Chapter Seventeen
Jealousy burns like a blue flame,
curling and licking about the edges of the mind...
—Maeve Montgomerie
“Meat?” de Servian echoed, as he slammed the door to the lord’s chamber. Rounding on Skena, he glared at her. “You were serious? Of all the stupid, half-witted―nay, quarter-witted―notions! I still have a mind to turn you over my knee.”
Skena glared back at the fuming man, despite that he presented a formidable presence. Tall men always held an advantage when they wanted to appear menacing, and de Servian was calling upon every measure of his fierce warrior mien. Still, his words imbued less alarm now he had vowed that he would never raise a hand to her in anger. She believed him. In spite of knowing him only a few days, she sensed deep honor in this man. Her inner voice spake she could trust Noel de Servian; he was a man of his word. Right now, regardless of the flashing eyes and set jaw, she little feared him. Oh, but the man clearly had a temper!
Well, after all these years she was discovering she had one as well. Putting her fisted hands on her hips, she gambled, “You wouldst no’ dare.”
“Watch me.” He threatened. Noel reached out to grab her arm, only to have her duck away from him, putting first a tall stool and then the table between them as a shield.
“Actually, my plan was well thought out and wouldst have worked,” Skena defended her actions. “Except...”
Noel cornered the table, closing in on her. “Except what?”
Skena hesitated to say she had been distracted by seeing Angus standing on the landing of the boulevard stairs. Though she knew what she saw, she still had trouble accepting it. De Servian would naturally assume her feeble-minded, or as she accused Dorcas, allowing her grief to make her hope for things that would never be.
Not that she was grieving—she granted Dorcas that much of the truth. Still, she grappled with a deep sense of guilt for almost feeling a relief he had not returned. In spite of all the trials, tribulations and sheer panic this year had brought to her, a sense of independence grew out of being freed from a stifling marriage, and the humiliating situation fostered upon her by Angus and Dorcas. For the short span of these past months, no matter how dire things were, she had been master of her destiny, laird of Craigendan. The first time in years, she made decisions instead of waiting for Angus to rule how matters would be.
After all these months of being certain he was dead, she was stunned. The faint spark of her young girl’s dreams had continued to live in her heart, despite of Angus’s spirit-crushing notions of marriage. He had relegated her to little more than a servant or brood mare. That small hope had fanned to life, with Muriel’s urging, setting her to think there might be a future with Noel on the horizon. This handsome man with the spelling-casting eyes provoked her. He almost made her believe wishes could come true.
Angus’s return would shatter all. Her spirit nearly howled in rebellion.
She would be pushed back into a loveless marriage, in a union where her only value had been the land she brought him and the son she bore. A marriage where he arrogantly thought he had the right to keep another woman as a lover, regardless of the humiliation it heaped upon her pride. Before, she had existed in the situation that sapped the life out of her, shredded her self-respect, and nearly killed all her dreams. Now, it would destroy her.
“I planned to open the door and quickly step into the trap...something...distracted me. My fault. I should have kept my mind on what was happening,” she admitted, skirting around the other side of the table, about three steps ahead of the bedeviling man.
“Something?” Noel stalked her. “Pray tell, what was important enough to pull you away from protecting your life? Those wolves could have killed you, Skena. Ripped you apart. And for what? Wolf meat? Is this some odd Scottish custom like your haggis?”
“Nay...’tis desperation, Lord de Servian.” She tossed up her hands, fighting the helplessness rising in her. “’Tis doing what I needs must to survive, to see my people survive. I fear your king did you nary a boon giving you Craigendan.”
“My king oft fails to see the worth in many things. I am not as foolish to repeat his mistakes. You say do not have faith in wishes. Well, Craigendan is my wish fulfilled, Skena.” He stopped before her, his eyes meeting hers with a plea for understanding. The unhealed pain of a scared little boy flickered in the shimmering silver depths.
Emotion clogged her throat as she understood what he was telling her. Edward Longshanks had given him the chance to have something he had lacked his whole life. Skena hurt all the more. Noel de Servian craved a family, a home to replace what he once lost. Instead of a place worthy of this man, he was given a rundown fief, and with few prospects if they did not receive aid to get them through spring.
