The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (35 page)

Black
stallions. She frowns as she fights to gather her thoughts. These stallions seem
to breathe fire, as if they are the spawn of hell their kin have long been
reputed to be. Two rear as they are reined in and the others shake their
bridles in frustration.

It
is as if they believe they can run across the surface of the waves, no less that
they can catch the ship already fleeing on wind and tide.

They
are Ravensmuir destriers. Madeline knows they can be from no other stable. The
fearsome black of the Lammergeier family’s horses is widely reputed, vigorously
sought and never replicated - Madeline has been taught this truth from the
cradle.

But
they are not near Ravensmuir. She eyes the castle on its high stone perch and
knows it is not familiar. No, these steeds do not belong here.

Nor
does the person riding the foremost of them. She dismounts, her fiery hair
snaring the light of a dozen harbor lanterns. Madeline’s breath stops. The
woman appears to curse with a familiar gusto, then shakes a fist at the
departing ship. The wind snatches away her words, but Madeline knows who she
is.

And
she understands belatedly what foe chases them.

She
twists to find Rhys smiling in what must be triumph. “We flee my family,” she
manages to say, unable to accept fully what is before her own eyes.

His
smile broadens to light his eyes, and his voice drops low. “Perhaps not,
anwylaf
.”

Madeline
studies her husband, unable again to make sense of his words. She is not
surprised that he declines to say more.

When
she turns back to the wharf, it is empty, the stallions and Rosamunde vanished
so surely that they might never have been there at all.

* * *

“Oh no!” Vivienne cried, even as her aunt uttered a curse far worse. The
stallions stamped in frustration, for they were rested enough to run. A couple
could be discerned upon the deck of the departing ship, the woman leaning
heavily upon the man. He was garbed so darkly as to be swallowed by the
shadows, his cloak flicking behind the pair.

“Rhys
and Madeline,” Alexander whispered.

“I
believe so,” Rosamunde said.

Elizabeth
knew for certain. She saw the two ribbons, one silver and one gold, trailing
behind the departing ship, stretching as they did from that shadowed couple.

But
something was amiss. Before her very eyes, the ribbons seemed to fray from the
tips, as if the wind shredded them beyond repair. They appeared to be newly
thin and insubstantial, wrought of mist or broken dreams.

Darg
gave a cry of dismay and leapt into the air. The spriggan snatched at the end
of the golden ribbon and Elizabeth feared that the fairy would lose its grip.

Or
that the ribbon would dissolve and leave the spriggan to fall into the sea.

“Hasten
yourself, Darg!” Elizabeth cried, not caring who heard her words. “Run, run,
run! You are Madeline’s sole chance now!”

The
spriggan ran, mounting the swirls of ribbon as if it ran up a staircase that
never ceased to move. Elizabeth held her breath, fearing that the ribbons were
turn to naught and the fairy would fall into the sea.

But
Darg was fleet of foot, swift enough to remain upon the ribbon. The ship sailed
onward, vessel and ribbons and fairy swallowed by the darkness of the night,
and Elizabeth thought she heard a distant cry of fairy glee.

“We
ride to Caerwyn,” Rosamunde said firmly, turning her steed as she spoke. “We
ride immediately and with all haste.”

“You
will return the strings of my lute then,” James said sullenly.

“I
will return them when I see fit and not a moment before,” Rosamunde retorted,
then gathered her reins in her fist. “Ride on!”

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Madeline
was pale and Rhys was uneasy.

He
watched her sleep as the ship took to the open sea, and was unable to keep from
touching her. He tucked the fur lining of his cloak more thoroughly about her.
He felt the cool of her brow, to assure himself again that the malady was past
its worst. He felt for the rhythm of her pulse, though he knew so little of
healing that whatsoever he felt meant nothing to him.

He
hoped so fervently that she would be well that he did not trust his impressions
either way. He watched, taut with concern, and feared for her health.

Though
Madeline’s complexion had always been fair, it was lighter now, as pale of hue
as a cloud in a summer sky. There were dark marks beneath her eyes, as if the
quantity of her sleep was no indication of its quality. Her flesh had cooled,
though now he feared her to be too cold.

Gelert
nestled against her, its shaggy head in her lap, and looked askance at Rhys. It
was as if the dog knew him to have served his lady false.

He
could scarce argue the matter. Madeline’s ailment was Rhys’ fault. He did not
cringe from the truth of that. He should have known better than to buy a posset
from a healer whose arts he did not know, especially for the sake of
convenience alone. He had thought it would be simpler if Madeline slept through
the sale of the horse and arrangement of their departure. He had wanted her
endless questions to cease, and he had wanted to be certain that she would stay
where he had bidden her.

Madeline
showed no signs of moving now, and asked no questions, but Rhys was far from
content with what he had wrought.

He
had thought no further than his own convenience. It was no excuse that he had
only known healers of competence, that he had never seen a potion make a person
more ill than he or she had been in the first place.

There
was no excuse that could compense for his error.

The
ship rocked and creaked. He could faintly hear the sailor’s shouting to each
other on the deck above. The rhythm was not unpleasant and their small chamber
was not as bad as it could have been. He could see no vermin, or any evidence
of their presence, and the chamber smelled pleasantly of apples. Rhys knew well
enough that a ship’s hold could smell far worse than this, but his old friend
was particular about what wares he would haul.

