MATTERS OF THE HEART
Brodgar felt his back starting to ache. He and Alf had been riding all day through the forested hills, heading north and east all afternoon. The light was just fading now, and Alf shouted. “Here! Hell. At last.”
Brodgar let out an explosive sigh of breath he hadn't known he was holding. Finally. “Good.”
“Quite so!” Alf laughed. “My bollocks are aching.”
Brodgar flashed him a grin. “I have to agree.”
“I didn't need to know,” Alf laughed.
“Well, you told me,” he said kindly.
“Yes. I suppose I did. I just couldn't hold back.” Alf chuckled and shook his reins to encourage his horse as he trotted.
Brodgar laughed and, relieved and cheerful, he followed Alf up the path to the high, arched gates.
“State your name,” a sentry challenged when they reached the place. The fortress walls rose above them, gloomy and barely lit by the two torches that burned in brackets at the walls behind him.
“Alf MacNeil,” Alf said quickly. “Of Dunkeld.”
“Lord Brodgar, son of the thane of Dunkeld,” Brodgar said almost at the same time. He cast a glance at Alf, who grinned.
“Well done,” he mouthed. “Keep them edgy.”
Brodgar grinned back, feeling his heart thump. Though the new thane was friendly with his father, they were still riding into a history of conflict, and he had no idea how they'd be met. It seemed almost likely they'd be run off the land with arrow-fire at their backs as invited.
“Welcome, Lord Brodgar,” the guard said instantly. “And Alf. Enter.”
Brodgar and Alf looked at each other, feeling surprised. Brodgar swallowed hard. “Thank you, my man.”
He rode past the sentries, who saluted, and tried to pretend that he was his father. Kept his back straight, his eyes fixed on the wall of the fortress ahead. I am the thane's son. I am accepted. No one will harm me.
“Brodgar?” A voice echoed on the edge of his thoughts. Brodgar barely noticed.
I am the thane's son. I am...
“Brodgar!” Alf hissed again, cutting through his thoughts. He turned sharply.
“Yes?”
“Up there. Who's that?”
Brodgar stiffened. Up on the ramparts of Bronley Fortress was a tall form. He squinted up. It had long hair, glinting softly in the firelight. The body was slender. The posture elegant.
“I don't know,” Brodgar hissed back. Whoever it was, the figure seemed to have noticed them. They looked down, and then leaned over the wall, hands braced there. Brodgar suppressed a shiver. The form was slight, and he thought he saw pale skin. An idea formed. “Do you think that's..?”
His words were cut off as a man called out before him. “Lord Brodgar! Alf! Welcome, sirs.”
Brodgar found himself looking at the face of a tall, lean man with a slight stoop in one shoulder and weathered cheeks. It was a handsome face, well-formed, with full lips and wide eyes. Whoever the man was – Brodgar assumed it was Lord Edward, the father of his betrothed. He slid off his horse and bowed low.
“My lord,” he said, feeling nervous. He glanced at Alf, who had done the same, and looked to him, encouraging.
“Welcome, welcome.” The thane stepped forward, clasping his shoulder. He did the same with Alf, who looked up with a nervous smile.
“My lord, apologies for not sending word,” Brodgar began. “We were in the area and found ourselves without shelter. If we could crave repast here?”
The thane beamed at him. “My lord Brodgar, my hospitality is yours. Come in, come in! Hand your reins to my men, there – they'll take care of your horses. Fine horses they are, too. Men? See those horses are well-tended. Now, come inside.”
Brodgar and Alf exchanged nervous looks. The thane of Bronley was supposed to be a fearsome man, stern and cruel-hearted. This man was like an uncle. Alf shrugged, as if to say, It seems safe. Brodgar nodded.
“Elric?” the thane said to a guard, who was tall and clearly Nordic in descent.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Fetch Lady Ambeal. Tell her we've guests.” He smiled at the two young men. “My daughter is the chatelaine here, following my blessed Margaret's demise, Heaven rest her.”
“Indeed,” Brodgar said, crossing himself and kissing the fingers. Alf did the same.
“Now, enough misery. Let us feast! Ambeal will make sure we want for nothing. It's just time for a fine dinner. Come upstairs.”
