Chapter Six
On the fourth day of Yuletide my love gave to me,
knowledge, wisdom and secrets shared truly...
“I wouldst speak with my bride.” Grantham informed the wolfhound of a maid glaring at him.
Ena stood, the door barely cracked and one hand on the frame, blocking his path as though she was barring entry to the Devil himself. Grantham suppressed a smile. Mayhap she was.
This night, he was possessed of a strange mood. Life had been turned up on end for him. Just a sennight ago, he had been a fourth-born son with no hopes to better his station in life. Now, he was lord of Hellborne, and was soon to be a husband. Both daunting prospects saw him shaken. Emotions and yearnings that had been long held in shadow now were rising, and he was finding a liking to this newly promised life.
“My lady be otherwise occupied, Lord Hellborne. Shall I send you word when ’tis fittin’ for her to receive you?” she spoke as if an end to the matter.
Grantham wondered how Greyson would handle this rebellious maidservant. Silly question. His brother would have her quaking in a corner for daring to refuse him entry within his own fortress. Whilst he was finding being lord of Hellborne pleasing, he would not push matters that far.
Still, he did want to see Elspeth. He had witnessed the disappointment in her eyes when she entered the gloomy fortress. He wanted to give her something to bring her glad spirits, to present her the promise of a hope that things could change.
“By damn, woman! You think to bar the way in my own holding? You and what twenty men?” Grantham tried to sound thunderous, but it was almost spoiled by his joyous sense of him being lord here. “I give oath that I am not going to ravish her. I come with a Bride’s Gift.”
At the mention of a gift, her hazel eyes flickered, uncertain. Even so, she still held on to the edge of the door. Grantham gently pushed against it, causing her to back up. Strange, she was terrified of him, but yet not fully cowered. Likely, her confusion stemmed from Greyson’s fearsome reputation being mollified by his own natural charm. She had heard of Gallowglass, and that caused her to be scared. Only, deep down she did not hold a real fear that he would do her or her lady harm.
He took a step into the room, and she suddenly backed up two. He took another. She took three. And it continued that way until she reached the bed. From the plane, she snatched up a plaide cover, and still walking backward, spun the fabric to fly across half of the tub, to cover Elspeth from foot to chin. Her defiant glower dared him to command her to remove it.
Grantham was having a hard time not breaking out in laughter. Ena was determined to defend her lady to the last measure. He admired her intelligence and devotion. With that red hair and shifting green-brown eyes, he had a feeling she would lead John on a merry chase.
“You may go,” he said in dismissal.
Grantham gave a sideways glance to see how Elspeth was taking this small battle of wills. She had grabbed the blue and grey tartan and pulled it to her chest. Nonetheless, she did not seem perturbed he was demanding entrance to her bed chambers. Why he told Greyson he had little taste for a woman that was barely more than a child. This was a woman, clearly a virgin, and yet not terrified of the fate life had in store for her. She seemed modest, but not overly so.
Grantham took a step toward Elspeth. Ena nearly threw her body between the tub and him. “John!” he called out.
The knight stepped into the room, wearing a predator’s grin. “You called, Lord Hellborne?”
“Remove this woman,” he ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
Ena’s head whipped back and forth—from him, to Elspeth, to John and then back to Grantham. “What is he doing here?”
Grantham smiled. “He is removing a bothersome obstacle. I promise no harm shall befall your lady—my betrothed. I merely wish to speak to her and present her with a small gift.”
“’Tis no’ proper, I say.” Ena refused to yield her high moral ground.
“I know little of these proper matters. Now, step aside.” Grantham tilted his head toward the woman, and John moved forward.
Ena refused to step away, at least until John drew within reach. Then suddenly, she gave a small mouse sound, and scurried behind the chair before fireside. John stepped to one side, Ena to the other. Moving quicker, the knight switched directions, almost catching her. Ena used the chair, a shield to block him. John’s brows lowered as he leaned forward taking hold of its arms. With another squeak, she grabbed the high back, keeping it betwixt them. John gave a small jerk to the side in a feint, but Ena traveled with the chair, spinning it around.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but Grantham pressed it back down. “Enough!” his bark filled the chamber.