The
ship heaved on a swell large enough to indicate that they had gained the open
seas. Madeline slumped sideways due to the motion, and the cloak slipped from
her neck. Rhys crept to her side and tucked it around her once again. He
caressed the softness of her cheek with a fingertip, noting the roughness of
his skin in contrast to hers.

He
felt the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest as if becoming aware
of it for the first time. He realized that he would do anything to see Madeline
hale again. He would sell his soul without a care, simply to see her eyes flash
once more, simply to watch her cast an apple at him with deadly accuracy.

He
loved her.

Rhys
hand froze at the unassailable truth of that. Against his own inclinations, he
had fallen in love with the woman he had taken to wife. He loved her keen wit,
he loved that she was unafraid to take him to task when she believed him to be
wrong. He loved her good sense and practicality; he loved that she had adapted
to the changes in her life without complaint or tears, he loved that she was
strong and noble and loyal.

He
sat back on his heels and watched her, knowing he would never tire of the sight
of her, the feel of her against him, the echo of her breath in his ear. It was
not her beauty, though that was considerable, it was her spirit that had snared
his heart.

Rhys
recalled what Madeline had told him about her own heart, and did not doubt that
she had told him the truth. She was the manner of woman who would love once and
for all time. Madeline was not fickle or reckless with her affections.

It
would be James, not Rhys, who Madeline loved until her dying day.

He
told himself not to be disappointed, for he should have known not to expect
better for himself. Love was not to be trusted or to be publicly confessed.
Love was a treasure to savor privately. Should the Fates be so kind as to not
steal her away from him now - losing Madeline just as he realized his love for
her would be consistent with Rhys’ fortunes thus far - he would be the best
husband that he could be. He would grant Madeline a good life, he would cherish
her. He would find his pleasure in making her as happy as he could.

None
of that changed the fact that Rhys knew that the lady was unfairly his own. He
heaved a sigh and frowned. He did not know for certain the name of the lutenist
who journeyed with Rosamunde, but he could surely guess.

And
what was the merit of his love for Madeline, if he kept from her the sole news
that would make her happy?

Rhys
sat in the chamber with his sleeping wife and did not like his recollections of
how he had treated her. She had asked him for honesty and he had deceived her.
She had asked him for his own tales and he had denied her. She had sworn that
her heart belonged to one man alone, and he had stolen her away from that one
man in order to keep her for himself.

In
that lonely chamber, Rhys made a wager with himself. He did not doubt that
Rosamunde would find her way to Caerwyn, nor that James would be fast by her
side. Though Rhys feared that he might lose his Madeline upon that day, in
spirit if not in truth, he had the duration of this journey to make a
difference.

He
would begin by granting his wife the one thing she had asked persistently of
him. He would answer her questions. He would surrender the honesty she desired.
Rhys did not imagine that Madeline would like the truth, but he owed her no
less.

And
if James did come, and Madeline did desire to be with her love, Rhys would not
impede her departure. He would yearn for her for all his days and nights, but he
would rather lose her and know her to be happy than witness her unhappiness at
his very side.

He
lifted her hand in his and caressed it. No man of honor avoided what needed to
be done, simply because it might not proceed in his favor.

Rhys
would tell Madeline the truth.

* * *

Madeline
awakened slowly. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and her head seemed light.
She was hungry beyond belief and her limbs were cramped. Worse, she might have
been abed in a cradle, for all around her rocked.

What
had happened?

Madeline
stretched and opened her eyes, her movement making the hound Gelert abandon her
side. The dog stretched, shook and yawned with a vigor that made her smile,
then sat and watched her expectantly. Madeline braced her hands on the floor
and discovered that she did not rock - the chamber did.

The
walls were wrought of wood. Madeline smelled apples, which made her belly
rumble even more louder. She was wrapped in Rhys’ dark cloak, its fur lining
close against her skin, and her stockings were twisted awkwardly around her
legs.

Rhys
was slumbering against the portal. The sight of him made Madeline’s heart
clench. He looked rumpled, and the fact that he had not shaved in several days
made him appear more disreputable than she knew he was. There were shadows
beneath his eyes and a furrow in his brow, as if all the world’s weight sat
upon his shoulders.

Madeline
stood, clutching the wall to gain her balance, and straightened her garb. She
folded Rhys’ cloak rather than stand upon it and discovered that her pillow had
been Rhys’ saddlebag. There was a comb within it, much to her delight. She
combed and rebraided her hair, certain that a morsel in her belly would make
feel fit indeed.

But
where was she? She tried to ease past Rhys to open the portal and he awakened
with a start. His gaze flew over her, as if he could not believe the evidence
before his own eyes, then he scrambled to his feet with uncharacteristic haste.
“Are you hale?”

“Well
enough.” Madeline smiled for he seemed unusually uncertain of himself. She was
surprised that he did not touch her, but his fingers tapped as if he did not
trust them to reach for her. “Hungry beyond belief, and unsteady on my feet
because of it, but well enough beyond that.”

He
smiled then, his eyes fairly glowing. “Good. That is good news indeed.”

The
chamber heaved and Madeline gasped as she lost her balance. Rhys caught her
close and braced his feet against the floor. The heat of him was welcome and
she leaned against his solid strength. Still she felt a reluctance in him, a
reluctance she did not share.

She
kissed his throat and he shivered.

“I
am glad indeed that you are recovered,” he said into her hair. “I erred
mightily in buying that posset and I apologize for my folly.”

Madeline
pulled back slightly to regard him as she assembled her scattered
recollections. “You mean the posset that the innkeeper brought after our
dinner, the posset that made me sleep.”