Brodgar and Alf followed him on dark stairs to the solar, finding their way mostly by feel. His lordship, clearly, knew the way blind. He led them along a long corridor, reminiscent of the one at home, and to the right.
“Ah!” he said. “My daughter. We've visitors. If you could let the cook know? We'll be feeding four now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brodgar and Alf looked at the speaker. They stared. Red-haired, tall and slender, the speaker was none other than, as Brodgar had suspected, the figure on the walls. She was pale-skinned, with huge gray eyes and dark lips. Brodgar was sure that, beside his mother and aunts, and of course Henriette, he had never seen such a beautiful face. He glanced at Alf.
“Alf?” he whispered urgently. His lordship had gone. However, Alf was deaf to everything.
Brodgar looked at him, where he stood, rooted to the spot. He was staring at her as if he had seen a heavenly host descend in the hallway. He had a focused expression on his face and Brodgar would have laughed had the situation not been so very serious. Here they were, in an enemy stronghold – for Brodgar was still not sure he trusted the thane of Bronley – and the last thing they needed was to offend the thane by staring at his clearly admired and much-loved daughter.
“Alf,” he hissed. “Alf!”
His friend blinked. Turned, dreamily, as if just awoken. “Oh,” he said, seeing Brodgar there as if for the first time. “Sorry. I was...um, excuse me, my lady.” He grinned ingratiatingly.
Oh for heaven's sake...
Brodgar wanted to swear under his breath. Now was not the place, nor the time! If he could have, he would have shaken Alf like a terrier shaking a brace of rats. However, he couldn't. “Excuse me, milady,” he said politely. He took Alf's sleeve, drew him away.
“Alf,” he whispered. “Pull yourself together...”
He trailed off as the thane loomed beside him. “Ah, there you are!” he said. “Come. The fire's warm.” He gestured them onward. “It's a chilly night. You must be frozen.” He rubbed his hands down his arms in emphasis.
“No, not overly,” Brodgar observed mildly. It was warm in this corridor, with its many lamps and torches ensconced along the walls. Besides, his worry about Alf and his blatant staring was making him nervous, and he was sweating accordingly. “But thank you,” he added, sitting down. “Warmth is welcome.”
“I'm sure 'tis!” the thane rumbled. “Now, once you've warmed yourselves, come over to the table. I've sent a word to the kitchens. Dinner's ready when you are.”
Brodgar nodded. He and Alf stood by the fire. He held his hands out. Glanced at Alf.
Alf shrugged. Brodgar fought the urge to shake him.
I need his help! The last thing I need is for him to be moping about, hoping for word from Ambeal. It's not seemly.
As he thought it, another thought occurred. If Ambeal and Alf...he discarded it. There was no real point. If he asked his father to transfer the betrothal to Alf, he would surely anger them all. Alf was a MacNeil, so the betrothal of the two would, in the end, solve nothing.
Chrissie is a daughter of Lochlann though. And was it not Lochlann who feuded with MacDonnell initially?
He dismissed the thought. No. They would do better to negotiate with the McDonnell later. A suggestion of swapping him for a MacNeil would not be well-received.
“My lords?” the thane said, waving a hand. “Dinner arrives.”
“Thank you.” Brodgar inclined his head, noticing a mouth-watering scent issuing from the salvers carried in by two men. He went across to take a seat at the table. He went to the thane's right. Alf sat across from him. The dinner was laid on the oaken boards. The thane cleared his throat.
“Ah. Now all we have to do is...” he trailed off as footsteps, light and barely-heard, sounded behind them. “There you are, my dear! Just talking of you.”
“Oh?” a sweet voice asked. “That sounds worrisome.”
The thane guffawed. “Nothing bad, daughter. Come,” he added, as Alf stood respectfully, narrowly seconded by Brodgar. “Meet our guests. This is Lord Brodgar, son of Dunkeld. And his companion, Lord Alf.”
Alf looked as if he wanted to protest at the title, but Brodgar shot him a stern glance and he didn't speak. He was looking at his hands, but as Lady Ambeal approached, he looked up shyly.
She was standing at the chair beside his, opposite her father's. She looked into his eyes. It seemed for a moment as if everything stilled. The two stared at each other. Brodgar saw her incline that red-haired head. He felt for Alf, who looked as if he was being ignited.
