The Snow White Bride Read online

  Eleanor fled down the stairs. She managed to descend only one flight before the sisters surrounded her, all achatter with what she might wear, and coaxed her into their chambers. She stood quivering amid them, willing her wild heartbeat to slow. Silks and samites were spilled across the floor, slippers mingled in disarray and stockings piled before trunks. A plump maid shouted for order, to no avail.

  Eleanor sat down heavily upon a trunk and heaved a sigh of relief when the door was barred against men. Her breathing slowed and she calmed enough to realize that Alexander probably had only desired to finish his kiss.

  And then she felt seven kinds of fool for having fled his side.

  The man would certainly think her witless. And indeed, Eleanor would not have argued that view, for her own deeds might well cost her the respite at Kinfairlie that she so ardently desired.

  * * * * *

  There was a particular kind of insanity loose in Alexander’s hall, and he did not know what to make of it. He could not fathom Eleanor’s sudden fear of him, nor could he satisfactorily explain his determination to ease her fear. She was an enigma and a conundrum, a woman determined to keep her secrets, and he should have been content to let her have them.

  Instead, he wanted to aid her.

  And truly, he wanted to meet her abed again; for this time, he would be certain to recall the deed. He certainly would not forget the sight of her smile, should she ever grace him with another. He needed time to name and exorcise the many demons that plagued her, and marriage would grant the gift of time.

  Indeed, the more he thought about the matter, the more Alexander was convinced that his fascination with the lady was a good omen for their future together—although that argument might have been more persuasive if the woman had not fled him in terror.

  Surely he had not lifted a hand against her the night before? The prospect stilled his steps. He could not imagine so doing. Surely he had not destroyed any chance of winning the lady’s trust? Alexander wished he could have been certain.

  How strange that he had slept so deeply. He did not think that he had drunk that much of the wine. He had been too concerned in winning Eleanor’s smile. It was doubly curious that the key to the lock on his chamber door had been on the outside of the door. Had he heard the key turn before his family had interrupted Eleanor’s delightful kiss?

  And why had they come to his chamber, as if they expected something of him? It was most uncommon. Usually he met them in the hall, though he supposed that habits were broken during the holidays.

  Perhaps they had witnessed more of his courtship of Eleanor than he recalled. Perhaps they had guessed what—or whom—they might find in his chamber.

  If that were not sufficient to puzzle a man—never mind one whose head ached as Alexander’s did—there was other oddity in his hall. It seemed to him—and admittedly, he was less than his usual self on this morn— that everyone knew of his nuptials before being told of them. Alexander was well aware that gossip was fleet of foot, but truly, it seemed that everyone at Kinfairlie had known of his intent to wed on this day before Alexander had guessed as much himself.

  Anthony had already made preparations for a feast and the kitchens were redolent of meat being roasted and stewed. There was bread baking and eggs cooking and vegetables boiling, and all this by the time Alexander left his chamber, mere moments after persuading Eleanor to accept his suit The tables were being set in the hall and there were peasants clustering around the portal already, spoons and bowls and napkins expectantly in hand.

  It was Christmas Day, to be certain, but at Kinfairlie there was usually a feast on Christmas Eve in the laird’s hall and then not until Twelfth Night.

  But everyone appeared to know that tradition was to be broken this year, no less that it was being broken for a wedding.

  Alexander supposed that he must have courted Eleanor amorously, indeed, the night before, for his intentions to have been read so clearly by even his vassals.

  Or was there another explanation?

  The way his sisters giggled together certainly had a way of making a man suspicious that all might not be as it appeared. Perhaps this was all an elaborate prank, in which Eleanor participated, and she had no intention, in truth, of wedding him.

  Perhaps Eleanor’s flight from his kiss had been a hint of what was to come. Alexander would not put it past his sisters to play a jest upon him. As he put his hall in order and issued commands for his wedding day, Alexander braced himself for the worst. Aye, he could imagine Vivienne and Madeline thinking that a public embarrassment at the altar would be fitting retribution for his matchmaking for them.

