The Snow White Bride Page 5

  The ostler, a burly man with a formidable mustache, donned the apron of the baker’s wife, who was not a small woman herself. He then seized two round loaves of bread from a table, slipping them beneath his shirt. He fluttered his lashes and the company howled.

  The baker’s wife poked Owen in the shoulder in gentle reprimand, clearly accustomed to his antics. She then tucked her skirts into her boots, quaffed an entire mug of ale, wiped her mouth upon her sleeve, and belched fit to rattle the rafters.

  This must have been an accurate mimicry of the ostler, for even that man found it amusing.

  Then Alexander winked at Eleanor. “My lady fair professes a desire to be a courtesan this night.” He paused while the company shouted approval of this notion and Eleanor found herself blushing anew.

  Alexander lowered his voice, his manner so somber that none would doubt his words. “Though you may be assured that any discourtesy visited upon her this night will be recalled by me on the morrow when my customary duties are regained”—he held up a hand for the good- natured protest that followed his threat—“thus Anna will take my lady’s place.”

  Eleanor watched as the maiden who had made to tempt Alexander earlier got to her feet and straightened her bodice, a knowing gleam in her eye. Eleanor made to exchange places with the woman, knowing that she would not have taken even a subtle suggestion that she was a courtesan so coolly in that woman’s place.

  Unless it was not only the truth, but known to all.

  The two women passed on the floor, though Eleanor spared the woman no trinket to play her role. Their shoulders brushed as they passed each other.

  Just then, Anna whispered beneath her breath for Eleanor’s ears alone, her tone triumphant. “You see that he is mine, after all. Any man likes fire better than ice.” Anna had no chance to gloat, though, for Alexander raised his voice once again. “And I would surrender my place, until the stroke of midnight, to the new Laird of Kinfairlie and Lord of Misrule.” The company held its breath as one, and Eleanor turned back to find Alexander

  grinning. “Matthew, the miller’s son!” he cried. “Come take my place this night!”

  Anna’s expression of horror made more than one soul in the hall laugh aloud.

  A lanky young man stood up, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Me, my lord?”

  “Yes, you, Matthew,” Alexander beckoned. “Hasten yourself to the high table.”

  Matthew looked to the older couple who shared his table, and the miller—who now wore the priest’s cassock—nodded encouragement. Matthew was crimson to find himself the center of attention and did not look as if he would summon the resolve to walk to the high table. Father Malachy patted Matthew on the shoulder in encouragement.

  The woman wiped away a tear as she smiled. “Go on, then, Matthew,” she said. “Be a good lad and do as the laird bids you.”

  “But I cannot be laird,” Matthew said with a stubbornness that made Eleanor wonder if the boy was slow of wit.

  “Only for one night, Matthew,” Alexander said, his tone cajoling. “The burden will not flatten you so fast as that! I have need of a laird to ensure that all is well in Kinfairlie, a man with a good heart, and you, I know, are the one best suited for the task.”

  The miller rose when Matthew still did not move and took his hand, whispered something into his son’s ear, then urged him toward the dais.

  Matthew’s wonder was evident to all when he reached Alexander’s side. Alexander tugged his tabard over his head; then he and the miller saw Matthew garbed in the colors of Kinfairlie.

  “I will not fail your trust, my lord,” he said, his reverence for Alexander clear.

  Alexander smiled. “I expect no less.” Then he feigned a whisper as if confiding some detail, though it was yet loud enough for the company to hear. “Mind no man hunts the deer upon your land, my lord, for it is forbidden by the king’s own law.” At this counsel, the miller turned as red as a beet and several men guffawed in the company. Alexander grinned at the miller, and Eleanor knew that this was some old tale between them.

  “For this night and this night alone, Kinfairlie is beneath the command of Matthew, Lord of Misrule!” Alexander cried, then lowered his voice. “I beg you to ensure that all are entertained well.” He winked at Matthew, pushed his signet ring onto Matthew’s finger, then bowed low and kissed the boy’s hand. Matthew gaped at the gold ring on his own calloused hand.

