Chapter Ten
The maiden fair lifts her chin and stares the dragon in the eye.
Smiling, the dragon knows he’s met his match.
—John Francis Ogilvie
Skena stood before the huge fireplace in the Great Hall, pretending to watch the blaze. There was poignant beauty in the peat’s flickering blue flames. Still, she found no solace in the warmth, instead fretted if there were enough peats to get them through the winter. More troubling, they were already taking from the piles set aside for the coming year. To keep de Servian cosseted, she had burned thrice the number of blocks that she would for herself alone. She had been so frugal with their rationing this past month. Worry gnawed at her mind. Of late, everything seemed tainted with the specter of unease. Each time she swore things could not get worse, some trouble came along and increased her woes tenfold.
The double doors jerked opened, causing her head to snap up. Her stomach tightened, preparing for the coming ordeal.
“Believing things cannot grow worse, ha!—I may as well place faith in wishes,” she spoke lowly to the fire. “If I had the power to wish I wouldst summon wings to carry this bloody English dragon back to his lair and leave me in peace.”
She was not a weak woman. Oh, aye, she was stubborn, willful, and mayhap—according to Angus—too willful. However, to face this Black Dragon was an ordeal she was not girded for. Never in her whole life had she fainted, but the prospect loomed very real in her mind. Her blood jumped as her eyes locked on the tall man flanked by his entourage.
So, this was the Earl Julian Challon, the mighty Black Dragon.
He paused halfway to her, removed his leathern gloves. Without glancing back, he passed them off to a smaller man behind him, likely his squire. Then, he removed the conical helm and tucked it in the curve of his arm. He pushed back the mail coif, revealing a riot of black curls. Had she not gazed upon the countenance of Noel de Servian, she would certainly say she stared into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. Clean-shaven in the Norman way, his strong jaw and sensual mouth were revealed in their perfection. His steps continued, bringing him nearer.
Skena saw the green eyes flecked with shards of dark amber returned the same scrutiny. Her muscles flexed hard, wondering what thoughts he formed of her. She was not dressed in the finery of a lady of her station. Worse, she was tired, worn thin by work, fear, and nursing de Servian for three straight days. The face she presented to him was shadowed by the uncertainties she found harder and harder to hide.
“My lady,” he gave her a faint nod.
“Good morn, Earl Challon. I be Lady Skena MacIain. I bid you well-come to Dun Craigendan. Please, be at home in my humble keep. May I offer food and drink to you and your men after your cold, hard ride?” Where she found the ability to speak she did not know. Her throat was corded with tension.
His piercing eyes briefly circled the room, taking full measure in that fleeting instant. “You have my thanks. My men wouldst most appreciate something warm, aye.”
“A mulled cider or mead?” She offered, motioning to the bench by the fire for him to sit and warm himself.
Instead, he stepped to the fire and held out his hands to the flames. “Either wouldst be most well-come. Howbeit, I am not the earl. I am Guillaume Challon, Baron Lochshane.” He offered her a gentle smile. “I fear I am still unaccustomed to the title.”
Ah, so this man was not Tamlyn’s lord husband, but one of the bastard half-brothers. Word came back in the spring that the Earl Challon had raised his brother, Guillaume, to be the lord of Lochshane and set a betrothal to her cousin, Rowanne. That she was not dealing with the Black Earl, as Julian Challon was called, caused the faint trembling within her to lessen. The baron was still an imposing male, mayhap even a shade taller than de Servian. A formidable man indeed, but the fact he was not his powerful brother eased the fretting a small measure.
That left the question of why he was here. Then, another fear arose. Had he been sent here to claim her holding? Already betrothed to her cousin Rowanne, there would be no question of forcing her to marry him. Howbeit, that did not rule out the possibility he was here to take Craigendan in hand.
