Claire Delacroix (8 page)

Or what suspicions he might have. Surely I had played their game well? The monks’ chanting grew in volume as I grew uneasy, and the chapel doors swung open once again.

“The laird Fergus,” whispered Tarsuinn with either awe or reverence as the entire company turned. A cold gust of air swirled around my ankles, though my shiver halted when I saw the woman whose hand rested upon the laird’s elbow.

Evangeline.

* * *

But not Evangeline. This woman looked sufficiently like Evangeline to be her twin, but was so lifeless that she could not have been the Evangeline I knew.

This woman did not radiate confidence, she did not glow or swagger, her eyes did not sparkle. There was no flush in her cheeks and no swing to her hips. She was demure, her complexion pale, her eyes downcast. Her hair, which I knew to be dark and wild, was tightly secured beneath a veil and demurely fastened with a circlet.

She looked so severe and bloodless that she might have been wrought of ice. Her gaze was fixed upon the floor before her feet and even when peasants bowed before her, she did not smile. Still, that curious awareness tingled within me, the same that had made me note her entry into the alehouse.

I knew a moment’s doubt. Was this my Evangeline? Did she have a sister? A twin? Or had I seen a side of her she preferred to hide from others? I was doubly intrigued.

There was, of course, only one way to be certain of the lady’s identity. I awaited my chance.

The laird was far older than I had expected, given that he had held his position for only five years. His hair was grey, his features careworn. He was not a handsome man and never had been. He was solidly wrought and so richly dressed that he seemed to have stolen the garb of another, more noble, man. The tightness of his lips and the rapid flicking of his gaze revealed his uncertainties all too well.

He wore a falconer’s glove upon his right hand and surrendered the hooded bird to a servant at the chapel door with evident reluctance. He was momentarily uncertain what to do with his hand then, until Evangeline gently laid his right hand atop her own. He nodded before beginning their procession down the aisle.

As he walked, he looked neither to the left nor to the right. Here was a man who knew he was challenged by his followers. Here was a man who knew this night to be the test of his suzerainty. Here was a man who was not the leader his predecessor had hoped he might be.

I looked to the lady, then back to the laird, and supposed that there was something noble about showing loyalty to one’s own father. I had done it myself, for all the good that had come of it. If this was my Evangeline, I could appreciate that she had fetched the relic that might make her father’s title more secure.

Three men who were younger than the laird yet showed some resemblance to him in their features strode behind him, their countenances as hard as stone. Their hair was ruddy, their faces tanned, their eyes narrowed. Two were men fully, while one was yet a youth. These, clearly, were his relatives and allies, perhaps Evangeline’s brothers.

But Fergus was out-numbered and he knew as much. His color rose with every step. His gaze was fixed upon the altar ahead as if all his woes would cease once he reached that haven. More than one warrior shifted his weight, flicked his glance away from his laird or murmured his greeting so low as to be inaudible. Niall turned slightly away as his lord drew alongside, checking the buckle of his scabbard with undue care so that he would not have to even incline his head.

The laird’s daughter stood steadfast beside him, her spine as straight as a well-wrought blade. I noticed that she squeezed his fingers once, a subtle sign of support that none would have noted who were not watching her as avidly as I. The laird seemed to lean upon his straight and determined daughter, a woman who resembled my Evangeline only in her resolve.

The pair reached the aisle beside me and I had my chance. The lady was on my side, though Tarsuinn was on the aisle between she and I.

“My lord. My lady, you look more splendid than could be imagined,” Tarsuinn murmured. She spared him the thinnest smile of acknowledgement, her gaze flicking past him.

I smiled boldly as she glanced into the shadows cast by my hood, and winked when her eyes widened ever so slightly. She took a quick breath, a spark lit in the depths of her sapphire gaze and color blossomed suddenly upon her cheeks.

My own heart skipped. This was Evangeline, my Evangeline.

She was not entirely surprised to find me here, that much I knew, nor was she disappointed. A flame kindled in the depths of her eyes as she held my gaze, one answered by the fire she awakened in my loins. I felt warm from head to toe, warm as I had not been since we lay entwined abed.

Before any others could note her response, she abruptly averted her face. I noted the line of her shoulders, the sweet curve of her cheek, the indent of her waist beneath her kirtle and knew that night could not come soon enough. I felt the weight of Niall’s disapproval without even looking his way, and understood that his ambitions were extensive.

Not that any such nuptial matters concerned me. Niall was welcome to wed the laird’s daughter - just one more night in her bed would sate me, and then I would be gone from this foul land forever.

Indeed, I understood so much of the lady now, though it changed nothing. Evangeline had stolen the relic so that her father could prove that the grace of God blessed his suzerainty. Fair enough. There was, however, no reason for the
Titulus
to remain here after its showing upon this night. It would be a waste to lock such a prize away.

Just as the lady was wasted in this remote citadel. No doubt, her father could not find a fitting suitor for her here. I understood suddenly why she had left such a telling clue of her identity and location - perhaps she contrived to resolve the matter of nuptials herself.

I swallowed my smile, for I have never had an inclination to do what is honorable, or what is expected of me. I had no need for a wife and even less desire for one.

Evangeline could drive the heat from my bones afore she knew that detail.

The trick would be to slip between her thighs without her father guessing my intent. The prize was sufficient to risk far more than I might have risked otherwise. This, after all, would be my last theft.

I had best make the night worthy of remembrance.

* * *

IV

Evangeline was so quiet and still that she might have been a statue, some pagan goddess wrought of stone, had she not been so modestly attired. Her father lifted the
Titulus
high to the sound of prayers, but I watched Evangeline. Her gaze came to me seemingly of its own accord, perhaps because I alone knew that her small smile was less for her father’s triumph than her own.

