Chapter Six #3
Bric, over near the doorway, saw that Eiselle was struggling with a few of his men as they pawed at her lovely gown.
He knew his men didn’t mean any harm, but he didn’t want them here and he certainly didn’t want them upsetting Eiselle.
Tossing men aside, he charged through the crowd to Eiselle, putting himself between her and the men who were tearing at her dress.
“Out,” he growled, pointing to the door. “Everyone out.”
Orders from Bric MacRohan weren’t meant to be disobeyed, and the men began to funnel out, quickly in some cases. Bric left Eiselle in the corner of the chamber and followed the group out, shoving at them until they were clear of the room. Slamming the door behind him, he threw the bolt.
But it didn’t stop the men from pounding on the door, demanding bloodied bedsheets and proof of the bride’s virginity.
The shouts were loud and the banging on the door even louder.
Apologetically, Bric turned to Eiselle, still standing back in the corner, only to see that she was wiping at her face.
She was weeping.
His heart sank.
“I am sorry,” he said as he quickly went to her. “They did not mean to upset you.”
Eiselle was trying very hard not to sob, but the entire event had her shaken. “They… they tried to tear my dress,” she said, her throat tight. “This is such a beautiful dress. It belonged to Lady de Winter’s sister. She died young and Lady de Winter gave it to me. And they tried to tear it.”
Bric was starting to feel just as bad as he possibly could. With a heavy sigh, he put his hand on her arm, pulling her gently towards the bed.
“I am sorry, Eiselle, truly,” he murmured. “They did not know that. And I know my men; they were not trying to be cruel. They simply did not… think.”
She sobbed softly, wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, as he set her carefully on the bed.
But she nodded her head, as if to accept his apology, and he took a knee beside her, feeling greatly saddened that she’d been so upset by his thoughtless, careless men. He touched the hem of her gown.
“It does not look damaged at all,” he said, his voice soft and low. “It does not look like they tore the gown, but I shall give it to Lady de Winter and she can look it over herself. If there is any damage, she will fix it, I promise. You needn’t be upset.”
Eiselle was still wiping at her eyes as she looked at him, noticing that his big face was close to hers. She found herself looking into his eyes, such an unusual and pale color. He had a strong jaw, a striking face, one that she found so very handsome.
There wasn’t anything about Bric MacRohan that she found unattractive, in any way, and the fact that he was trying to ease her fear and comfort her made him that much more attractive to her.
Only a man of great feeling would be able to show such compassion to a woman’s silly fears.
Given his reputation as a fearless and deadly warrior, she found that aspect of him rather astonishing.
It was a side of him she’d never seen before.
“If you say they did not mean harm, then I believe you,” she said, swallowing the last of her tears. “It is just that this dress means a good deal to Lady de Winter. I would be heartbroken if something happened to it.”
Bric was smiling at her, pleased to see that her tears were short-lived. “It is an old custom, you know,” he said. “A piece of the bride’s dress brings good fortune. They were simply seeking good fortune and you cannot blame them for that.”
She shook her head. “Nay, I cannot, but they can tear another dress,” she said, a smile flickering over her lips. “Just not this one.”
He nodded, reaching out to touch her cheek as he stood up.
But in that gesture, he realized it was the first time he’d really made the attempt to touch her.
It had been so instinctive that the awareness shocked him.
Not only was he attracted to her, but it was manifesting itself in gestures he never knew he was capable of – he’d never touched a woman affectionately in his life, at least not with true warmth behind the gesture. Yet, with Eiselle, it had been innate.
As if he’d been doing it all of his life.
It would have been easy to lose himself in that moment, but the banging on the door was distracting him. He realized that he very much wanted to explore his new wife, and he was very curious about his feelings for her, but he couldn’t concentrate on any of that with all of the noise going on.
And, God help him, consummating the marriage with all of that upheaval going on was going to be hellish. He’d never bedded a woman he was deeply attracted to and, for the first time in his life, he wanted to figure out what, exactly, he was feeling. Most of all, they needed privacy.
“It was a mistake to come here,” he finally said.
Eiselle stood up from the bed, concerned. “Why do you say that?” she said, looking at the bed itself. “Whose chamber is this?”