She nodded to her servant to fetch food and drink for the Englishmen. Her teeth gritted when several of the lasses began blushing around his men. Ah, a keep full of females and no men for months was a dangerous situation. She needed all of Craigendan’s secrets shielded from prying eyes. Obviously, these Norman warriors would have to stay the night, too far for them to journey back to Lochshane with night falling so soon in the day. She would have a hard time seeing some of the keep’s workers did not climb under the covers of the pallets of Baron Lochshane’s men. It was too easy to let something slip when the mind was on matters of the flesh, she feared.
“My lord, pray tell what drives you out into the deep snow? Hardly a fit time to visit Craigendan.” She tried to pose the question to sound naught more than polite curiosity. “’Tis one of the worst snowstorms we have seen in ages. Surely, the ride here was a difficult one.”
“Sometimes demons drive men to extreme measures, my lady.” He chuckled at some private jest. “In this circumstance—they seized upon the excuse of hunting for an old and very dear friend. Men were found wandering in the storm near the passes of Glen Shane. We took them back to Lochshane, but we failed to locate their master—Noel de Servian. This morn, we turned our hunt in your direction, after finding his helm on the road to Craigendan. I thought it possible, becoming lost in the storm, that he might have found refuge within your walls. This dun is the nearest shelter to where the helm was discovered. Perchance, did my friend make his way to your gate?”
Suppressing the urge to look at the ceiling—as if she could see through stone and mortar to where de Servian lay resting—she swallowed back the words that were eager to spring forth from her tongue. Oddly enough, her first impulse had been to answer with an untruth. Lies came too easily these strange days. Her heart cried out this man would take her knight away, so not permit him discover Noel was in the lord’s chamber. Sheer folly. Despite her children making a wish, Noel de Servian was not summoned from the mists by a Kelpie.
There would be no hiding him from Lord Lochshane.
She inhaled slowly to steady herself, realizing she danced on treacherous ground. It was courting wrath to lie to this man any more than necessary. “S’truth, we came upon Lord de Servian out in the snow. He had fallen from his horse.”
Guillaume Challon’s eyes were too sharp. Incisive, he took note of her unease. What a mooncalf she was. This man was a mighty warrior, used to dealing with his powerful brother, kings and the nobility of three countries. A simple backland lass unused to games of intrigue was no match for him. Instead of demanding where de Servian was, he merely gave her a faint smile and waited. The calm determination in this man of Challon bespoke they could play games of staring all night and he would always come out the winner.
“Bloody dragon,” she mumbled under her breath.
He arched a brow. “Beg pardon, my lady?” He had heard her. She saw the intelligence flicker in the amber-green eyes.
“Lord de Servian be in the lord’s chamber. Resting.”
Concern filled his questioning stare. “Night seems to come at midday in this north land, but the hour is still a bit early for Noel to be abed. Was he injured in the fall?”
“Nay. I fear an injury he sustained early this year distresses him.” Noticing how her hands shook, she clasped one in the other and laced her fingers, determined not to let him see how rattled she was. Skena glanced over as food and cider were being placed on the table. “Come warm your innards, and then I shall take you to see Lord de Servian.” She started to turn toward the table, but he caught her upper arm and restrained her with a firm though gentle touch.
“I prefer to see Noel now, my lady.” It was a request, yet his soft tone was steel. He was not asking, but commanding.
She stiffened her spine, worried that he might think she had not been doing all she could to save his friend. “Very well, Baron. If you follow me?”
As they passed his men, he nodded permission for them to relax and eat. They removed their mantles and sat at the long trestle table. At the great doors, she paused to look back, fearful her servants might do something to reveal how vulnerable Craigendan was. The men were smiling up at the women―and curse them―her ladies were watching these Englishmen with hungry, glittering eyes.
She was relieved Dorcas was on the wall, patrolling. Without doubt, the troublesome woman would prove a problem around these handsome Normans, in more ways than one. Skena dreaded leaving the Great Hall. Under her watchful eye, her workers would behave. Without her there to herd them, she feared they would respond to attention from the men, before giving true thought to Craigendan’s precarious position.
