she carries their child.”

“It seems you have developed an affection for such noble missions,” I said.

“A fleeting fancy, no doubt.” He crossed the room with long strides, his very presence sending Anna scampering from the chamber, her face as red as carmine. “A skittish woman, but competent,” he muttered, then studied me carefully. “How do you fare?”

“It seems I shall survive.” My attempted jest did not sound as one, not with my voice so breathless as this.

Gawain studied me for a moment, then sat upon the stool Anna had abandoned. “Merlyn and I decided that it was too dangerous for you to remain in Scotland. You can bear your son in exile, where the MacLaren clan cannot hunt you.”

“A respite,” I said softly, welcoming this chance. I was tired and wounded and unprepared to continue the fight for what was mine own.

As yet.

“Indeed,” Gawain agreed. “And one beyond harm’s reach. Even Merlyn does not know precisely where we will go, no less where you will chose to linger and bear your child.”

“Sicily,” I said with resolve.

“You declined to journey there afore,” he said carefully.

“You offered once to take me there, to show me the land you so loved,” I said, my heart in my throat. “To share your bed for so long as we both should please.”

He watched me, his eyes bright. “You said you would be no man’s courtesan, for you feared the day you would be cast out.”

I smiled, fearing that he would refuse my bold proposition. “You will have no chance to cast me out. I shall stay but a year, long enough to bring our son safely to light and regain my strength.”

“Then?”

“Then I will return to Inverfyre,” I said with resolve, “that I might seize again his rightful legacy.”

Gawain arched a brow and ignored me. He winked, then pulled a small chamois sack from his tabard and offered it to me.

I gasped in recognition, then lifted my gaze to his. “How can you have this?”

His wicked grin nigh made me smile in response. He shrugged with the insouciance I knew so well and his eyes twinkled. “You were late to retire the night that I came to warn you of Niall’s intent. I had to do something to pass the time.”

“But the treasury was always locked…” My words faded, for I guessed what he had done.

Indeed, Gawain scoffed at this flimsy obstacle to his curiosity. “I took it on impulse, but now my instinct has proven aright.” He opened the sack and removed the seal of Inverfyre, placing its weight in my hand. “You need not fear for Inverfyre, Evangeline, for no man can rule it in the absence of that seal. No man can make law, no man can pronounce justice, not without the laird’s seal.”