  Perhaps they did not know—or had not anticipated— that the lady felt a measure of attraction to him. Alexander knew a thing or two about women, and although Eleanor was more mysterious than most, there was no doubting that she welcomed his kiss.

  Perhaps she could be persuaded to accept him truly, in defiance of whatever scheme his sisters had. The prospect of that put a spring in Alexander’s step as he went about his morning duties.

  4

  Eleanor indulged herself with a dream.

  She stood on the threshold of Kinfairlie’s chapel on Christmas morning, the warmth of sunlight on her head and shoulders, the sparkle of fresh snow all around her. The air was crisp, and the rumble of the sea carried from the cliffs beyond Kinfairlie’s shores.

  She was dressed in vivid crimson, a gossamer veil of golden silk wound over her head and gloriously gilded red leather slippers upon her feet. Alexander’s sisters had raided their own stores of garments to dress her appropriately for her nuptials and she felt resplendent in red and gold. She had been surrounded by five laughing women, as intent upon seeing her look her best as if they had been her own blood sisters.

  She knew they had accomplished their goal, for Alexander’s eyes had glowed when she had first stepped into his hall. He had claimed her hand, kissed her knuckles, and not allowed her to be parted from his side since. It was intoxicating to be the focus of his attention and Eleanor dared to dream that this day would not end.

  Alexander had not pressed her about her flight from his side, though he seemed determined to keep her close, and for this, she was grateful. He had even refused to hear her apology, insisting instead upon offering his own.

  Eleanor’s heart pounded in a most unfamiliar way and she knew that her cheeks were rosy. She wondered whether a measure of the starlight in Alexander’s eyes had entered her own. She took a chance in defiance of all she had learned, but hope for a better future was a potent lure, indeed.

  Alexander gave her hope, a rare gift for one who had seen and experienced as much as Eleanor had.

  Alexander held her hand fast within his own even now as Father Malachy raised his hand in blessing. Alexander’s siblings were gathered behind diem, and the peasants of Kinfairlie clustered behind them, the entire company smiling. Alexander slid his thumb across Eleanor’s hand, a leisurely caress that made her mouth go dry.

  She risked a glance in his direction and found his gaze upon her, his eyes dancing with that barely contained merriment that she found so enticing. He looked pleased to be standing beside her, pleased to be exchanging vows with her.

  As if he had chosen her himself to be his bride.

  As if they had chosen each other. Eleanor added that element to her dream. He was finely wrought, this man intent upon taking her to wife, this man she had tricked. And he was honorable, so honorable that Eleanor felt remorse for having deceived him.

  Eleanor chose to believe for a moment that this was a match that would endure, that Alexander would not prove to be a brute, that this sunny Christmas morning might bode well for her future. And she indulged herself with the impossibility of this being her first match, perhaps her only match. What if she had been a virgin the night before? The lie with which she had snared Alexander was more appealing than the truth, and she wished fervently that it could be the truth.

  Her hand rose, seemingly of its ow
n volition, to caress the crucifix that she always wore beneath her kirtle, the crucifix that should grace her garb at her nuptial vows, but found nothing.

  Of course, the gem was no longer there. Eleanor had worn it for so long that she still forgot that it was gone. She caught her breath, knowing that the presence of her heirloom would have blessed this match as it could not have blessed her last two. She told herself that the loss of the gem was a small price to pay in exchange for her life.

  “What is amiss?” Alexander whispered. In truth, he looked concerned, so concerned that she felt the need to grant him a reply.

  “I lost a gem of my mother’s and miss it still.” Eleanor shrugged, as if the matter were not of import.

  “What manner of gem?”

  “A crucifix. It was merely a sentimental piece,” she lied, not wanting him to realize that she had possessed any heirloom of such value as the ruby-studded golden crucifix that Ewen had seized.

  To her dismay, Alexander was not deterred. The priest cleared his throat pointedly, but Alexander continued their conversation all the same. “You do not seem the manner of woman to lose things, especially items of sentimental value,” he murmured, his gaze assessing. “Should we seek it?”