Her smile warmed and color touched her pale cheeks anew as our gazes locked. A song of desire began within me, heating me as naught else had done in this land.

Save Evangeline.

The procession filed out but I lingered, shaken by my response. I hovered in the chapel’s shadows while countless peasants filed past the altar to brush their fingertips across the relic. I was protective, concerned that one would be so bold as to touch it too hard or even try to steal it. Only when it was safely locked away and the key hung from the monk’s belt did I follow the company to the hall.

The mood in the hall was raucous and celebratory. Fergus had proven the legitimacy of his suzerainty with the presence of the relic, and his subjects seemed intent upon drinking themselves into a stupor in their relief.

I could barely glimpse Evangeline, let alone draw near to her, for she sat demurely beside her garrulous father. That man held his prized gyrfalcon again upon his fist and fed it morsels from his own trencher, more interested in it than his own daughter.

My three companions hailed me and summoned me to their corner. They were so besotted that there was little risk that they would question my identity now. The ale flowed, the meat was plentiful, the peasants and warriors fell upon the meal ravenously.

“Such a plentitude of eggs,” I muttered. I have never had a fondness for them and it seemed each dish passed to me was wrought of them. Eggs in mustard sauce, poached eggs, scrambled eggs and stuffed eggs - who would have guessed they could be prepared so many ways!

“Fergus favors them so we are blessed with many at the board,” Tarsuinn confided, helping himself to an ample measure of civet of eggs. “Do you not recall that he installed his own cook here at Inverfyre, solely because of that man’s gift with an egg?”

I shook my head as if I had forgotten this detail. Tarsuinn passed the dish to me and I passed it on - if the ale was as foul as it was, then the wine could not be worthy of crossing a conscious man’s palate. It would be no better with eggs in it.

“He has even filled the old falcon mews with chickens, so great is his lust for eggs,” Niall added with evident disapproval.

Dour nudged me and winked. “Though it is said that eggs preserve a man’s potency. Perhaps that is why he favors them!”

He and Tarsuinn laughed heartily together, though Niall spared a dark glance to the head table and said nothing. To my relief, there was a haunch of venison that managed to make its way to our table and I served myself amply.

The meat was good, as were the noodles with gravy that followed. The hall filled with laughter that grew progressively louder, smoke and much merrymaking. It was not unpleasant.

And the monk with the key was becoming soundly drunk.

* * *

When the trenchers were cast to the dogs, I glanced through the high windows and spied a clear night sky beyond, the stars glimmering brightly. The storm had ended then, the snowfall halted.

Were my mission accomplished, I could depart this night while all slumbered drunkenly. Indeed, there would not likely be such a prime opportunity to be away without questions as this night offered.

Which meant that I had several matters to resolve.

I took a pause, purportedly to relieve myself outside. En route, I “tripped” over the robe of the drunken monk and claimed the brass key to the reliquary in the process of getting up. How dreadful that I was so drunk to lose my balance time and again! The monks were amused then — if not later.

After an interval, I returned to the hall to discover that the lady had retired from the company. The laird had removed the hood from his gyrfalcon, a particularly large and fine bird. He spoke to it and stroked it with all the tenderness of a lover, though it seemed to me that the bird was skittish.

I sat at another table, joining the men there in a hearty toast to the laird’s good health, scanning the hall all the while. Stairs wound upward at the other end of the hall, the sole flight obviously leading to the laird’s solar and lady’s chamber.

I understood Evangeline’s retirement as both an invitation and a challenge. The invitation was obvious. The challenge lay in climbing those open stairs unobserved by such an enormous company. Any could witness me and cry an alarm - if they were not sufficiently distracted.

There is nothing more readily done than beginning a fight within a company of drunken warriors. I carry a few tools for precisely this purpose. Do you know the herb angelica? It has a sweet scent, pleasant enough, and thus is unremarkable to carry among one’s possessions. Indeed, many men chew upon it when a rich meal gives their innards distress. I carry a dried length of stem, about the width of my hand, as well as a handful of dried peas.

Angelica stem, you see, is hollow. I can hide this piece within my cupped hand and discretely create trouble.

I targeted Niall with the first pea, for he seemed inclined to be volatile. Thrice he was struck, and each time he turned more angrily to the man at the table behind him. Niall’s flush rose as the man protested innocence again and again.

I embellished matters by striking Niall’s supposed assailant twice, once in the temple and once in the corner of his eye. Another missile was fired at Niall and the battle began.

Niall rose to his feet and roared, while the other man took advantage of the moment to punch Niall in the nose. Men immediately took sides and made wagers, their shouts rising from all corners of the hall. A trestle table was kicked over, lanterns spilled, crockery shattered, meat and ale fell to the floor. The hounds were there in a heartbeat, devouring scraps even as they dodged feet. Niall and his assailant began to fight in earnest, grappling with each other as they shouted insults.

I slipped back into the shadows, launched a dozen more peas into the melée, and watched with satisfaction as more fights broke out. Tables fell and the seneschal called vainly for order. The gutted candles plunged the hall into greater shadows.

Fergus stood on the high table and cried out for discipline. He looked like an old woman, and more impotent than most elderly women of my experience. His gyrfalcon screeched and flapped its wings helplessly - it was, of course, held by tethers, so could not flee the chaos.

A few more peas and the high table itself set to fighting. Food was flung from one corner at the laird, then some hardy soul pushed the head table over as well. Fergus screamed as he fell headlong into the throng of men. He loosed his grip upon the tethers as he fell and the freed bird flew upward with incredible speed.