Chapter Seven #2
“Good morning to you,” she said.
Startled by her surprising appearance, Keeva and Daveigh turned to see Eiselle standing behind them, noticing immediately that she had the same silly grin on her face that Bric did. Daveigh cleared his throat nervously.
“Lady MacRohan,” he said. “You are looking fine this morning. Did you sleep well?”
Eiselle beamed. “I did, my lord, thank you,” she said.
Then, her focus turned to Keeva. “My lady, I was wondering if you had any chores for me this morning. I feel quite useless with nothing to do, and now that I am a member of this house and hold, I am more than happy to accomplish any task you feel I am capable of. I can sew, or tend the kitchens, or anything else you would have me do.”
The woman was asking for work. Keeva could see how giddy the woman was and once the surprise wore off, she realized she was quite thrilled to see it. She was also humored by it.
“I am sure there is much you can help accomplish,” she said. “Do you feel… up to it?”
Eiselle nodded firmly. “Anything you wish me to do, my lady, I can do it.”
Keeva looked at Daveigh, who had to wipe the smirk off his face. He turned around, heading out of the keep, leaving his wife with the ecstatic new bride.
“I have duties to attend to,” he said as he walked away. “Good day to you, Lady MacRohan.”
Eiselle watched him go before returning her attention to Keeva. “He is such a nice man,” she sighed. “You are a fortunate woman, my lady.”
Keeva was having a difficult time to keep from laughing at Eiselle.
The woman’s joyful mood was too sappy to believe but, in the same breath, it was rather sweet.
At least Keeva knew that Eiselle was happy; there was no need to ask her.
But she wondered if Daveigh was going to press Bric.
She had to admit, she was wildly curious about all of this.
It would seem that the morning after the wedding that Bric MacRohan had railed against, all was apparently right in the world with both Bric and his wife.
Truly, it was a miracle.
“Well,” Keeva finally said. “I have some fabric I have been saving to have made into a new surcoat. Do you feel up to the challenge, my lady?”
Eiselle nodded eagerly. “Aye, I do,” she said. “But… I would like to bid my husband a good morn, if you don’t mind. He left before I had awoken, and I have not seen him.”
Keeva pointed out into the inner ward. “I saw him on the battlements just a few moments ago,” she said.
“Go and wave to him, but do not distract him. If there is something you should learn about being the wife of a fighting man, it is to never distract him from his duty. When you have finished, come into my chamber and we shall pull forth the fabric.”
Eiselle nodded quickly and raced to the open entry, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, which was very bright.
Pale yellow splashed all along the walls and surfaces of the castle that faced east, and she lifted her eyes to the battlements for a glimpse of her husband.
He was right where Keeva had said, standing near the small tower that protected the entry into the inner ward.
But he wasn’t looking at her. Bric was in conversation with a soldier and as Eiselle watched, Daveigh joined them on the wall.
In truth, Eiselle didn’t want to demand Bric’s attention – simply seeing the man was enough for her.
She could feel her heart race at the mere sight of him, wondering if he felt the same way about their wedding night as she did.
It had truly been a night to remember.
Even thinking about it brought a flush to her cheeks.
Eiselle didn’t remember any pain at all, only the pleasure and warmth and comfort that his touch brought.
She remembered everything about it with great fondness and great excitement, and she realized that she was very much anticipating tonight.
She would be alone with him again, exploring this marriage that, so far, had started off so agreeably for both of them.
Her gaze lingered on Bric’s proud, muscular form before turning away and heading back in to the keep.
It was her first full day as Lady MacRohan and she intended to live it to the fullest.
Already, it was the best day of her life.
Bric didn’t see his wife standing at the entry of the keep, looking at him adoringly.
He had been speaking to a senior soldier, an old Irishman named Kelly, about the feast the night before.
Old Kelly was wise enough not to question Bric on his wedding night as the other nosy men had, but merely spoke of the honor of attending his marriage.
The old soldier had fought with Bric’s father, Rohan mac Briain, and told Bric that his father would have been proud to see him wed.
Bric lost himself in some revelry with the old man, speaking on their homeland, on Bric’s unruly younger brothers, and on things they both remembered.
