The Snow White Bride Page 6

  Erik laid a hand upon her shoulder. “He has many obligations in these days. You should have compassion for him, for the death of your parents was most difficult for him.”

  Elizabeth grimaced. “I would have compassion if he were not so solemn all the time, and if he were not so determined to be rid of all of us. He wants Kinfairlie all to himself, it seems!”

  “You are old enough to wed,” Rhys dared to suggest, and the youngest of the Lammergeier family turned upon him in a fury.

  “Maman and Papa waited to be wed!” Elizabeth cried. “They waited until they found each other, until they found a love that could not be denied! Maman was not auctioned, and she was not abducted, and she was not treated with indignity.”

  Rhys captured Madeline’s hand when that sister made to speak. “But an auction can end well enough,” he said. Madeline smiled at him and eased closer. “Indeed, it can.”

  Vivienne stepped to Erik’s side and he slipped his arm around her waist. “As can an abduction,” he said, sparing a smile for his spouse.

  Vivienne leaned her cheek upon his chest. “That it can.”

  Eleanor was touched by the obvious affection between the two couples. Alexander had not done so badly in seeing these sisters married. Both of their spouses had holdings, both men were young and hale, and both sisters looked happy, indeed. She spared a glance for the man in the bed, who now had settled into a deep sleep, and thought he saw a poor reward for his efforts.

  Elizabeth was clearly not so inclined to grant credit to her brother. “Just because the matches Alexander made for you ended fortuitously does not mean that the others will!” she argued. The heat of her anger revealed her fear. It was a fear with which Eleanor could sympathize, though she felt it misplaced in this instance.

  “One might expect Fortune to turn against him,” Annelise suggested softly.

  “Twice he has succeeded, against all reckoning,” Isabella contributed. The three younger sisters stood together, as unified in their posture as their attitude. “It defies belief that such a trend could continue.”

  “Which is why we would see him wed himself,” Madeline said, her manner authoritative.

  Vivienne grinned, the same mischief in her expression that Eleanor had glimpsed earlier in Alexander’s. “Marriage will keep him too occupied to force his will upon you three.”

  Elizabeth nodded vigorously. “It will give him a taste of what he has rendered unto others.” She looked at Eleanor and nibbled at her lip with newfound doubt. “That is, if you still wish to wed him, after all you have witnessed this day.”

  The entire group turned to Eleanor. She keenly understood their fears, for she had survived two poor marriages and feared that they were more common than happy ones.

  But in truth, her sympathies lay with Alexander, a realization that made her doubt her own judgment. She had known the man but an evening, and already his charm and good looks persuaded her to take his side. Did he not appear to be too good to be true?

  “Can you see their ribbons?” Madeline asked abruptly. She smiled at Eleanor’s evident confusion. “Elizabeth predicted the happy state of our marriages. She could see ribbons emanating from each of us, entwined with those of our spouses.”

  “Elizabeth can see the fey,” Rhys said so solemnly that it could not be mockery. “She has a rare gift.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “I can see nothing uncommon, not since Darg disappeared.” She met Eleanor’s inquiring gaze. “Darg was a spriggan, a fairy who abided with us for a while.”

  “But she returned to Ravensmuir with Rosamunde,” Annelise said quietly, and a pall settled over the small group.

  “Neither of them returned from Ravensmuir,” Isabella told Eleanor.

  “Ah,” she said, not knowing what else she should say. This was an uncommon family, to be sure. Perhaps there was a measure of madness in their veins.

  “But that is not of import this night,” Madeline said with mustered cheer. “You have seen that Alexander is not so foul as you might have feared.”

  “And you need not fear that he is frivolous. He is not usually as he was this night,” Annelise assured Eleanor.

  “He is usually most sober and responsible,” Isabella added.

  “Too sober and responsible,” Elizabeth complained, though no one paid her much heed.

  “He is courteous to women,” Vivienne said, “for our father would have suffered no less.”

