Ronan's Bride (5 page)

Sefare bathed before the evening meal, and then rubbed her body with scented oil before donning a gown of sapphire sandal, with white chemise beneath. The edge of the chemise showed at the v of the gown, the part lacing between her round and shallow breasts. The waist was low. She fit on a chain belt of sapphires and pearls. Next, attending her shorn hair by a combing it, and afterwards donning a sparkling net cap of white.

She slipped her feet into dyed leather shoes, glancing at the clothing she had pulled from her trunk; her blouses, tunics, breeches, hose, and boots of various hues and fabrics. She chose the simple leathers and linen for the exercise, and had cloaks to go with them. In a wrapped leather roll, she had laid out eight of the swords she wished to show Isola, instinctively guessing the woman would pick the pearl encrusted one for her own.

The long sword was decorated at hilt and blade with silver. It had a great history to go with it, once belonging to a Sultan who used it to buy a woman he loved, from his brother, who purchased her as slave. Sefare smiled wistfully, recalling how romantic that had seemed, until her brother once said dryly that the sultan grew tired of her—and traded her for a horse, five years later.

Signing, missing her brother, and worried for him, uncertain about this life with Ronan, she gave it one more glance and then turned to leave—stepping into the hall as a fresh dressed and bathed Ronan, came from the other side.

He wore all black, studded leather doublet over a gray blouse, black leather trousers and boots. His head was uncovered, hair sleek back and braided. Save for the mask, a black studded one; he was the image of Lord of the castle.

Lord, but he was tall, compared to herself, she thought.

From her shorter height as she neared him, for he paused looking at her and she assumed awaited her to descend together, he seemed larger, stronger and more vivid in the supple black leather. The dove hue of his blouse turned his eyes lighter.

He offered his arm, a gesture that surprised her, but upon laying her hand there, Sefare noted both the fingerless gloves of black and felt the thickness of his sleeves. He had some garment under the tunic, close to his body. His legs were longer, strides bigger, but he altered them half way because she nearly had to jump to keep up.

Sefare smelled his scents; leather, male skin, and a hint of crushed herbs, which she knew was in his soaps and added to his bathing water. It wafted from his chamber, too. There was heat coming from him, a kind of energy that she recognized emitted from strength.

When they entered the great hall, those already at lower tables, and even servants observed their entry. Many curtsied as they went to the dais. There was no fire because of the warm day. Thick candles burned around the hall and overhead, as well as oil lamps. The Celt and four other men were at the table, all garbed rather fine, already having their wine and beer served.

Platters were soon lined down the table. Covers lifted then, to expose a feast of savory dishes. One of the servants, a male, filled first Ronan’s plate, then her own, and wine was poured for them.

Seated on his right, Sefare listened to the voices of the knights and servants, the clank of plate and cups. She lifted the wine to her lips, meeting the Celt’s deep green gaze as she drank generously of it.

A curved grin lit that face before he said, “The sheering of yer locks shaves as many years from your age, My Lady. Ye look half the child.”

She set the cup down. “God forbid, Sir. I feel enough of that, given my short stature in a room full of tall and brawny knights.”

He laughed and raised his cup to her before drinking.

Sefare glanced at Ronan, who was swallowing bread and venison, just lifting his own glass to drink. His eyes touched her hair as he did so, then slid down to her own as he finished and put the cup down.

Their hue and intensity so disturbed her, that she went back to attending the meal and focused on consuming the delicious stew herself. On and off she knew he watched her. It made her skin heat and prickle with awareness.

It made her self-conscious.

The meal progressed and somewhere in the eating of fruits, another knight, one of her own, the white haired and short bearded, Sir Osburn, who was at the Lord’s table, got up to light a long pipe from the candle flames. It seemed to break the tension at the table.

Eventually one of the guards, and a man who introduced himself as Albin engaged the Celt. Tall, shaved head, with a long white beard, he had almost clear blue eyes, a giant’s build, and was apparently assigned some task that the Celt gave him. One of the younger lads at the lower tables was induced to play a lute, and sat upon the lower table entertaining others.

Sitting back, her plate cleared, as was Ronan’s, Sefare had been idly gazing around when Ronan murmured, “Tell me of your brother’s arrival in Italy.”

She glanced at him. “You know of Mshai?”

His eyes met hers. “Your men spoke freely to me. As your husband, and under the circumstances, all had to be discussed.”

For a moment, her heart pounded hard enough to choke her. She felt the heat of humiliation, suspecting that all the males were aware of the full extent of her husband’s dominance over her.

However, since Ronan’s expression was bland behind the mask, she swallowed it and offered, “You know of his birth then, and the past, how we are half siblings? I was not able to get word to my parents, as the Count’s trusted servants intercepted all missives. Nevertheless, t’was not difficult to find me, though Mshai later told me, he was denied entry many times. My husband did not approve of my brother, and oft raged that should his noble friends realize his wife was…tainted… by such kin, it would be scandal.”

She dropped her gaze to the ties on his doublet. “To make it a short tale. Mshai did manage to see me, and I informed him of my years with the Count. Much, he could gather himself, having spied and asked questions of the knights and servants. But he wished to confront Baiardo. He would have killed him—had I not begged him otherwise.”

She took a long breath and released it. “All manner of my husband’s punishments could not keep me from seeing my brother. We had clandestine meetings. Spied upon and caught many times, my freedoms were restricted. Mshai was planning to spirit me away, but I was locked in and guarded.”

“Then he vanished?”

“Nay. Not then.” She raised her gaze back to his. “It was odd, but one day Baiardo simply invited him to the castle. Mshai played along, being civil in hopes he would relax his guard on me, enough to get me away. However, in conversation, which I have only thought on in hindsight, Mshai mentioned that his liege—who employed his sword—would soon leave to join a certain battle.

