One Snowy Knight (18 page)

As Noel lifted his head, Skena’s hands grasped his upper arms, flexing tightly about his hard warrior’s muscles, relishing his strength. “There seems to be more to the ways of kissing than I knew.” She leaned into him, wanting to feel her body pressed against his.

The door pushed open and chattering children rushed in. Annis and Andrew. Her son said triumphantly, “See, I told you our knight would be awake.”

Stepping back with a disappointed sigh, Noel chuckled. “We shall continue our lessons later, my lady.”

Skena hummed lowly as she finished changing into one of her better kirtles. After getting out of the mail shirt and cleaning up, she had brushed her hair and added a simple, thin circlet across her forehead. Noel would assume the power of baron shortly, and despite his avowing he wanted her to continue to be the lady here, this would be the last morning she would go before the people of Craigendan as their mistress. Another would soon be deciding their fate. She wanted to face the change appearing every inch the baroness. While the gown was not new, she had always loved the deep blue. She shrugged. It had been a while since she had made a kirtle for herself. Always too busy with other things. She recalled a wine-colored velvet gown her cousin Raven wore last Yuletide. Skena envied that rich shade, but knew she could not afford the material. Well, she had never been one to wear finery such as Raven and Rowanne did. Tamlyn was like her, more comfortable in a sark and skirt of tartan. Only now, with Noel here, she suddenly wished she could put on a kirtle closer to what the women wore at court, what he was used to seeing.

Feeling a quickening within her blood, she was suddenly forward looking to seeing how her people accepted de Servian as their new lord. She put a hand to her belly and took a deep breath, hoping Noel would find her pleasing in blue, be proud to have her standing alongside him.

“Well, I am what I am, no changing it.” She spoke her anxiety to her reflection in the bowl of water, and then turned to leave the room.

As Skena approached the lord’s chamber she heard voices chattering. Discerning a female one, her steps slowed. The door was not locked, but left open just enough for a body to squeeze inside. She could see movement within, but not a clear view. The voices were too low to hear what was being said. Fearing the worst, a frisson crawled up her spine. Since she was still mistress of this holding and the door was not closed, she put her hand on its plane and slowly pushed it open.

As she suspected, the feminine voice belonged to Dorcas. Her heart dropped, then slammed back up in her chest, making her light-headed. “What are you doing here?” Skena snapped.

She told herself not to give Dorcas the reaction she wanted, yet it was impossible to contain the rage, the hurt…the jealousy. Before, with the situation between Dorcas and Angus, she had been humiliated. Angus had allowed Dorcas to flaunt her position in his life, permitted her to openly defy Skena when she gave orders. Still, she saw that it was only a wound of her pride. She had never loved Angus, so she had not been jealous, just resentful. This was a thousand times worse! She vibrated with fury, nearly out of control. She could not think, barely remembered to breathe. Desperately, she tried to rein in her temper, reach for that calm spot in her soul.

Noel, still drying his face on a cloth, turned around. Lowering it, his sweeping glance took in Dorcas, who was straightening the bedding, and then Skena in the doorway. His expression did not change.

Dorcas looked over her shoulder at Noel and gave him a sly smile, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. “Why, I was seeing to Lord de Servian’s needs, my lady.”

The way Dorcas said ‘my lady’ set Skena’s teeth on edge. Dorcas’s intent. Skena wanted to rip her red hair from the woman’s head and force feed it to her. Skena had taken umbrage that Angus never gave a pretense to hiding that he had taken Dorcas as a leman, and in some ways she believed he had flaunted it to shame her. The situation had proved difficult to live with. That offense was only a faint echo compared to what coursed through her blood now. Violent shaking threatened to manifest itself. Skena moved to the fireplace and pretended to warm her hands, in an effort to cover her distress. She quickly saw she was failing. She did not want to fake being calm. She wanted to claw Dorcas’s eyes out!

“I need not remind you, Dorcas, that you have chores elsewhere. In the future, please recall you no longer have access to the upper levels of the fortress. Keep belowstairs where you belong.” Skena was proud her voice sounded calm.

Dorcas paused, her hand on the top coverlet. Her jaw tightened, but then she continued to smooth the
plaide
of its wrinkles, ignoring Skena. She turned back to Noel and asked, “Is there aught else you would want, my lord?”

Noel put down the cloth. “Nay. Not unless you can do the chores of a bloody squire.”

She stopped before him, curling a strand of her long red hair around her finger.