  The castellan caught his breath in disapproval. “My lord! You should not surrender such a prize so readily as that!”

  “It is merely for one night,” Alexander said, putting his hand upon Matthew’s shoulder. “Matthew can be trusted to hold it fast.”

  There was affection between the two of them, an affection that surprised Eleanor. She had not often seen lairds take much interest in those who labored upon their lands. But Matthew’s father beamed and she knew that this warmth was not feigned.

  “I can have more wine?” Matthew asked, hope in his eyes.

  “Even better, you can command all to do your will for this one night,” the miller explained.

  “And they must do it?”

  “Just for this one night,” his father counseled, clearly foreseeing trouble from this. He and Alexander laughed.

  Matthew’s eyes lit with sudden resolve. “But if I am laird, then I must have a lady.”

  Alexander turned to the wench he had appointed in Eleanor’s place. “But Anna…”

  “I will not be his lady,” Anna snapped, and turned away.

  “So long as she has not kissed Matthew, the miller’s son, she has not welcomed every man in Kinfairlie,” shouted some bold soul. The company laughed, even as a furious Anna sought the man who had so commented.

  Matthew was untroubled by this. “I would have a lady by my side,” he said, then looked anew to Alexander. “Could Ceara be my lady fair?”

  A plump young girl at the back of the hall gasped and became redder than red when the entire company turned her way. She stood up, then sat down, then hunkered low as if she would hide herself. She was not a beauty, but she was fair of face. The way she kept her eyes downcast suggested to Eleanor that Ceara was shy.

  And that perhaps Matthew’s admiration was returned.

  “A man of merit must ask a lady’s favor,” Alexander suggested.

  “Ceara, will you be my lady?” Matthew shouted across the hall. Helpful hands urged shy Ceara from her hiding place and she nodded assent, apparently struck mute by the honor.

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth had woven a pair of crowns from the greenery in the hall, and she presented them now with a flourish. The new lord and lady were crowned to the delight of all. The pair smiled shyly at each other. Matthew swallowed, then took his lady’s hand. That intimacy seemed to overwhelm them, so shy were they, and they looked away from each other, blushing furiously. Alexander and the miller exchanged knowing glances.

  Eleanor was touched that Alexander had granted the boy his heartfelt desire. She had never known a laird to care about the happiness of his peasants.

  Matthew took a deep breath, then pointed to the priest. “Father Malachy, you said that you wished you could dance, but that it was not fitting for a priest.”

  “True enough, Matthew, though on this night, I am a miller.”

  “Then you must dance, Father Malachy! You must dance all the night long!” Matthew looked around, avidly seeking someone to command. His gaze fell upon Eleanor. “And you must dance with the lord’s lady.”

  “Ceara?”

  “No, my lord Alexander’s lady.”

  Father Malachy, in good humor, came to Eleanor and bowed low. “As you command, Lord Matthew.” He winked at Eleanor. “To dance with a courtesan will be a rare treat for me, indeed.” Doubtless he assumed that he would lead her in some courtly dance, but the minstrels immediately struck a bawdy tune.

  “Everyone must dance!” Matthew cried. “It is Christmas, after all!”

  The musicians sang a playful ditty about a sailor and a
mermaid, a tune evidently well-known in these parts with words that left little to the imagination about the state of the happy couple’s intimate bliss. The priest was an artful dancer and Eleanor found herself enjoying the quick steps and merry music. He turned her gracefully, as courteous as a man could be, and her worries eased yet more. Alexander’s hall was warm, his people were happy, his wine was good, and this was a night to celebrate.

  They did not fear him. They trusted him. And so would she—for a single night.

  More than one couple joined them in the dance, and one tune spilled into another. Soon the hall was rollicking. Eleanor found herself out of breath, but with no shortage of partners. Every man evidently wanted to dance with the courtesan—even the ostler in his apron. She caught only brief glimpses of Alexander as he circled the hall.

  Eleanor danced as she had seldom danced, for the tunes were vigorous and the clapping of the company was infectious. She had no obligations, no man kept a censorious eye upon her, no one would later demand an accounting of her every step. Her cup was filled with wine at every opportunity, and the minstrels seemed to know a hundred tunes.