“You are blinding yourself. Craigendan has few men. Only elderly, lame, or boys remain,” she confessed, almost on a sob. She owed him the truth. He would find out soon enough. Better that he be prepared before he assumed the mantle of baron in front of her people.
Noel frowned. “Who has been protecting this keep?”
“Mummery. My women don the armor of men and patrol the walls. I do no’ send them out to ride the boundaries as that be too risky. Most have never been upon a horse, anyway.” She sighed. “The ruse served us, else trouble wouldst have reared its head from Duncan Comyn or Dinsmore Campbell.”
“How long―” He paused, understanding hitting him. “Since Dunbar?”
Skena nodded. “Aye. Angus took all the men who could fight, foolishly thinking they wouldst return in a few weeks. Well, they never came back.” She sat down on the bench. So tired of the struggle. “Summer saw one of the worst droughts scorch the land, drying up crops. We worked from dawn to dusk trying to save what we could. The effort wasted. Quickly, it became a fight to keep the livestock alive. Stores are down. Why we make use of silverweed and wolf meat to fill out the supplies this past sennight.”
“Why did you not go to Challon? He wouldst have supplied soldiery and food.”
Skena gave a feeble shrug, feeling imprudent for not doing as he said, and ashamed for being selfish. “Fear, I suppose.” She looked up at him and attempted to smile at her folly. “I was scared what would happen to me and the children. If I made the situation known to the Earl Challon, then he wouldst set his own man here as lord, mayhap force me to marry with him.”
He sat down on the bench beside her and took her hand. “Well, Skena MacIain, whether you place trust in wishes or not, your children do. And they wished for a knight to come care for you.” His hand tapped his chest. “I am that knight. I have long wished for a home and a family. I believe my wish was answered in my coming here. Allow me to save you from the fate of losing all. I know the taste only too well. Shortly, I needs must face your people, and proclaim that I am the new lord here. Mayhap...we should also inform them that on a day of your choosing, you and I shall wed. You will not be forced to marry, mind. I ask your consent.”
Skena could hardly breathe, his words so filled her heart. De Servian was asking her to marry him? “Marry?”
“Aye. ’Tis sudden, I know. Only, our short time together tells me all I need to know. I would be most pleased with you as my lady wife. Methinks your children already see me as theirs.” He gave a soft laugh. “Cypher upon your response before you tend it. True, we are but strangers. This winter can be spent learning about the other. In the spring we can start to build a life here.”
Despair slammed into her, pushing Skena to jump to her feet and blindly walk to the fireplace. She leaned her head against the wooden mantel and silently allowed the tears to come. Tears she had fought long and hard to keep at bay. More than anything in the world, she wanted to give Noel de Servian her troth, to look upon the bright promise of the future he offered. Only, her mind was tossed back to seeing Angus standing on the stairs, just before the wolves pushed through the postern door.
“Skena, what is it?” Noel came to stand just behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, then slid them down to her upper arms. “Did I say aught to upset you? Tell me I am not wrong, that there exists this special bond betwixt us, something very rare. Did I misspeak?”
“Nay, there be a bond, rare and pure,” she admitted in a pained whisper.
He turned her to face him. “Then, you will plight your troth with me? Mayhap on the eve of Christmastide? Do you not think it would be a good omen to marry a man named Noel on that day?”
He pulled her into his arms, such strong arms, holding her against his body. Mayhap, it was too soon to know all about this man, yet Skena sensed this is where she belonged, the only place on earth she wanted to be. She was already falling in love with Noel. Time would only serve to strengthen their connection. Though they were strangers, she had no doubt this man was that part of her heart, which had always been missing.
“Skena, trust in wishes. Say yes,” he pleaded.
Skena stared into his handsome face, into the grey eyes that sparkled with magic. She would kill for Noel de Servian. She would die for him. But she could not marry him. It was a dagger to her heart.
“You do me an honor in the asking…but I canno’ wed with you.” She was barely able to force the words out.
He stared as if not believing her answer to be true. “Why? You know we would suit. You feel it. I know you do.”
“Oh, aye. You are all I could wi―” she started to say wish, but changed it, “―want in a husband.”
His frown deepened. “Then explain, Skena. I want you for my lady wife. You say I am what you would wish for in a husband. Do not avoid the word. Guillaume says the people of Glen Shane and Glen Eallach already accept them as the lords there. I can win the approval of your people…my people…our people.”