“Mine,” he said. “But, as you can hear, we shall have no peace if we remain here. I did not think on that until now. We would do better up in your chamber. Shall we make a run for it?”
Eiselle could see the glitter of humor in his eye and she grinned. “Will you keep them away from my dress?”
He laughed softly. “My lady, I will beat them off, I swear it. How fast can you run?”
“Faster than you can.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “A boast, I see,” he said, as if both pleased and skeptical. “We shall soon find out if it is true.”
Taking her by the arm, he pulled her over to the door. She was in much better spirits now, and so was he. A quiet chamber awaited them; they simply had to get to it.
“I will open the door and push men out of the way,” he said. “Tuck in behind me and when the crowd clears, run for your chamber.”
“And you will follow?”
A smile spread across his full lips. “My lady,” he said softly, “I will follow you anywhere.”
The giddy feeling in Eiselle’s chest told her that she believed him, implicitly. He had hold of her as he put his hand on the door.
“Ready?” he asked her.
She nodded firmly. “Ready.”
With a wink, he put himself in front of her as he unbolted the door and threw it open.
Just as he’d said, a great cheer rose up and he charged out with Eiselle behind him, holding on to his waist. She had her head down, feeling the concussions against his body as he slammed into men, trying to clear a path.
Finally, he stepped aside and thrust her forward.
“Go,” he commanded quickly. “Run for the stairs!”
Eiselle did. With a yelp, perhaps one of fear and excitement, she began to run, pushing through men who were caught off guard by her swift move.
One or two of them reached out, trying to grab her, but she slapped their hands away.
Suddenly, she was free of the crowd as she raced for the spiral stairs that led to the upper floor, and she didn’t stop or look behind her until she reached her borrowed chamber.
Only then did she dare to look back as she rushed through the door and bolted it.
Giggling, and breathing heavily with exertion, she stood by the door nervously, waiting for Bric to come.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long.
He was soon pounding on the door and she opened it, admitting him, before slamming it behind him and throwing the big iron bolt.
When he finally came to a halt after the mad dash to the chamber, they looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“A maneuver well-executed, Lady MacRohan,” he said. “You are, indeed, quite fast.”
Eiselle giggled, still winded from the excitement. “It was fear that brought about my speed,” she said. “I did not want to chance having my dress ripped from me by fortune-seekers.”
He was still laughing, still smiling, and it took him a moment to realize he probably hadn’t laughed or smiled that much in a very long time.
In his profession, that wasn’t a common occurrence.
But with Eiselle, it was becoming the norm.
Something about her made him feel light of heart.
In fact, the entire day left him feeling light of heart.
Happy.
Of everything he thought his wedding would be, happy was not among them.
“Your dress is intact, my lady,” he said. “And I did not have the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look in it. When I saw you come into the hall for the ceremony, you took my breath away.”
She smiled modestly. “Thank you,” she said. “May… may I tell you something?”
“Please do.”
“I realize that we do not know each other very well, but it seems odd for you to address me so formally. You have my permission to call me Eiselle, should you wish to.”
His expression softened, as if he was genuinely touched by her words.
“I should like to, very much,” he said. “I think I shall call you Lady MacRohan, too, from time to time, because I like the way it sounds. It tells every man that you belong to me, and certainly that is something I never thought I would say, but I am proud of it.”
Given their earlier conversations, Eiselle knew that was probably a difficult admission for him. “I hope that I shall always honor you, my lord,” he said. “I shall always endeavor to try.”
He held up a finger. “If I am to call you Eiselle, then you must call me Bric,” he said. “I do not require such formality from my own wife.”
She laughed softly. “Bric,” she repeated. “It is a very nice name.”
“It does not mean what you think it means; that is to say, it does not mean that I am a brick to be stacked with mortar. In Gaelic, it means a bridge, something strong and enduring, for all men to admire.”
Her smile remained. “I like that a great deal,” she said. “It is a very nice name. Are you an only son, then?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I have two brothers, Brendan and Ryan.”
“Are they knights, too?”
“They fight and live in Ireland.”
She cocked her head in thought. “Do you miss Ireland, Bric?”