“Well,” the thane said, clearing his throat. “Now you've met Ambeal. Now, let's eat.”
They all sat and, as Brodgar poured his drink, he glanced across at Alf.
You poor lad, he wanted to say. Alf was staring at Lady Ambeal as if she were priceless glass. She was beautiful, he had to admit. With creamy-white skin and those wide, fine eyes, her face a long, solemn oval graced with big red lips, she was like something out of his most fevered dreams. All the same, he had to admit, he preferred Ettie. She is softer than Ambeal. More gentle. Sweeter.
Just the thought of her made his loins twitch and his heart thump.
No, he thought, looking at Alf and Ambeal together opposite. I know who I want. Unfortunately, Alf too.
He cast a sidelong look at their host, who was busy carving the main dish, which seemed to be roast salmon. He was talking about some anecdote around hunting, the beginning of which Brodgar hadn't heard.
“And the thing is,” the thane continued, carving the fish carefully, “you have to consider, when the snow is thick, that your pace is going to be slower than normal...”
Brodgar tried to focus, but he was too aware of Alf and his plight to pay the story much attention. He made suitable noises of encouragement, watching the two.
“Can you pass me the jug?” Ambeal asked in a low voice, indicating the pitcher by the center of the table.
“Of course!” Alf shot out a hand at once, as if getting the jug to Ambeal as fast as possible was a highly-urgent quest. “There, milady.”
Brodgar grinned as she thanked him.
“Oh! Thank you, sir.” She blushed, taking it from him. Her fingers were long and creamy-colored in the firelight and Brodgar almost felt Alf tense as, passing the pitcher back, her hand touched his.
“Ahem,” Alf coughed. Brodgar grinned to himself, relishing his friend's discomfort.
“You hunt, Lord Brodgar?” their host inquired.
“Sometimes,” Brodgar agreed. “We have falcons at Dunkeld and I confess I prefer hawking. My sister is an avid hawker too – I am afraid she outmatches me.”
The thane chuckled. “Hawking, eh? You tried, m'daughter?”
“Once,” Ambeal admitted. “Our mews is not so well-tended as I believe yours to be,” she said, low-voiced, to Alf, meaning the mews that housed the hawks.
“I believe Dunkeld has a fine mews,” Alf stuttered. “Though I like riding, myself.”
“Oh, me too,” Ambeal agreed. “I haven't the patience for a hunt.”
“Me too, mostly,” Alf nodded. “I like going to places. Seeing things.”
“Racing, sometimes,” Ambeal admitted.
Alf laughed. “Racing! Me too. Though I wouldn't like to race against you, milady. I wager you're fast. And my horse needs training.”
“Oh?”
“He speaks mostly French,” Alf said.
They both roared with mirth. The thane frowned at Brodgar.
“My lord?”
“Yes?” Brodgar asked, closing his eyes a moment, sure he was in for a rebuke. How dare you bring your impudent friends here to court my daughter? Or something like that.
“You're sure you want to stay for the hunt?” he asked. Brodgar blinked.
He hadn't realized it, but during his distraction with his friend's conversing, he must have agreed to something.
“Uh...I'd be delighted,” he said. The instant after he'd accepted the invitation, he closed his eyes. That was stupid. Now you might be stuck here for over a week! When is it, anyway?
He glanced sideways at the thane, but he was talking to his daughter now. He decided he couldn't exactly ask, since he'd just agreed.
He glanced across at Alf, hoping he could help. On second thought, no.
Alf was sitting there with a silly smile on his face, looking at emptiness. He was as if struck mad. Brodgar shook his head. He felt his cheeks lift in a smile. He loved his cousin as if he were his own flesh. However, sometimes he could take a pole-axe to his hard skull. Like now, for instance.
“And what say you, Alf?” the thane asked. Brodgar had missed hearing his question and so had Alf. Evidently. He blinked slowly.
“Sorry, sir?” he asked. “Miles away.”
The thane laughed aloud. “No matter,” he said lightly. “I was just asking if you'd prefer to borrow a stallion or mare. We have good stables.”
“I understand you have one of the finer stables in the district,” Brodgar put in courteously.
“Oh, very fine,” the thane exclaimed. “Fine indeed. Only yours exceed them, Lord Brodgar. The stables at Dunkeld are well-stocked, and your horses even better trained than ours, I think.”