Normally, Bric wouldn’t entertain such a frivolous conversation but, this morning, he didn’t much feel like focusing on anything serious.
He was more than happy to talk about things that had no bearing in his immediate world, simply because his mind really wasn’t where it was supposed to be, no matter how much he’d pretended it was.
When it should have been focused on his patrols, and the raid from two nights ago, it was on a certain young woman sleeping in the keep.
Every so often, he’d lift his hand up, casually, and sniff the inner part of his wrist.
He could still smell roses.
When Daveigh joined him on the wall, he had to stop smelling his wrist because he didn’t want Daveigh to notice the odd behavior.
As if he was going around sniffing himself in some bizarre fashion.
But it was a struggle as he listened to Daveigh talk about the weather, the patrols that were out, and the possibility that Savernake troops were in the area.
He finally ended up folding his arms across his chest, tightly, so he wouldn’t be tempted to lift one to his nose and sniff it, reminding him of the unforgettable night of passion.
He needed to focus on his task at hand and not his bride’s delicious body.
But his preoccupation of smelling her scent on his arms was cut short when the sentries at the gatehouse began to call out.
Men were approaching.
That was all Daveigh and Bric heard as they quickly descended the narrow steps from the inner wall, heading into the outer bailey just as the sentries at the gatehouse took up the cry to open the portcullis.
With the old iron chains groaning, the portcullis was slowly lifted, and Bric could see mounted men on the other side.
All he could see were horses’ legs and the distant sight of armed men. Still, he knew the sentries were sharp and wouldn’t open the gatehouse to just anyone. Therefore, he knew it was an ally. It took him a few seconds longer to realize exactly which ally.
Savernake had arrived.
Quickly, Bric began yelling to the men in the bailey to send for the stable servants to tend the horses of the incoming men.
Mylo had come down from the second level of the gatehouse, heading over to meet up with Bric and Daveigh as they watched the influx of soldiers and animals.
Bric noticed right away that there weren’t very many men, perhaps a dozen or so, and certainly not the big patrol he might have expected from a war machine the size of Savernake.
As Mylo approached, he called out to him.
“Is this all?” he asked. “Or do you see the rest of the army in the distance?”
Mylo shook his head. “This is all,” he said. “And they were riding very fast, which is why we opened the portcullis so quickly. Something must be amiss.”
Bric opened his mouth to ask him another question when he saw a big knight astride a massive gray war horse approach.
Bric recognized the horse; he knew exactly who the knight was.
In fact, it was a struggle for him to keep a straight face as the knight dismounted his horse, removed his broadsword from the sheath on his saddle, and wielded the weapon in a defensive stance as he faced Bric.
Dashiell du Reims had arrived.
“If you are going to fight me, then let us get on with it,” Dashiell said in a menacing tone. “I’ve got no time for foolery, so if you are mad enough to kill me, then you may try. I am ready.”
Bric just stood there and shook his head, wagging it back and forth. “These are your first words to me? Those of anger and threat?”
“I said I have no time for foolery. If you are going to strike, then do it.”
Bric had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Dashiell’s all-out aggressive stance, as if he were prepared to fight for his life. But he understood why.
“God knows, I should be mad enough to kill you,” he finally muttered. “I have lived this moment over and over in my mind ever since you went behind my back and proposed a marriage between your cousin and me, wondering what I would say to you when I saw you next. I have planned this out many times.”
Dashiell held steady. “I am sure you have,” he said.
“But before you tell me how much you hate me and how badly you want to kill me, know this: I proposed the marriage to honor you, not to punish you. I know you do not believe it, but my reasoning is thusly – you literally saved my life, Bric. In the battle of Newark Castle last September, you prevented my death and I vowed that I would repay you with the greatest honor I was capable of. This was that repayment. Now, you are forever my cousin, my kin, and when I am the Earl of East Anglia, I will greatly elevate you. You shall have lands and wealth. But it starts with the marriage to my cousin, so if you cannot understand that I did this to honor you, then I suppose there is nothing more to say. Attack me if you must; I am ready.”