Muriel scurried in from the kitchen, pausing to pinch Fenella on the arm, a reminder to pay heed to her forward ways. Skena’s concerned calmed. Muriel would see to things.
“Lady Skena...” Sir Guillaume motioned toward the stairs with his hand.
Lifting her kirtle so she would not trip on the steps, she started up. “Lord de Servian had lain on the ground long enough to become covered with snow. Fortunate for him, my children came upon his prostrate form. He spoke his destrier had been spooked by ravens.”
“At the passes? Then, he had neared Glenrogha. His guard reported he figured Noel had made it that far just before they lost sight of him.” He shook his head. “In a winter storm and on terrain unfamiliar, he shouldst have ridden his palfrey, not a techy destrier. They hold steady and are not so easily spooked. You spake ’tis a previous injury he suffered causing him trouble?”
“Aye. He was blae when we found him.”
“Blae?” he echoed. “Beg pardon? I still do not understand all your Scots words.”
“Pale, blue from the cold. I took proper care in warming him. He seems a strong man, able to fight off the worst of being left in the storm. Still, he sickened with fever. I battled that for three days and nights. He passed the crisis just before dawning. His throat remains hoarse. I feed him boiled vinegar and honey for that, and a tansy to help fight the phlegm. Even so, I feel it will be days before he is ready enough to journey back to Glenrogha with you―”
“There will be no need for him to travel back with me.”
She paused and glanced up to read his face. “He spake he was trying to reach Glenrogha to seek out your brother when he became lost.”
“Aye, that was his plan—according to his men. He sought to visit Julian before coming here.”
Her hand stilled upon the latch to the lord’s chamber. “Here? Why wouldst he be coming to Craigendan?”
Clear hazel-green eyes skimmed over her. “He was coming to take possession of the fief. Noel de Servian is the new baron of Craigendan.”
♦◊♦
It took all her willpower for her legs not to collapse under her. Skena could not absorb the enormity of his statement. She had known from the start the man lying in the chamber represented change. Foolishly, she did not know how much.
“So, it seems Edward has sent a dragon after all. A foster dragon,” she snapped.
Her hand trembled hard as she pushed open the door. Inside, a loud voice chattered away. Annis and Andrew were on the bed with Lord de Servian, Jenna nowhere in sight. Her son was telling the knight about Kelpies, whilst Annis dabbed with a damp rag at the resting man’s brow. Her heart squeezed at the scene.
Guillaume Challon’s glare nearly turned her stomach sour as he rounded on her. “This is the care you afford one of King Edward’s most trusted knights?”
Skena could not stop from backing up before the angry man. “Baron, I assure you―”
“Here—you child—get away from him,” Guillaume barked, motioning with his hand to shoo her daughter from de Servian.
Poor Annis, used to sharp commands from her father, almost seemed to shrink in upon herself. Her brown eyes went huge, fright filling them. Skena knew the feeling―the man was a force to behold. Had she not just quailed in front of the baron? Only, no one dared speak to her daughter in this manner. Skena feared if Annis knew only harsh tones from men of power that she might come to fear them, and the marriage vows she would one day make.
Swallowing her trepidation, she took swift steps to block Guillaume from the bed. “Whilst your brother rules as overlord here, I am Baroness Craigendan—and no man shall dare address my daughter in such a rude manner. Am I made clear?”
De Servian’s hand weakly reached up, took the cloth off his forehead, and then flung it into Guillaume’s face. Startled, the man snatched off the rag and tossed it back. Andrew burst out laughing, but quickly ducked down on the far side of the bed out of sight—and out of reach. The top of his head popped back up as he peeked to see the baron’s reaction.
“Rein in your Challon temper on my behalf, Guillaume. You look just like Julian when you glower thusly. A dragon breathing fire terrifies wee girls.” Noel shifted slightly and caught Annis’s small hand. Placing a kiss on her palm, he said, “I thank you, Lady Annis, for keeping watch over me whilst I sent your mother to finally eat something.”