  “Kinfairlie, as you can see, is a fine holding,” Madeline contributed. “Though not as rich as many others, it is well-endowed.”

  Eleanor started at this assurance. She studied again the faces of those who regarded her so expectantly and she saw that they had no inkling of how dire matters were for their family abode.

  They did not know that Kinfairlie’s coffers were empty.

  There was only one soul who could have protected them from that fact. Eleanor crossed the chamber to the bed and stared down at Alexander. This man who would have all believe that he was concerned with his own desires alone had shielded his siblings from a truth that would have shaken them all.

  He had kept his secret for an entire year, even while struggling with the newfound burden of managing an estate and the grief of losing both parents suddenly. She again felt an admiration for Alexander Lammergeier— this man who had provided the nudge to begin a courtship between two shy souls in his village, out of kindness alone. There was more to him than a merry jest. He was protective of those reliant upon him, and she liked that.

  Truly, he had a dangerous ability to soften her formidable defenses against all men. She bent and touched her fingertips to his throat, reassured that his pulse began to settle into a more normal rhythm already. Though Kinfairlie had not been her destination, she wondered whether some divine force had ensured that she come to Kinfairlie’s gates.

  For against all expectation, Eleanor held the key to Kinfairlie’s salvation, though neither Alexander nor his kin knew it. That they had asked so little of her, even in ignorance that she could grant them so much, that they offered her this place in their family simply on the basis of her gender and compassion for a plight they knew little about, was astonishing. But they were a family. She had seen the affection between them, the comfort they had with each other, the ease with which each expressed fears and joys.

  Eleanor had never belonged to such a family. She looked at the watchful group again and found the younger sisters’ fear undisguised. They regarded her with a mix of hope and uncertainty. She knew that she could ensure that they wed well, as well as their sisters had.

  But there was only one way she could manage as much, and that was as Alexander’s wife.

  “I will stay at Kinfairlie and wed Alexander,” she said with sudden resolve, finding her voice more hoarse than she knew it to be. “I will keep our wager.”

  To Eleanor’s astonishment, the three younger sisters cheered and spontaneously embraced her. She was momentarily disoriented by such a show of affection.

  “This will end well, you can be certain of it,” Isabella said. “He likes you, we can see as much.”

  “And you bring out the best in him,” Elizabeth added, squeezing Eleanor’s hand heartily. “He has not been so merry in a year.”

  “We will do whatsoever we can to ensure that you are happy,” Annelise whispered against her shoulder, and Eleanor found tears rising to her eyes. They were virtual strangers to her, yet had shown her compassion and understanding.

  And they had granted her a haven, with no understanding of how precious it was. She would not fail their trust.

  “You must leave,” she said with resolve. “And take all of our garb, to ensure that Alexander has no doubts as to what has occurred this night.”

  Madeline frowned. “But there will be no consummation this night. There cannot be…” Rhys and Erik laughed and the younger maidens blushed.

  “Give me a sharp knife,” Eleanor said. “To cut one’s finger is an old trick, but no less effective for all of t
hat.” It was true that she had confessed to being twice widowed, but there was no guarantee that she was not still virginal. She guessed from what she had witnessed of Alexander that he would wed her promptly if he believed he had claimed her maidenhead.

  She eased him aside, cut her finger, and let the blood drip onto the linens in the middle of the mattress.

  The three younger sisters were dispatched then, and the men disrobed Alexander. Madeline and Vivienne shielded Eleanor from the men’s view as she discarded her own garb. The men left the chamber with averted gazes; then Eleanor was alone with the two elder sisters.

  “He is a good man,” Madeline assured her, then kissed her cheek.

  “So long as you do not deceive him, he will strive to make you happy,” Vivienne said, then kissed her other cheek.

  Eleanor did not think it prudent to note that cutting her finger was a deceptive beginning to their match from any perspective.

  “He will be fine on the morrow?” she asked.