  “Nonetheless, I did lose it and lost it long ago.” Eleanor looked back at the priest, willing him to continue. “It is gone, gone beyond reclamation.” The priest’s gaze flicked between the pair of them, and his lips tightened in displeasure. Eleanor bowed her head deeply as if contrite.

  Alexander tightened his grip upon her fingers. “You must describe it to me and I will seek another,” he said as he bowed his head in turn.

  Eleanor caught her breath. She was touched that he would make such an offer purely to see her pleased, before she recalled that he could not do as much. “Surely you should not waste whatsoever lurks in your coffers upon such a frippery?” she said quietly, and he inhaled sharply. She felt rude then for reminding Alexander of the truth of his financial situation.

  Father Malachy crossed himself and said “Amen” before he glowered at the inattentive pair before him. Alexander granted the man such a smile that his scowl immediately began to soften. The company echoed the blessing with gusto; then Alexander slid a heavy ring onto the ring finger of Eleanor’s left hand.

  She looked down at it, surprised by its weight, and was more surprised by the ring itself. A large, round emerald fairly filled her knuckle, its green depths gleaming, its circumference marked with a plethora of small white pearls. It was a substantial piece and one no man without means could have acquired.

  Had Alexander lied about his lack of coin? Or were the Lammergeier truly the thieves they were reputed to be?

  Her astonishment must have shown when she met his gaze, for Alexander grinned.

  “It was my mother’s wedding ring,” he said. “My father accepted it as his sole claim from Ravensmuir’s hoard of treasures, and my mother left it in the treasury for safekeeping before they undertook the journey that proved to be their last.” He touched a fingertip to her chin. “I could scarce bear to look upon it before this morning, but now the gem reminds me of the hue of your eyes.”

  “You could sell it, if you lack for coin.”

  “Never,” he said with ferocity. “There are treasures with value beyond their price.”

  “You should keep it, then, in case you might have need of it.”

  His lips tightened and he spoke with vigor. “I should surrender it to my lady wife, as my parents doubtless intended I should do, that it might gleam from its rightful place upon her hand.”

  Eleanor blinked, for she knew not what to say in the face of such generosity. She was honored beyond belief by this gift and ashamed anew that she had tricked him. Words eluded her.

  Eleanor had little chance to speak, though, for Alexander bestowed yet another of his bewildering kisses upon her. Appreciative of his thoughtfulness, she leaned into his embrace after only the barest hesitation. She savored his heat and the crisp scent of him, welcomed his caress with a remarkable confidence that he would not press her too far.

  She would do her best to serve him well as his wife.

  The company cheered at this public show of affection and Eleanor’s cheeks heated, but Alexander continued his languorous kiss. One of his hands cupped her nape, the other held fast to her left hand, enclosing the ring that she now wore. Once again, Eleanor felt cosseted and safe. Heat spread to her very toes and her flesh tingled, her hand rose to his shoulder and she eased to her toes, wanting more of whatsoever he offered.

  Alexander broke their kiss all too soon, his smile warm as he gazed upon her. Eleanor smiled in return and liked how his eyes lit.

  “This is a finer beginning,” he said, for her ears alone, and Eleanor felt herself flush. Her heart was light, lighter than she could ever recall it being.

  Father Malachy tutted at Alexander with little censure, then turned and led the company into the chapel to celebrate the mass. Alexander gallantly offered his elbow to Eleanor, and his sisters beamed at what they had wrought.

  It was perfect. This was as Eleanor had dreamed her nuptials would be and the truth of it put a lump in her throat. If this was illusion, it was not only artful but also one she ardently desired.

  The candles had been lit and the priest had just lifted the Eucharist when destriers came galloping into Kinfairlie’s village. Eleanor knew in that instant that her fledgling dream was to be shattered. She braced herself for the worst, even as she bitterly regretted that her past should prove to be so fleet of foot.

  * * * * *

  Alexander heard the horses and would have thought little of it, had Eleanor not started in such alarm. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and her fingers tightened upon his. He looked at her just as the portal opened, heard her catch her breath, and saw the color drain from her face.