Skena’s heart melted, watching her daughter experience true tenderness from a man who was a figure of authority. Tears welled in her throat. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she pressed her bent thumb to her lips, keeping back words wanting to spill forth.
Annis did not move, untrusting of de Servian’s gentleness. Skena held her breath. Finally, her daughter leaned forward and kissed Noel’s hand as he had hers. Despite fears and questions about learning that this man was the new lord of her holding, the gesture to reassure her small child touched her deeply. She had a hard time keeping back tears.
“Skena, you ate whilst you were belowstairs? You were not absent long enough.” Noel spoke with the tone of the new lord here.
How could she have missed this before? Unquestioning, she merely assumed de Servian was used to giving commands to his men. Never once had it occurred he could be feeling his possession of this keep.
“Nay, I barely got to the table when we were descended upon by a pesky dragon, Baron Craigendan.” She let him feel the chill in her voice, telling him Lord Guillaume had broken the tides that Noel was lord here now. Mayhap she should have more care about her fate and the children’s, and pretend to have no objections to the situation. The tides scared her. This man would soon decide what would be her future, would steal the rights of her children.
De Servian watched her without moving, so still she could almost wonder if he even drew air. A touch of regret flickered in the silver eyes, then he shifted his gaze to his foster brother. “Skena, may I speak with Guillaume alone?”
Skena’s spine stiffened. “Aye, Baron. Of course, Baron. Whatever you want, Baron.” She snapped her fingers as she spoke to the children, “Annis, Andrew, come. The baron wishes to speak to his foster brother without troublesome Scots underfoot.”
She could see the children were confused by the harsh sound of her voice, so laced with vehemence and emotions. Annis leaned over and kissed de Servian’s hand again, then climbed down off the bed. Andrew pursed his mouth and was slow to come, not happy about leaving his knight.
“Come, children. Hurry. We wouldst no’ want to risk angering the baron.” Skena grabbed the children’s shoulders and pushed them to the door. She paused before closing it, looking at the two very handsome men, but really only seeing one.
“Bloody English dragons.” She slammed the door with full fury.
♦◊♦
Guillaume watched the lady of Craigendan herd her two small children out the door. With a parting glance back, she had closed the door―noisily―leaving them alone. “Bigod, she is just like these women of Ogilvie blood.”
Noel weakly pushed up to lean his shoulders against the cross boards of the bed. “Oh? Pray tell, what are these Ogilvie women like?”
“Ready to cut your liver out and feed it to you in big pieces.” But there was a smile on his friend’s mouth.
“From that expression on your too-pretty face, I wouldst adjudge such is not entirely a bad fate.” Noel chuckled.
“Not entirely—though there are trying times. They are headstrong, used to rule, resent the bloody hell out of English invaders and―”
“Beautiful?” Noel added. “I briefly met Lady Tamlyn and Lady Aithinne back in August. Both Julian and Damian pretended indifference toward them when before Edward. I assumed that was merely show. It wouldst never do for the king to know that they value their ladies.”
“Lady Skena does not exhibit open defiance quite as strongly. Likely, her being a widow sees her used to accepting a man’s rule. Of course, Rowanne was married before. I fear in this instance, it only fostered her rebellious spirit. Folk speak my betrothed planted a knife in her lord husband’s chest one night, then stood and watched him die.”
Noel’s head snapped to his friend, startled by Guillaume’s assertion. “Surely, you jest?”
Guillaume chuckled. “Not in the least. I warn you, my brother—these women of Clan Ogilvie are a breed rare, a law unto themselves. And take heed—there is little doubt they are witches.”
Now it was Noel’s turn to laugh. “Trying to tweak my nose? This is a mischief I wouldst expect from Darian, not you. He was always the one to enjoy a jest. You remained the rock for Julian.”
“Nary a jape―a caveat. Be forewarned. These females are supposedly descended from a race of witchwomen. A long time ago, they were said to have the ability to turn into catamounts—Cait Sidhe. Whilst I have not witnessed such, they do display the uncanny ability to know things beyond a normal range. You recall how Damian spoke of the Kenning, a gift inherited from his Scottish mother? Well, ’tis from the same fount. His mother came from Ogilvie blood, likely where he gets it.”