The Count fought in that same battle and I have witnesses through those knights that came with me, that Mshai was also there. They believe because it was not on the field, but in camp, that my brother seemed to have vanished—that the Count planned some scheme to kill him.”

“You think him dead?”

She shook her head, holding his gaze. “Nay. I do not feel he is. Nevertheless, knowing the Count, his power and his mind, I fear something worse than death. Else nothing on earth would keep my brother from me.”

Ronan appeared in thought as he looked away for some moments, finally turning back with, “What is your worse fear?”

“My husband oft said that men born as my brother, of that blood, were good for naught but slaves. My brother has the coloring of his mother…The Count had many slaves in his charge. The family oft engaged in the flesh trades. I know 'tis common enough, and as much as I know my brother able, skilled, better at fighting than some, because he was a spy in my father’s army by the time I was born and he only twelve at that time—he was born with stealth…I know, that for coin and reward, there are those who would do anything. The Count would pay any price, where he must have his way. He had little conscious and no care of those not noble or landed, let alone foreign in birth. My brother was as well educated as any man, harder trained, and expert at much, because he had to prove himself, even though my father did claim him. It was a matter of pride with him.”

“I can do little—if that be his fate, madam.”

“I know.” She took up her wine and finished it. Her gaze skimmed across the great hall now. “But if he lives… how may I even embrace freedom or peace, if I should be so blessed? He is my brother. You should know how that bond is. At times… you can feel and sense, communicate with them, without words.”

“Aye.”

Sefare sat back, her hands in her lap while her gaze scanned over his mask. She put such boldness down to the wine. “Will you look for him? Try to track him, from the moment he vanished? ‘Tis dangerous to question any of the men loyal to—”

“I have dispersed men there already. T’was done after your knights spoke to me.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I can promise nothing.”

“No. But 'tis enough.” She rose and excused herself, suddenly feeling the impossibility of finding Mshai—and too depressingly reminded of her life with the Count.

As she passed by Ronan, who had stood, he murmured, “Your steed will be ready after the morning meal.”

Sefare nodded and kept going, up the stairs, and to the solar, where she sat on the window seat, looking out at the night sky. Would life ever be normal—ever be filled with love she’d had as a child—the hope that made living even in hard times, a bit easier?

Laying her head on her arms, she wished she could go back to that elaborate wedding, and flee before t'was done. As any young girl, she had been caught up in the excitement, the formal trappings and impressive guests—the romance. Too late she realized that the older man, handsome and lauded in battle, noble in birth, was quite different in private, brutally different.

Deep inside there was a greater innocence and eagerness she wished she could recapture. Along with boldness and bravery, a confidence she had had—there had also been the normal female desires. It took shutting down to endure her marriage, and she did not know how to reopen those doors, even if she wished to.

Chapter Four

Ronan was already mounted on his charger. A boy held the reins to Sefare’s white steed as they awaited her exit. He had not slept in the solar chambers, but in the tower. He had that tense feeling that the nightmares were going to plague him. And, they had. He relived moments in the tower, moments watching his family die, and he swam through blood to emerge from the horrors. Ronan recognized it was something that happened before a Tourney or battle; usually they visited him for several nights.

He shook free of those thoughts when Sefare emerged from the castle. Morning mist still clung at the early hour, and at first, he saw only her mantle and boots, a deep blue cloak. When the lad gave her a leg into the saddle and she went astride, he noted as she pushed back the mantle, that she wore leather breeches, a linen blouse, and tunic of buff leather.

“Ready?”

She glanced at him, having gathered the reins in her gloved hands. Her gaze went from his mask, to his leathers; plain riding clothing and a dun cloak. “Aye.”

He kneed the mount. They galloped toward the gatehouse, down to the bridge, and over the moat. The thick forest just budding and the crisp morning air brought with it the loom and nutty bouquets before they entered the woodland, and took the well-carved path.

The gallop was slowed ultimately. He noted her expert seat, the comfort she had with the beast, and he her. She was as natural in the saddle as he was, Ronan thought. They rode almost to the edge of the woodland before the spray of sun filtered down through the trees ahead. Dull thuds from the mounts hooves joined the call of birds and chirping of creatures. He was aware of it, alert, as any who knew danger could be anywhere. Ronan was scanning past oaks when she spoke and drew his attention.

“Did you win that stallion?" She had asked

“Aye.” He glanced at her, naming some famed French noble who had to forfeit it. “And you, did you bring that beast with you when you wed?”

“Nay. He is not that aged. My husband rejected a colt because the animal would not be tamed. The Count nearly killed him, trying to beat him to submission. He had jumped the enclosure and fled. I was watching from the castle and later slipped out. It took many weeks to gain his trust.”

She pat the horse’s muscled neck. “He lived in the woods and I ventured to the edge and left him apples, and would just sit and talk to him.” She smiled slightly. “There was a Groom I trusted, who slipped him in the stall, and until we were leaving for their family seat, the Count did not realize I had him. I rode him with no trouble.”

“And how did he take that?”

She looked away, her smile gone. “He punished me. However, I was wise enough to hide the steed from then on. Sir Markus, one of my knights, saw to him—until the night we fled.”

They stopped and Ronan dismounted, awaiting her whist they led the mounts to a small pool to drink. He felt her brush against his shoulder whilst she stood beside him. They both looked at each other and held gazes while the horses drank their fill. It was he who broke it and turned, leading the horse back on the path for a bit, and she walked beside, doing the same.

“What is it like, to be champion of something? To be the master… and rule the Tourney field?”