Elspeth spoke up. “Lord Hellborne is lord here—and within his rights. Ena, thank you, but your concerns are for naught. He is an honorable man.” When the maid bit the corner of her mouth in question, she added, “Truly. ’Tis fine. I have looked into his soul and see the nobility there.”
Ena blinked, surprised by the statement—or disbelieving it. But it was enough for John to catch her distracted attention off-guard. He snatched the chair from her grasp, and then scooped up the maid and neatly tossed her over his shoulder before Ena could protest.
“Oh, you reivin’ miscreant!” She half-heartedly beat on the back of his shoulder.
John winked at Grantham. “Miscreant? A big word for such a lowly maidservant.”
“I have words and more for you,” Ena threatened.
“That is what you get with a redhead—freckles and a temper.” The knight gave a nod and strode through the door, pausing to close it behind him.
Ena was heard on the other side, “I do no’ have freckles!”
Grantham turned his attention back to Elspeth. Her dark hair had been tied to one side; the long tresses hung over her shoulder, and fell across one breast. The ends trailed into the water. “What you spake—that you looked into my soul—be that the truth? I have heard of the Witches of Clan Ogilvie. Tales spread far and wide that they possess this gift. Tides say Julian Challon wed one. Did your lady mother have Ogilvie blood?”
“Nay, I do not have the gift of The Kenning. I told Ena that to calm her fears. This is a big change for us, coming so far away to a new home.” She tilted her head, her eyes roving over his face in a judging fashion. “Howbeit, in some strange fae way, I do sense a deep streak of honor within you. Men seem to fear you. Women—” Her bare shoulder shrugged.
Grantham was curious about her thoughts on the man she was marrying. “Women what?”
She did not drop the material gathered to her chest, but her grip relaxed. “I am not going to feed your arrogance, my lord.”
“Ah, but I beg you to do so. We are to wed in two days. We shall, methinks, proceed on a good footing if we do so in honesty, eh?” As soon as the words were out, Grantham almost cringed, knowing he was going to wed her in a Devil’s Bargain. Well, the honour was named Hellborne; he supposed that a marriage forged in Hell might have a few bumps to its start.
Oddly, she wore an expression that mirrored his. The look of guilt slowly became one of doubt. “You are regretting the betrothal?” she asked in a small voice.
“I might ask the same of you.”
She nodded, her brown eyes shadowed with sadness. “You might. I shall answer you. But since I asked, I think it only right you speak your mind first.”
“When tides reached me that Edward commanded the lord of Hellborne to wed Elspeth de Sancerre by Yule, I admit I had hesitation at the idea. I had no plans of marrying, and to be ordered leg-shackled to a complete stranger was not a notion that brought immediate joy to my mind. Still, the king commands the deed done, so I have little choice. Same as you. Whilst we have just met, I feel we will suit. We can make a good life if we set our wills to it. So, oddly, I am finding the reservation now fades, and I see the possibilities ahead of us.”
His words seemed to ease her fears, for the tenseness around her mouth disappeared. “I do not regret this marriage forged in Hell. And I, also, see visions of a future of harmony. I have long dreamt of having a husband.”
“Truly? I was told you turned down several offers.”
“A woman marries once—for most, anyway. I could not see spending a lifetime with some boy-faced courtier. They can be amusing, but I sought something more for a lord husband. I wanted a man, one I could draw comfort from, knowing he wouldst stand beside me, before me, one I could respect. One, hopefully, who found respect for me. I will be a good wife, and try to obey a husband that offers well-come to me as his wife.” Her words held a challenge.
He huffed a small laugh. “Try?” He gave her credit. This lady was not shy. She met his stare, bold and unblinking. She was offering her bond to a stranger, taking the chance they could build something good together. He had to admire her. Yes, this woman was no cowering female. “I can accept that.”
Her lip quivered. Not from fear of him, but fearing to hope their bond could be a pack of value. “I promise to do my best to make you not regret being given a bride without choice.”
“Tales from the Highlands speak of the Black Dragon—Julian Challon. Do you know him?” Grantham asked. There was so much he did not know about this woman. Well, they had the long winter to learn.
She shook her head no. “All have heard of the king’s champion.”