“I shall ponder about this later when I am not so tired, and my head ceases this dull throb.” Noel sighed in exhaustion.
“Whilst Edward sent us here as nary a blessing, we have been fortunate in making a home in this Northland. I was delighted to hear the news you were to assume control of Craigendan. I know Julian is.”
“I am pleased to have him as my overlord once more. We have been warriors too long, my friend,” Noel said solemnly.
“Folk in these glens are good people, but their beliefs, their ways can cause pause. Give them a chance.” Guillaume arched a questioning brow. “What do you plan to do with the lady and her children?”
“I owe the children my life, owe Skena,” Noel said flatly. “I wouldst have died out in the storm if they had not found me.”
“How did the children and Skena save your life?”
“A flock of ravens near the passes of Glen Shane spooked Brishen—” Noel began.
“Queer moody birds. They seem to guard the passes.” Guillaume eyed him. “You will find Glen Shane…different, odd.”
“They were odd, all right. Brishen ran. There was no stopping him. My back slapped against the cantle, hitting an old wound that is not healing right. Then I fell. I cannot say how long I lay there, unable to rise, with the snow covering me. The children had slipped off from the fortress. They swear someone they call The Cailleach called to them to follow.”
“The Cailleach, a crone goddess—Lady of Winter to these Scots.” Guillaume nodded, passing familiar with the lore.
“Then, I may have to give an offering to their goddess. Had the children not followed the call, they wouldst never have found me. Too off the beaten path. No one else was fool enough to be out in the storm. My fate wouldst have met a very cold end.”
“You did not answer my question. What will you do with Lady Skena and the children?”
“The situation is complicated, which sees many a pitfall ahead of me.”
Guillaume pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. “How so?”
“Near the end of the battle at Dunbar, I took a sword through the split in my mail. ’Tis not healing right. I lose the power to grip in my right hand.” Noel held up his hand and flexed it, checking the numbness.
Guillaume pushed away from the chair. “Let me have a look.”
Noel turned to the side so his back was exposed to his friend, the muscles burning with each shift.
“Merde! That’s blood red. What maggoty brain permitted you to travel northward with that wound spreading poisons within you?” Guillaume touched his fingers to the angry flesh, his face darkening. “’Tis hot. Noel, we need to deal with that without delay.”
“Skena spake the same. Methinks she hoped to get me past the worst of being exposed to the cold before she went gouging on me.”
“I take note that you speak of her not as Lady Skena, but in the familiar.” Guillaume prodded with his words and his fingers.
Noel hissed in pain. “Enough! Any fool can tell it festers. I rot from the inside out.”
“Aye, ’tis clear something remains behind, poisoning your flesh. Sorry, my friend. We needs must draw the baneful corruption to the surface, lance it, and then cauterize it―done as soon as we can fetch the items needed. It shan’t be merry. Of course, from that parting glance the Lady Skena gave you, she might enjoy taking a knife to open your wound. I infer you failed to inform her you were the new lord here.”
“You gather correctly.”
“Sorry, for my misstep.” Guillaume stopped his examination. “Why had you not told her?”
“There are complications that will have to be addressed. I was not feeling well enough to deal with the results.”
“Being?”
“That the man who did a fair job of running me through at Dunbar was Angus Fadden, Baron Craigendan.”
Guillaume sat down hard. “Oh...I can see where that might muddy the waters.”
“There is more.”
“More?”
“Oh, aye. As the battle was winding down, we took prisoners of a large group of Scots, disarmed them. Their leader slammed into one of my squires, grabbed his sword, and ran him through, then came at me from behind as I dismounted. The blade sought the seam in the mail, slicing into the side of my back.”
Guillaume’s eyes widened he showed comprehension. “Ah. You dispatched the coward in single combat.”
Leaning back, Noel nodded. “I killed him.”