“I have no doubt you will make a good lord for this holding.”
Skena’s heart broke as she knew it would be a life without her. She could not marry him. She could not stay here. If she remained, she would fall into being his lover. There would be no resisting him. He would have to marry to father a son, an heir. Then, she would be forced to watch him with another woman. Worse, she would be cast into the same spot of shame that Dorcas had filled in her life. She would never do to another woman what was done to her.
Unspoken thoughts haunted that statement. “You say you cannot wed with me. Then explain.” The muscle in the right side of his jaw jumped signaling his refusal to accept her answer.
She closed her eyes, fighting against the burning anguish. When she opened them she gave him the truth. “Angus,” was all she managed to get out.
De Servian’s head lifted slowly, a wariness filling his expression. “Skena, sorry I am for your loss, but life marches on...for us all. You needs must accept he is not coming back. Thus, I have to ask—what has he to do with your answer?”
“Everything…he has everything to do with my refusal. I canno’ marry with you, Noel de Servian, though it might be my heart’s desire, because I already be the wife of another man.”
He frowned. “And that man is dead, Skena. Your vows to him ended when he drew his last breath. The practice of the widow following her lord husband onto the funeral pyre went the way of the Norsemen.”
Skena shook her head. “Nay, he canno’ be dead. I saw him on the boulevard stairs. ’Tis what distracted me when I went to let the wolves in.”
Sympathy clear in his silver eyes, Noel’s tense muscles seemed to ease. “Ah, lass. I understand only too well that letting go is hard. Grief pulls at the heart. Sometimes the mind plays us for a fool. We see what we want to see, not what is real.”
“’Tis no’ what I want, but what I saw truly. I spotted him on the boulevard, and then he descended the stairs. Moonlight hit half his face. I saw him, Noel. I nearly fainted.”
Noel shook his head to the side. “’Tis not possible. You simply mistook another man for him.”
“Did you no’ listen before? There are no men here young and fit enough to pass for Angus. He was not tall like you, but he was a bear of a man.”
“Likely then it was one of Guillaume’s men,” he suggested.
“Nay, they are clean shaven like you and Baron Lochshane. This man wore a beard, his hair to his shoulders and the braids of a chief.”
“Then, where is he now? If Fadden had returned, do you not think the man would come through the front gate and announce his arrival?” His right hand lifted and gently stroked her cheek. “I am sorry, Skena. Truly I am. Your husband died on the field at Dunbar. There is no shred of doubt. There were witnesses. Edward gave me Craigendan because he was made aware of the man’s death, and knew the fortress would need a knight to hold it. Edward conferred the title on me in early May. I had been wounded at the end of the battle and the wound was slow to heal, why it took me so long to come to claim the holding. Originally, plans were for me to accompany Damian St. Giles to Glen Shane. He was to assume command of Lyonglen and I Craigendan. Since I am already sworn to Challon, Edward knew it wouldst only cement Julian’s control to place me as baron here.”
The quiet logic of his words made Skena feel childish. He was right―Edward had sent Noel as new lord here because Angus was dead. Even so, she could not banish the dark image from her mind. Mayhap guilt preying upon her caused her to see a man who was dead? She would never wish Angus harm, even so, she did not want him back as her husband. Instead, she wanted to be the wife of this man who believed in wishes, wanted to believe dreams could come true for her.
Reaching out, his large hands cradled her face, as if he held the most rare and precious treasure. “Skena, I can make you forget him. Just give me time.” He was so close the words fanned across her face, just before he lowered his mouth to hers.
Skena’s breathing was shallow, rapid, as his gentle lips teased, giving her a taste of pleasure…making her hungry for more. Dizzy with anticipation, she closed her eyes and pushed up on her tiptoes, craving more of the sensations he conjured within her. Eager for all he could show her.
Most vexing, he pulled back. “Open your eyes, Skena.” That probing gaze, raked over her features, almost as if he were memorizing every curve, every shadow of her face. “You know naught of the ways of kissing, do you, lass?”
She heard the puzzlement in his voice, felt ashamed he found her lacking. Unable to meet his stare, she glanced down, her cheeks burning hot. “Sorry. As I said—your king did you no boon in giving your Craigendan.”
He laughed. Bloody man laughed at her! She felt like punching him.