  Matthew called commands from the high table all the while. In every direction, Eleanor could spy some folly. One man tried to balance a spoon upon his nose at the Lord of Misrule’s bidding, a feat complicated by his earlier consumption of ale. Another man tried to drink three tankards of ale in quick succession, his companions noisily trying to cheer him on. A plain maiden collected her due of a kiss from every man in the hall, blushing furiously all the while. It was harmless amusement, no malice in it at all, and Eleanor decided that Alexander had chosen his replacement well.

  * * * * *

  “A kiss!” Matthew cried suddenly. “Every man must collect a kiss from his partner!” The ostler, in his apron, happened to be Eleanor’s partner in that moment, and truly, Eleanor had never kissed a man with both a thick mustache and two considerable loaves of bread as breasts.

  In the end, it was not Anna’s comeuppance that made Eleanor smile, nor was it the dozens of acts of foolery being committed in Kinfairlie’s hall. It was not the ostler’s errant “breast,” not even when he had to crawl under the tables in pursuit of the one that had leapt free when he feigned a faint after her buss upon his cheek.

  It was the expression of rapture upon Matthew’s face when Ceara gave him a quick kiss, full on the lips, that made Eleanor’s lips curve. The young man appeared to be stunned by this honor, while Ceara herself looked astonished at her own boldness. The pair regarded each other so ardently that Eleanor did not doubt that a courtship would soon begin.

  “God bless my lord Alexander,” a woman said from close proximity. Eleanor spied Matthew’s mother not a trio of steps away, her gaze fixed upon her son. “There be a man with eyes in his head and the will to do something about what he sees. I thought Matthew would never so much as speak to that girl, so smitten is he with her, but my lord has seen the matter resolved.”

  Eleanor felt her smile broaden. What a Christmas gift Alexander had given the miller’s son! She turned, seeking the man responsible, but did not need to look far. She felt his hand upon the back of her waist, heard his low voice behind her.

  “If you will pardon my interruption, lady baker,” Alexander said to the ostler, who snorted with laughter. “I would claim your partner for her next dance.”

  “By all means, my lord,” the ostler said in falsetto. “Though I have already collected her kiss.”

  “Ah, it is a richer prize I seek,” Alexander said as he swung Eleanor into his arms and the dance began. “Is it true that you smile?”

  “Indeed, your quest is won.” Eleanor studied him, for he looked both younger and more dangerous with his tabard gone and his hair rumpled. His chemise was of fine linen, but he might have been any charming rogue, not a man with a holding beneath his hand. Truly, it was a marvel how the man’s eyes sparkled.

  “And the evening is yet young,” he mused with a wicked smile. “Do you imagine that your smile can be coaxed again?”

  “On this night, in this hall, I would not wager against it.”

  He grinned. “I will take that as a compliment to my hospitality.”

  “It is Matthew’s hospitality on this night, I believe,” Eleanor corrected, and Alexander laughed. She sobered. “You granted him a fine gift this night. It was kind of you.”

  Alexander shrugged. “His is a good heart, and one deserving of good fortune. I merely hastened his inevitable success.”

  Eleanor liked that he did not insist upon gratitude for his deed. She liked that he had concern for his people, and that they trusted him as they did. His hand was not heavy upon them, and they relied upon his judgment, it was clear. She had erred when earlier she had suspected that they feared him, just as she had erred when she had assumed Alexander to be a man concerned with his own pleasures alone. She found herself less anxious to flee Kinfairlie’s hall in the morning.

  “More wine?” one of Alexander’s sisters demanded suddenly from their side.

  “Doubtless you recall Isabella,” he said, courteously and subtly reminding Eleanor which sister was which. She found herself smiling for him again. She had met his sisters so quickly that she did not doubt she would have confused their names.

  “The next sister but one that Alexander must see wed,” Isabella said with a grimace.

  “Not this night, at least,” he agreed amiably, ignoring her dark glance. “You could find yourself a suitable match in your time and I would be all the more merry for that.”