“Only when they speak French,” Ambeal put in. Her father roared.
“Yes! Only when they speak French. Oh, fine joke. Yes, indeed.” He slapped a big hand on the oak-planking of the table in admiration.
Ambeal smiled at Alf. “Alf here was telling me they had success with a cross-breed – the destriers with local stock.”
“Oh?” the MacDonnell stared at her in surprise. “You've trained them, too?”
“We have,” Alf agreed. He leaned forward, talking avidly to the thane. Brodgar found himself left momentarily alone. He watched the three at the table and, sipping ale, smiled warmly.
I might as well not be here, he thought with some satisfaction. The three of them could have lived like this for ages. I'm the odd-one-out.
The thought was pleasing. For himself, he had no desire to become connected to the MacDonnell. His heart was otherwise occupied.
The more the evening wore on, the more Alf warmed to the conversation, and the three spent more time talking together than Brodgar spent talking to any of them.
Later, when dinner was cleared away and the drinks finished, a small plate of cheese circulating to end the courses, the thane cleared his throat.
“I shall retire, I think,” he said. “If we're going to hunt the day after tomorrow, I'd best meet with my verderers soon to discuss it. Early in the morning suits best. Though Heaven alone knows why. These fellows do insist on rising at ungodly hours to carry out their duties, so...” he shrugged and gave a lovely smile to his daughter. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Father,” Ambeal said, standing. “And I think I should retire as well,” she added. “Much to do tomorrow. Greetings.”
She was addressing both of them, but studied Alf.
Alf swallowed, looking down at his hands. He and Brodgar both stood and stammered their goodnight.
When they were alone in the hallway, ready to retire for the night, Brodgar looked at Alf. “Friend,” he began, concernedly.
“Don't say anything,” Alf dismissed. “Just don't say it. It's bad enough being in this mess as it is. I don't need your comments. Yes?”
Brodgar sighed. “Alf, my friend. I sympathize,” he said softly. “Aren't we here because I'm in love? With someone unsuitable? Why shouldn't you and Lady Ambeal be...” he paused as Alf let out a bit, shuddery sigh.
“Brodgar, coz; I'm finished.” He sighed. “I never...I never felt like this. It's strange.”
Brodgar grinned. “Now you know how I feel,” he said with a laugh. “At least I know I'm not the only one suffering. It makes it better.”
“Does it?” Alf asked skeptically. “Myself, I'm not sure. I only know that I...oh, ballocks. I don't know what I know anymore. I'm so confused.” He sighed.
Brodgar grinned. “It's supposed to feel like that, I think.” He nodded. “At least, that's how I've felt all week. Since Henriette arrived.” He stopped, feeling his throat tighten with feeling just thinking of her. “Come on,” he said hoarsely. “Let's get some sleep. It seems like I talked us into staying a few days, at least.”
“Not sure it's good,” Alf murmured as he followed him into the big chamber that had been set aside for their use. “A few days of this, of seeing her, and...” He sighed. “Not sure I'll be the person I was when I arrived – or if I can leave without leaving half that person behind. Anyhow,” he sighed. “I'm being daft.”
Brodgar smiled fondly. “No, you aren't,” he said kindly. “Or anyhow, we're both daft.”
“You're always daft,” Alf said, grinning as he sat on the bed and drew off his boots. “But I love you like my own brother.”
Brodgar smiled, feeling his heart warm at the comment. “And I love you like a brother, too, Alf. Now, we'd better get some sleep. It seems we're in for an early morning.”
As he lay in the darkness, the ruddy glow from the fire the only light in the room, Brodgar found himself lost in thought. He and Alf were both in love with the wrong people: he was supposed to wed Ambeal, and, if Alf took it into his thoughts to try and court Henriette, everyone would rejoice. However, as it was, it was the other way around.
I wonder, Brodgar thought, unaccustomedly restless, if we could exchange. He was almost completely certain his father would disagree, but as he closed his eyes, he heard a phrase. Trust, Alina's voice said, a whisper on the edge of his mind. It is what you need to do.
He sighed. She was right. He should have known. Should have guessed she would be right. She always was, after all. Trust wasn't such an easy thing to do after all.