  Madeline chuckled. “He is as hale as an ox. This sleeping draft will leave him with no more than an aching head.”

  “As if he had savored too much of the wine,” Vivienne agreed. “Do not fear for him.”

  Alexander snorted and rolled over to his back, then began to snore with gusto. The sisters laughed, then scurried from the chamber with Eleanor’s garb, closing the door behind them.

  The key turned in the lock and Eleanor folded her arms across her chest. Their footfalls and whispers faded from earshot, but she stood long in the same place.

  Once alone in a locked chamber with a man, she could not help wondering at the folly of what she had done.

  * * * * *

  The snow had stopped and the sky was clear outside the window of Kinfairlie’s laird, the stars shining brilliantly. The air was icy, prompting Eleanor to shiver. She crossed the floor with measured steps, the wood cold beneath her feet, lured by the temptation of a warm bed.

  Alexander slept like a dead man, and Eleanor knew there was no chance of her awakening him soon. The red of her own blood glistened against the white of the linens, taunting her with the import of her deed.

  By this time on the morrow, Alexander would be her wedded spouse. They would meet abed in truth. She would be his possession and she would have many years to learn whether her glimpse of his nature this night showed the truth or not.

  It was, in many ways, a fearsome prospect.

  Eleanor pulled back the coverlet and looked more boldly upon Alexander than she would have the audacity to do when he was awake. He was, as she had suspected, finely wrought, and something deep within her thrilled at the prospect of coupling with a man who was neither aged nor fat.

  Alexander was muscled, evidence that he actively trained at arms. The last vestige of a tan faded from his hands and face. There was a dark tangle of hair upon his chest and a darker one somewhat lower, a finer smattering of dark hair on his forearms and legs. His thick ebony lashes would have served any woman proudly, but there was no doubting his gender. She studied his firm lips, still slightly curved in sleep as if he dreamed of some hilarious jest. It was his merriment that beguiled her, his humor in contrast with his thoughtfulness.

  She stood a long time and gazed upon him. Reassured that he did not waken or move or expire, she stretched out on the bed alongside him. She ensured that she did not touch him at any point despite the chill in her limbs.

  But no sooner had she pulled up the coverlet than Alexander curled up behind her. Eleanor stiffened in shock as he slipped an arm around her waist, her eyes flying open. He grunted and pulled her closer, coaxing her back against his chest, her buttocks against his thighs.

  She stiffened, startled, and waited for the amorous assault that would surely come. But the moments passed, and Alexander did not seize her breast or force his erection against her.

  Indeed, he did not seem to have an erection. His breath stirred her hair, his breathing slow and deep. And he was warm, blessedly warm. His lips were against her shoulder, his brow at the back of her neck, as if he had fallen asleep while pressing a kiss to her nape.

  He was asleep. Of course. The elixir had ensured that he would not be otherwise. They lay together, like two spoons on a shelf, an intimate yet not sexual embrace.

  Eleanor had never been embraced, not without a specific sexual goal in her partner’s thoughts. She dared to place her hand over Alexander’s hand, which rested on the mattress before her belly.

  He immediately, instinctively, entwined their fingers, then nestled his knees more closely behind hers. Again she caught her breath, but their interlocked fingers were the sum of his objective. She marveled at this. She felt cosseted, surrounded by his warmth, protected.

  Safe. She felt his pulse, letting its regular pace soothe her like a lullaby. She closed her eyes, the sanctuary Alexander offered to her welcome beyond belief.

  Fortune had finally smiled upon Eleanor and she was not so foolish as to spurn that lady’s offerings.

  * * * * *

  Alexander awakened the following morning with a groan.

  He rolled to his back, then grimaced at the clamor in his head. He opened his eyes warily, intending to seek the rat that had apparently slept in his mouth, and was assaulted by a rogue beam of sunlight. He fell back against the linens, stunned.