“Do not look angry or hurt, my sweet Skena. It will be my honor to show you these wondrous pleasures.” Noel tilted her chin up just a little. “Open your lips slightly...” The corner of his mouth crooked up, as a wicked twinkle flashed in his eyes. His lips, ever so lightly, brushed against hers.
Pulling back, he watched the reactions playing across her face. Skena knew she could not hide them from him. What she saw reflected in his eyes robbed her of the ability to think, to draw air, made her want to give herself to wondrous possibilities. This time, he tilted her head back a little and then pulled her chin down to open her mouth slightly. This kiss sent shivers down the back of her thighs.
As Noel raised his head, Skena’s hand 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 wouldst 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 less worn 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 laird. Another would soon be deciding their fate. She wanted to face that change appearing every inch the baroness. Whilst the gown was not new, she always loved the deep blue. She shrugged. It had been awhile 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 faded 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, that he would be proud to have her standing alongside him.
“Well, I did the best I could.” 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, voices came from inside the room. Hearing 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 lightheaded. “Dorcas, 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, even permitted her to defy Skena openly when she gave orders. Still, she saw that it was only a wound of her pride. She had never loved Angus, so had never been jealous, just resentful. This was a thousand times worse! She vibrated with fury, nearly out of control. She could not think, let alone barely remember to breathe. Desperately, she tried to rein in her temper, and reach for that calm spot in her soul.
Noel, still drying his face on a cloth, turned around. His sweeping glance took in Dorcas, who was straightening the bedding, and then Skena standing 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 the red hair from the woman’s head and force feed it to her. Skena had taken umbrage that Angus never gave pretense of hiding he had taken Dorcas as a leman, and in some ways, she suspected that he had flaunted it in an effort to shame her. The situation 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. What she wanted was to claw Dorcas’s eyes out!
“I need no’ 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, “Be there aught else you wouldst 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 be able to do many things…help a man dress…or undress. And you must admit I be easier on the eyes than some skinny squire.”
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 no’ an edge. Howbeit, I be quite capable of polishing your sword to a hard sheen.”
Skena thought about picking up the fireplace poker and pretend 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 presented her sister with a blank expression. “I am sure if I require anything I have merely to ask Skena.”
Hard curves at the corners of Dorcas’s mouth bespoke that she strained to keep her comely smile in place. “You will find, Lord de Servian, our Skena oft be too busy working 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 presume you lack chores enough to keep you occupied. The garderobe be due a good cleaning. Shall I set you to that task?”
Dorcas shot her a smug expression and then shrugged. “Mayhap you might think to do such.” She glanced back to de Servian, then shrugged. “Mayhap no’.”
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 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 shall be glad when my men and wagons can get through. This is my last clothing until they do. Can you help me get it on? It pains me reaching over my head. Oddly, 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 stay alive. But dressing is another matter.”
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 stress his arresting eyes.
He glanced up from buckling his belt 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 pensive, Skena.”
“Sometimes ’tis wiser to travel a road in silence,” she replied softly.
“You are angry?” He pressed. “The woman upset you? Why?”
“’Tis one of those times when being mute be the lesser of evils.”
Reaching out, 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. No’ just an insolent servant, Dorcas was my lord husband’s leman.”
De Servian’s brows lifted. “Ah, yes, 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. I know 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 wouldst prefer if we can dispense with the crying of the banns.”
“Then ken this. I married young. I learnt there were little choices with an iron-willed and often uncaring husband. I no longer be young and biddable. I abided one husband bringing shame to our marriage by taking another woman as his whore. I do no’ 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—forsaking others and keeping only unto 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.” He 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, and 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 meant for reassurance. “Trust me, Skena, and we shall rub along well.”
“You be a stranger, yet I feel as if we have kenned each other for a longer spell. I trust you. I just do no’ like how I felt when I found Dorcas in the chamber with you. It was painful,” she admitted.
“If she is so insolent, such a constant thorn in your side, why have you not married her off to some distant clansman and be done with her?” Noel asked as they descended the stairs. “Then, she would be out of your hair and not a continual reminder to you.”
“Complicated reasons. At first, there was the expectation Angus would return. Then there was Muriel to consider. Dorcas be her daughter.” Skena paused before the double doors of the Great Hall. She studied him for several heartbeats before adding, “Another troublesome detail—she be my half-sister.”