“You will find, Lord de Servian, I am able to do many things…. Help a man dress…or undress. And you must admit I am easier on the eyes.”

Noel laughed. “But can you put an edge to my sword? After last night, it needs care.”

Dorcas’s laughter bubbled forth. “An edge? Mayhap not an edge. Howbeit, I am quite capable of polishing your
sword
to a
hard
sheen.”

Skena thought about picking up the fireplace poker on pretext to fix the fire, instead of watching Dorcas attempting to fix Noel’s interest. She decided against it. Her hand wrapped around the length of metal might prove too strong of a temptation. Besides, this was a test of de Servian.

He gave the woman an impassive face. “I am sure if I require anything I merely have to ask Skena.”

The lines at the corner of Dorcas’s mouth said she strained to keep her comely smile in place. “You will find, Lord de Servian, that our Skena is oft too busy to tend all the baron’s needs.”

“Enough, Dorcas!” Skena’s temper snapped. “You should be on the wall patrolling. See to those duties or I will presume you lack work to keep you busy. The garderobe could use a good cleaning, most likely. Shall I set you to doing that?”

Dorcas shot her a smug expression and shrugged. “Mayhap you might think to do such.” She glanced back to de Servian. “Mayhap not.”

As Skena watched Dorcas saunter out the door, she wanted to throw something at her. Oh, she would deal with her later, and it would not be pretty. She had planned on waiting until spring to marry Dorcas off, but she would send word sooner to the Campbells and Comyns both. First man that offered could have her. Spending the winter with Dorcas trying to seduce de Servian for spite would be more than she could stomach.

Noel picked up the dark blue shirt folded on the bench. “I will be glad when my men and wagons can get through. This is my last shirt until they do. Can you help me get it on? It pains me to reach over my head. I did not take notice of it when I was killing the wolves, but after the fear burned away, simple movements start the wound to aching all over again. The warrior in me tends to blot out pain when I fight. You must to stay alive.”

Skena took the shirt and helped ease it onto his arms. The surcoat came next, also blue, but a shade lighter and trimmed with silver braiding. The dark blues and silver only seemed to highlight his arresting eyes.

He glanced up from buckling his belt loosely about his waist. “Will I do?”

She nodded. “Aye, you are every measure worthy to be the lord here.” She started to reach out and brush the curls that spilled carelessly over his forehead, but then pulled her hand back, not feeling she had the right.

Noel caught her wrist. “You are quiet, Skena.”

“Sometimes ’tis wiser to travel the road in silence,” she replied softly.

“You are angry?” He pressed. “The woman upset you? Why?”

“One of those times when being mute is the lesser of evils.”

He pulled her closer. “Holding back will not aid us in coming to know each other better. Why did she upset you?”

Skena sucked in a steadying breath and slowly released it. “Very well, she is not merely an insolent servant. Dorcas was my lord husband’s leman.”

De Servian’s brows lifted. “Ah, I can see where you have a right to be distressed by her presence.”

“If you mean your words—”

“I mean everything I have spoken to you, Skena. Everything. I want you for my lady wife. We are but strangers, but marriages have been made between men and women when they have never seen each other. We have a better start, and both recognized the strong liking, the rising feelings betwixt us. I mean for us to marry as soon as it can be arranged. I would prefer if we can dispense with the crying of the bans.”

“Then ken this. I married young and learnt there were little choices with an iron-willed, and often uncaring, husband. As such, I abided one husband bringing shame to our marriage by taking another woman as his whore. I do not want to face that again.”

Noel’s hands took her waist and pulled her toward him. His mouth caught hers, kissing her, not roughly but thoroughly, quickly taking her anger and turning it into a ravenous hunger. Her whole body ached with the need he stirred to life within her.

Breaking away, he pledged in a harsh whisper, “Never give me reason to doubt you, Skena, and I shan’t offer you any reason to question my devotion. Craigendan and you are my deepest wish come true. I will fight to protect that dream.”

Skena stepped back to distance herself from the potent magic Noel wove around her. He made it difficult for her to be logical. The closer she was to him, the more the effect took possession of her will.

“Shall you accept my word, Skena, that I honor you above all others?”

Her spine stiffened. “Angus gave his troth with me, spoke words before all, about forsaking all others and keeping only to me. His words were hollow.”