  “Take your wine,” Isabella said, urging the cups upon them. “There is more in this one, Alexander, for you.”

  “Ah, but Eleanor favors a good wine and has found this one amiable.” Alexander gallantly offered the glass that was more full to her, but Eleanor saw Isabella’s eyes light with alarm. The younger woman shook her head while her brother’s attention was diverted, and Eleanor guessed that the full glass was intended for him for some reason.

  “I have indulged too much this night,” she said, and accepted the less full cup. “Take it, Alexander, lest it be wasted.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.” Eleanor watched Isabella as that girl nodded with relief. She wondered then what had been put in Alexander’s cup, but she did not have to wonder long.

  Within three dances, the man was stumbling over his own feet in a most alarming manner.

  3

  Eleanor followed the party that wound its way upward to the laird’s chamber of Kinfairlie, the sound of the festivities below carrying through the floor. Erik and Rhys fairly carried Alexander, the two men ensuring that the laird successfully made the climb to his bed. Madeline and Vivienne followed Eleanor and the other sisters trailed behind. Eleanor was more upset about the trick played upon Alexander than she might have expected.

  “You could be of some aid,” Rhys grumbled to Alexander, who seemingly could not put one foot before the other.

  Alexander made no reply.

  “I doubt that he could be,” Eleanor noted, wondering at this potion they had come by. She hoped that no error had been made in its formulation.

  “I hope whatsoever you gave him wears off quickly enough,” Erik said. “It felled him more quickly than might have been thought possible.”

  “I, too, hope that you have not injured him,” Eleanor said.

  “It is harmless enough,” Isabella said crisply. “Jeannie said as much.”

  “A potion of any kind can be unreliable,” Rhys growled. “I have learned my lesson well enough in this.”

  “But Jeannie is well-known to us and her skills with herbs are of wide repute.” Madeline laid a hand upon his arm. “Fear not, Rhys, for she can be trusted.”

  Eleanor guessed that there had been some potion of dubious merit in their past, for Rhys was uncomfortable, indeed. It did not reassure her, for she shared his distrust of such elixirs.

  “We could have ensured he slept some other way,” Rhys muttered.


  “Aye, he is owed a blow or two from me,” Erik agreed, and the two warriors grinned at each other. Eleanor could not imagine that such a man as Alexander could be due any such thing. She hoped the pair made a jest, for they were formidable, indeed.

  “Do not look so fearful,” Elizabeth bade Eleanor. “Alexander is hale enough.”

  “And the potion will only make him sleep deeply through the morning,” Isabella added. “Jeannie assured me as much.”

  They halted on a landing and Vivienne pushed past the trio of men, producing a key from within her skirts. She unlocked the portal and pushed open the door, standing aside so that Alexander could be carried into his chamber.

  “I cannot rest,” Alexander mumbled, though his voice was so slurred that it was difficult to discern his words. “I have guests. I have a quest; I must ride the breadth of Christendom to conquer ogres…”

  Eleanor caught her breath, fearful of the way Alexander’s thoughts wandered. The men cast the laird of Kinfairlie none-too-gently into his own bed.

  “Your guests will leave soon enough,” Rhys said.

  “And you can pursue your quest on the morrow,” Erik added, but Alexander had fallen asleep.

  His long limbs were sprawled across his own bed, his hair tousled and his face flushed ruddy from whatever had been in the wine. He looked young to Eleanor, yet alluring all the same. She could not keep herself from the side of the bed, could not resist the urge to lift his eyelid. He twitched when she did as much and with some effort she discerned that his pupil was small indeed.

  The sight stilled her heart. Perhaps he had need of protection from his own kin.

  “What was in your potion?” she demanded, but Isabella merely shrugged.

  “Only Jeannie knows the secrets to her elixirs.”

  Eleanor laid her fingertips upon Alexander’s throat and was not reassured by the wild race of his pulse.

  “I have never seen him so merry as he was this night,” Rhys noted.

  “He was always thus, before.” Elizabeth said. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at her sleeping brother. “Alexander was amusing once, before he became laird. This is the first time we have glimpsed him in a year.”