  Then she pivoted to face Father Malachy anew. Alexander knew he did not imagine that her hand trembled within his, though she stood tall and straight.

  He glanced back then and his own lips thinned at the new arrivals. It was the Black Douglas clan, the oddly fair Alan at the fore of the party. There was something uncanny about Alan, more than the pallor of his eyes or the strange fair blond of his hair. Just the sight of him made people awkward.

  Alan’s party marched noisily into the chapel, sparing no respect for the service in progress. Alan smiled at the sight of Eleanor, though his was not a kind smile. It was a smile that put Alexander in mind of hungry wolves and he pulled Eleanor closer to his side. Rhys and Erik followed Alexander’s gaze and eased their wives away from the center of the chapel.

  Alan cast his helm and gloves to a squire, then made his way through the chapel. The peasants fell out of his path, and muttering followed in his wake. He pushed his way between Erik and Rhys, neither of whom granted him any quarter, then reached for Eleanor’s elbow. How did he know her?

  Eleanor never glanced up, but she pulled her arm abruptly out of his reach.

  “Well met, sister,” Alan said, interrupting the priest.

  “Is that the truth of it?” Eleanor murmured.

  “Hardly well met at all,” Alexander said, wondering at the link between these two. Were they siblings? “Have you no respect for the divine offices?”

  “Earthly matters are of greater import in this moment,” Alan said, then seized Eleanor’s left hand, lifting it so that the light played in the gem Alexander had just placed upon her finger. “Ah, I see that I interrupt nuptial pledges.” His smile turned cruel as he studied Eleanor. “I always knew that you were a shrewd bitch, but this is cunning beyond expectation.”

  Alexander’s sisters gasped as one. Rhys and Erik stepped forward at the insult offered to Alexander’s lady. Father Malachy caught his breath that such language would be used in church, but none had a chance to respond.

  Alexander had already struck Alan. His fist landed solidly upon Alan’s nose. Alexander was not dissatisfied to hear a bone crack beneath his blow
. Alan fell back, blood erupting from one nostril, and no one stepped forward to aid him.

  Alan steadied himself and glanced over the watchful company. Eleanor said nothing, though her gaze flicked between the men, seemingly missing no nuance of response. Alan’s men made to move forward, but Alexander’s men blocked their progress.

  Alan fingered his nose, which was swelling even as it reddened. He glared at Alexander. “I had always thought that you were not overly keen of wit.”

  “And I have always found you to be devoid of chivalry, although this incident is far beyond anticipation,” Alexander retorted. “No one speaks to a noblewoman so coarsely upon my lands, much less in a chapel reliant upon my protection.”

  “Amen,” said Father Malachy.

  Alan only smirked. He straightened, then eyed Alexander anew. “Let me grant you some counsel, neighbor, and save you from your own error before it is fully made.”

  “I do not welcome your counsel.”

  “You should.” Alan snatched at Eleanor’s hand. He pulled the ring from her finger, even as she gasped in outrage, then cast it at Alexander. Alexander caught the ring, and in that same moment, Alan hauled Eleanor to his side so quickly that she stumbled. “Keep your bauble, neighbor. This bride is fatal to claim.”

  “No!” Eleanor protested, and pulled her hand from Alan’s grasp.

  “The choice is not yours to make,” Alan said with a snarl. He grasped her hand again and Eleanor winced as his grip was clearly harsh.

  “Is Eleanor your sister?”

  “Nay.”

  “Is she your niece or daughter?”

  Alan granted Eleanor that unpleasant smile. “She is the widow of my brother, Ewen.”

  Alexander blinked at this morsel of news, then glared at Alan. “Then the choice most certainly is the lady’s to make,” he said. He seized Alan’s wrist even as that man glared at him in defiance. Alexander was younger than Alan and he did not doubt that he was stronger. Indeed, he tightened his grip steadily upon the other man’s wrist until Alan’s grasp upon Eleanor was released.