“I have come to the belief your dead husband was not an honorable man. When a man of Challon gives his vows, you can place your faith it will be kept.” Noel held out his arm for her to take. “Now, shall we go belowstairs and greet the people of Craigendan?”

Had she not just a short time ago pondered that she instinctively trusted this man, saw the nobility within him, recognized Noel de Servian was in all measures more than Angus had been? Mayhap she deluded herself because she wanted Noel to be the perfect warrior of her dreams. Only, as she stared at him, forcing herself to examine him with a jaundiced view of men in general, she still sensed deep integrity in him.

Trusting that inner voice, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the room.

“I take your silence as a yes.” He placed his other hand over hers and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. “Trust me, Skena, and we will rub along well.”

“You are a stranger, yet I feel as if we have kenned each other for longer. I trust you. I just do not like how I felt when I found Dorcas in the chamber with you. It was painful,” she admitted.

“If she is so insolent and such a constant thorn in your side, why have you not married her off to some distant clansman and been done with her?” Noel asked as they descended the stairs. “Then she would be out of your hair and not a constant reminder to you.”

“Complicated reasons. At first, there was the expectation Angus would return. Then, there was Muriel to consider. Dorcas is her daughter.” Skena paused before the Great Hall’s doors, looking at him with wary eyes before adding, “There is also the fact that she is my half sister.”

Since all within the keep had been ordered to show themselves before fast was broken, the people of Craigendan anticipated change rode on the cool morning air. Aware of the English presence, they surely suspected a new lord was the next order of business. What was left—how it would affect their everyday lives. Skena smirked when she heard one of her ladies chime, “Well, so long as it ain’t no bloody Campbell or Comyn, cannot be too bad.” Skena glanced at the solemn faces filling the Great Hall, searching each to judge their moods. Stark uncertainty was upon most countenances. The biggest portion of her clan members kept to the shadows of the far walls, observing as de Servian entered with Skena on his arm and Guillaume Challon just behind him.

She glanced to her side, seeing what her people did. Men of power. Handsome men. She noticed the wistful looks of the younger women in the keep. Even the elders like Muriel watched the Englishmen with guarded admiration.

Her stomach tightened. There was no mistaking it. Noel strode with the mantle of power resting upon his shoulders. This Englishman was assuming command of Craigendan, and none failed to see this. Life here would be forevermore changed.

Well, so be it. In some ways Craigendan had been in suspension these past months. First, the waiting for the men to return, for everything to pick up where it left off. Then news came of Dunbar; mourning and sorrow visited the women who had lost husbands or betrotheds. On the heels of the tides, the drought hit; the summer and autumn of struggle followed. And more waiting.

Noel strode to the trestle table and put his hand on the back of the lord’s chair. That simple act sent a ripple throughout the whole chamber. The words that he’d speak were naught but a formality. All understood Noel de Servian was the baron now.

His gaze circled the Great Hall, silently marking what she had warned him of—except for those belonging to the Challon cadre, the only males were old or lame; the rest were barely more than little boys. Turning to Guillaume, Noel arched a dubious brow. The other man merely gave a faint nod, in a way which bespoke a familiarity that they understood each other’s thoughts.

“I am sure rumors are rife with my coming, curiosity about the English stranger,” Noel began. “Speculation ends now. I am Sir Noel de Servian. Edward Plantagenet has granted me title and charter to Craigendan. I am your new lord. Already I pay homage to Julian Challon, your overlord. We were raised as brothers. I have heard Scots say that between foster brothers the bond is stronger than that of brothers of blood. I agree. Though not a brother by birth, I am a man of Challon by choice. Come nightfall and chores are done, the men amongst you will come bend knee and tend your oath to me. In time, you will find I am a firm master, but one with a soft hand. Serve me well, and I will do all in my power to see you prosper and are protected from any danger that threatens Craigendan. I will shield you with my very life.”

Skena’s vision roved to her people, trying to fathom their reactions to the news. Resentment was seen on a few faces, mostly those of the small number of males. Some of the women looked relieved. Skena suppressed a smile, knowing they were sighing at the prospects of not having to do the many chores which belonged to men. With a new lord, new men would follow. Come spring, she figured there would be several weddings. Life would gradually return to normal.

Also not escaping their notice—her hand on de Servian’s arm. She was nervous despite feeling confident they would accept de Servian as their chief, especially when it was clear he held her approval.