“No longer. Edward sent him north to claim the lands of Clan Ogilvie, along with the Earldom of Kinmarch. He wed the youngest daughter of Hadrian MacShane on command. I saw them at court in Berwick this past summer. Though Challon tried to hide it from the king, I believe he is very much in love with the Lady Tamlyn.”
“Why wouldst he strive to hide that he cares for his wife?” she asked, confused.
“Being at court can be dangerous. Intrigues can catch you off-guard, and any perceived weakness can be turned into a weapon to be used against you. In an odd way, Challon protects her by pretending to be indifferent before the king.”
“Rather sad to deny love. I think life would be better without intrigues, and for people to be more caring.”
“Likely so, but I think man is not oft given to kindness.” He glanced about the rooms. They were Greyson’s quarters. He had never stayed in them, but maintained a room on the floor below. He looked out the double windows, seeing the snow fly through the night air. “The rooms please you? I know they are sparsely furnished, but we can change that.”
“The windows are lovely. We had nothing like that at Sancerre.” She gave him a soft smile. “Please, you have no need to apologize about the state of Hellborne Keep. I am not used to fancy things.”
“This is not fancy, but I think you might like it. This necklace belonged to my mother. When she died, I wanted it buried with her. My father refused. He said he had given it to her in love, and she would want it to go to me, so that one day, I could pass it on to the woman I chose to marry. I never found a woman I wanted to give it to.”
She lowered her gaze, a poignant expression molding her lovely countenance. “You still do not have a bride of your choosing. You are commanded to marry by a powerful king, no one will oppose.”
“’Tis truth King Edward decreed the lord of Hellborne wed.” This time he was more careful in the words he used. “Only, we can choose to forge a life together. The days to come will be what we make them. That much is our choice.”
He held out his hand and allowed the gold chain to unfurl from his fingers, the large garnet dangling at the end. “There is a flaw in the stone. Almost at the center is a dark spot.” He held it up so the firelight illuminated the thumb-size jewel, the blood red of the gem the same color as the pennon of Hellborne. “Though an imperfection, my father picked it for her because the blackness is almost a heart. Why I think he truly loved her. He said that she carried his heart in the stone and it was in her safe keeping. See?”
“How wonderful he spake such words to her.” She tried to focus on the stone twinkling from the warmth of the flames. “I fear I cannot see it well.”
“Yes, I was told you do not see clearly up close to things.” Grantham was puzzled by the odd expression that flooded her face.
“Nay, ’tis where I hit my head. Things are slightly blurred. When I see something, I see a ghost image.”
Stepping behind her, he undid the hook on the chain, and then placed it about her neck. She lifted her chestnut hair away from her shoulder so it did not get tangled in the thick strands. By firelight, the heavy mass picked up the glimmers of dark red, making him think of making love to her. His mind conjured her astride him, her pale body illuminated by the moonlight coming through the tracery windows.
He drew in a steadying breath, as she reached up, her hand cupping the garnet, where it rested just at the dip between her breasts. She was hidden in the water, and the tartan thrown by Ena across the tub lent deep shadows. Still, he had held her in his arms and recognized she had a woman’s figure. He smiled, recalling she had no wish for a boy-faced courtier, a thought similar to his repugnance at marrying a child of twelve summers. At each turn, they were finding points of commonality.
He exhaled in a ragged breath. ’Twas most strange. He never envisioned desiring his bride to be. And he did. Very much. There was a surge of power, the male in him responding to a woman. But not just any woman. It was Elspeth. Put her in a room of perfumed ladies at court and he would spot her, like an arrow seeking a target. There was something good, something genuine, in Elspeth de Sancerre that told him Fate had smiled upon him.
Knowing it was time to rein in the rising heat in his blood, he stepped back. The necklace looked perfect on her. “I shall send Ena in to help you dry. Then, you can join me for supper. I shall have it brought up here. I wouldst think your head might prefer a quieter spot.”
“My lord, thank you for the gift of the necklace. It comes with a beautiful history. I hope to be worthy of wearing it.”
Grantham stared at the exquisite woman. This female little fit Greyson’s description of an overly willful termagant. Even her name seemed off. He had a hard time calling her Elspeth. The name just was not suited for one so comely. “You are most awelcome.”