  He might have lingered abed, but it became imperative that he hasten to the bucket beneath the window. His belly churned, then settled, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. At least he had not emptied his belly’s contents. A bead of sweat coursed down his back and he felt unwell.

  Alexander leaned against the wall, wondering at his state. How much had he drunk the night before? Indeed, what had happened the night before? His thoughts were an uncommon muddle.

  He kept his eyes closed as he considered his course. Morning had clearly come, but he was exhausted. How long had he slept? He recalled little of the night before, so little that he was leery of the truth. There had been wine, he remembered that, and he had spurned responsibility.

  Wine and music and himself carefree—and a beauteous woman named Eleanor. Alexander groaned, certain he must have offended her beyond expectation. His tongue felt thick and foul, unfamiliar in his mouth. His head hurt; indeed, his very marrow ached.

  What had he done?

  His signet ring was gone, its familiar weight absent from his finger. He recalled his appointment of a Lord of Misrule and was relieved that Matthew would yet have the ring.

  “And a merry Christmas to you,” a woman said at startling proximity.

  Alexander yelped and straightened, his eyes wide open now. Mercifully, the wall did not show any inclination to move, as he was compelled to hold fast to it to keep his balance.

  He gaped at Eleanor, who reclined upon his bed wearing no more than one of his sheets. Her hair hung loose, the golden tresses cascading over her bare shoulders and pooling upon the mattress. Her pose was stiff, as if she knew not what to expect from him, and her gaze was wary if not condemning.

  Suddenly there were a number of pertinent details about the previous night that Alexander would have paid his soul to recall. How had Eleanor come to be in his bed? And what had happened once she had arrived there?

  He, too, was nude, which might have been promising, had the lady looked more pleased. Alexander had never been so intoxicated that he had disappointed a lady— much less that he could not recall having done so—and this morning, with this lady, was, in his estimation, a poor place to begin such a habit.

  Nonetheless, he could not remember.

  He washed, taking elaborate care with his toilet, even as he tried to muster his thoughts. There was a cup of ale left for him, perhaps by a thoughtful Anthony, who knew he would need ale to spurn ale’s effects. He rinsed his mouth thrice, then quaffed a goodly swallow of the ale, reassured that his belly welcomed it.

  Alexander returned to the bed and eased his weight to his elbow as he stretched out beside Eleanor, endeavoring to look unsurprised by her
presence. He doubted, however, that her keen gaze had missed his astonishment.

  He sighed in mock dismay. “I see that you do not smile as yet.”

  “Would you abandon your quest then?”

  Alexander watched Eleanor, unable to understand her hard tone. What had he forgotten? Something of import, he would wager. It was unlike him to forget anything, but there were great gaps in his recollection of the night before.

  “I am nothing if not persistent in pursuit of my goals,” he said, then reached across the expanse of the bed to touch her. “We must still try to coax your smile. After all, the most lofty goal is not won by a man who abandons the quest too soon.”

  His hand very nearly landed upon her waist; then his fingers closed upon empty air. Eleanor had slipped from the far side of the bed, eluding his caress in the last moment. She even took the linens with her and wrapped them about herself with a fierce gesture, ensuring that he did not win the barest glimpse of her nudity.

  What had he done to insult her? For she was insulted, of that he could have no doubt. Her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes snapped with a fire that would have been more beguiling, had it been born of ardor instead of anger.

  “Perhaps you would prefer to meet the bold wench who offered you a morsel from her trencher.”

  Alexander fought to recall this detail. “Anna, the ostler’s daughter?” He scratched his head, and even that hurt. “I should think she would have found another suitor by this time.”

  “But she is ambitious all the same, to try to tempt the laird himself. We might well find her outside the door, awaiting your favor.”

  Alexander grinned. “Hardly that! Anthony would not endure it.”

  “Anthony?”

  “My castellan. All must slumber in their place, by his reckoning. He does not rest until all is as it should be.”

  “Which explains, of course, my presence here. Does he oft indulge your whimsy in taking women to your bed?”