As her line of vision wandered past Guillaume, a little behind and to the left of Noel, Skena tensed when she caught sight of Dorcas in the half shadows of the Great Hall’s archway. Her heart jumped, another surge of resentment hitting her blood. She had specifically ordered Dorcas back to the wall; as usual, the woman clearly ignored her rule. Since the dimness hid her half sister’s face, it was nearly impossible to see the expression she wore.

“I am also pleased to inform you that the Lady Skena has consented to soon speak her troth, not only accepting me as lord here, but as her husband as well,” Noel said, lifting her hand from his arm to kiss it in front of all gathered.

Skena started to turn her attention back to Noel, but then a man entered the hallway and came to stand behind Dorcas. Torn, Skena needed to show how happy she was with Noel’s pronouncement, yet her eyes were pulled back to the shadowy figure, leaning toward her sister, as if he were whispering in her ear. Dizziness spun through her. Even so, she had no time to focus on the couple on the far side of the room, for Noel moved closer and kissed her cheek, blocking her view.

“Is that not so, Skena?” he asked.

Skena struggled to hide her confusion with a smile. She saw he wanted her response, that it was important to him; she gave it, having no idea to what she was agreeing. “Whatever my lord wishes, I want as well.”

Noel gifted her with a grin, pleased by her answer. He pulled out the lady’s chair for her, allowing her to sit at the position that would remain hers—lady of the keep. She slid into it, and then nodded to Muriel to set the servants fetching the food.

Everything had changed. Another man now sat in the lord’s chair, soon she was to wed, and this time by her choice. Oh, she had the good of her people in mind, but that had little to do with her joyful acceptance of Noel’s offer of marriage. In her heart she felt Noel would be good for Craigendan. Good for her. Though he had tried earlier to intimidate her in the chamber, he had not dictated to her how things would be, never been overbearing as Angus had throughout their marriage. The only time she had managed to bend his will was on the matter of keeping Andrew at Craigendan instead of sending him to the south, to Angus’s younger brother, Daragh, to begin training.

Thinking of Angus, she turned her eyes toward the far archway, to see if Dorcas remained, if the man was still with her sister. The doorway was empty. A shiver crawled up her spine, as she recalled how his silhouette had the same shape as Angus. Noel had assured her Angus was dead, and that assurance had not been given lightly. Still, her first impression was that the man had been Angus. There was something in the way he had leaned toward Dorcas that bespoke familiarity, a lovers’ closeness she had been forced to observe for the past five years.

Skena was distracted from her thoughts as Annis and Andrew entered, Jenna herding them to the table. Her son took one look at de Servian, sitting in the lord’s chair, broke away from her maidservant, and ran to Noel. Without asking, he clamored up onto Noel’s knee and hugged him.

“You are better,” Andrew exclaimed. “Jenna told us how you battled the wolves with
màthair.
Oh, I wish I could have seen you swinging your sword. See, Mama, I told you he was a valiant knight, just like I asked the Cailleach for.”

Annis stood, half-hiding against Jenna’s leg, her brown eyes watching her brother sitting upon Noel’s thigh, same as the boy had done numerous times with his father.
Just as she had never been permitted to do.
Her daughter had tried to crawl onto Angus’s lap several times when she was younger, only to be rebuffed. She stopped asking after a time. Skena wanted to go to her and hug her, kiss away the lingering hurt. The little girl could not understand why her father had never loved her.

Noel noticed Skena looking behind them. He turned to see what had captured her attention. “Come, Lady Annis, I fortunately have another leg.” He patted his thigh and then held out his hand to the child.

Annis backed up, startled by his offer. Jenna gently took hold of her shoulders to steady the skittish child. Poor Annis. Outside of Galen or some of the servants, no male had ever called her by name. Skena’s heart squeezed, watching Annis’s frightened expression. Oh, she was not scared of de Servian. Like her mother, Annis was too afraid to believe wishes could come true.

Noel plucked a hulled hazelnut from the bowl just placed before him. He gave one to Andrew and then took another and held it out to her little girl. Annis loved hazelnuts, but even the promise of the special treat was not bribe enough to lure her closer to the Englishman.

“What bothers the girl?” Noel asked, then popped the nut into his mouth. Reaching into the bowl, he took another and once again presented it for Annis.

Skena’s hands shook as she sliced the bread and then put a piece for Noel on his plate. “Do not call her that.”

The words came out harsh, too harsh for a man who had done naught to earn them. The sin was not his. Still, it was difficult to hear this man refer to her daughter in the same manner Angus had.

Noel watched her, puzzled by her strong reaction, unsure what he had done to summon the rebuke. Again, he ate the nut that Annis refused.

Pretending to be engrossed in cutting cheese and meat and placing the food on his plate, Skena ignored him. Or tried. She felt his stare bore into her, willing her to look up. Unable to resist, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Those damnable silver eyes held the power to pierce her soul, as if she could hide nothing from this man. Vexed, she picked up a piece of cheese to take a bite. When Noel continued to watch her, she instead tossed it down to the metal plate.

“You are a patient man, Noel de Servian,” she said, but from her tone it was apparent she did not currently rank the characteristic as entirely positive.

He inclined his head. “I have had much practice. I am not a young man, Skena, as you know. I burned out a lot of my impatient ways in my green years. One also learns to control your words and temper when you serve King Edward. He has more than enough of both to spare. They speak his Angevin rages rival those of his great grandsire.”

Skena fixed on the information. “A fearsome man, your king. His deeds this past spring and summer reached all ears in the far corners of the lands. What sort of man wages war to bend people to his will? Destroys towns, slaughters men, women—even children—by the hundred score.”

Noel exhaled, then took another nut and held it out to Annis. And waited for the child to snatch it. At length, he answered. “Edward Plantagenet is a complex man. I oft found myself liking the man, but misliking the king.”

Skena picked up a slice of bread, but found she had no appetite, so passed it to Andrew. “You were at Berwick?” she asked.

Noel avoided meeting her probing stare. His long, graceful fingers wiggled the nut back and forth to lure Annis. The silence lengthened until Skena presumed he was not going to answer her. Then, he dropped his hand, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Grim emotions etched the corners of his sensual mouth.

“Aye, I was at Berwick. To my everlasting disgust and shame.” He slowly raised his head and looked at her. “One of the times I
misliked
the king.”

She swallowed hard. “Then it was as bad as the tales spoke?”

Noel’s expression was hard, level. “Worse. You cannot imagine how horrible. I would have you never to know such ugliness.”

Her eyes raked over the handsome man, taking in the ashen shade of his skin. What he had witnessed left deep scars on Noel de Servian’s soul. She lived in this sheltered pocket of the Highlands, protected by her uncle, the powerful Earl Kinmarch. War had never come to the gates of Craigendan. Oh, the keep was smaller than the mighty fiefs of Kinmarch, Glenrogha, Lochshane and Kinloch, but all the lesser holdings of Glen Shane’s
honours
had been safe as well. Still, Skena understood men sadly were oft ugly to other men; greed, desires, hatreds could push them to do terrible things. Only, she had never witnessed such barbarity firsthand.

“’Tis why you awaken covered in sweat?” Skena asked, but the question did not need his reply. “I first thought your body still fought the cold or the poison from your wound. Each night you awoke, your heart pounding, so hard it vibrated your whole body, speaking odd words. It made no sense to me then. I understand now.”

“The things I saw at Berwick are some of the foulest images the mind could be forced to endure. It sorrows me people are capable of such atrocities.” He paused, despair tempered with resolution flickering in his pale eyes. “I will fight to protect what is mine, but I hope to God I shall never go to war again. I am too old to face the ugliness.”

Skena reached out and touched his arm, hearing the sadness, the weariness in his words. The long years of emptiness. “You keep calling yourself old.”

“I am.” Hunger was clear in his countenance, in the timber of his voice.

“Not in my eyes.” Skena felt that shortness of air he always brought to her, and forced herself to draw a calming breath.

Two souls, each needing the other so much.

Their focus on each other was broken as Annis shyly took Noel’s hand and uncurled his fingers from around the nut. Her huge eyes, for once not dimmed by the fear of rejection, sparkled with anticipation. Popping the treat into her mouth, she chewed it slowly. Her pale cheeks crimsoned with a blush, but then she timidly slid upon his knee. De Servian’s arm curled around Annis and pulled her back to a firmer seat upon his thigh. Her daughter looked up at the tall man, adoration in her gaze.

“Would you like another, Annis?” Noel asked.

Emotions overwhelming her, Skena put a shaky hand to her mouth in a hope to stop the tears from flooding her eyes. If she had not already been in love with Noel de Servian, she would have lost her heart completely over the way he cradled her daughter, that he had granted her child the one thing long denied Annis—her name.

Mayhap wishes at Yuletide did come true when they were brought by a man named Noel.