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.“We have won, and you, my dear, have lost!”Alianor almost laughed but the crazed look in his eyes made her quash the urge.Everyone knew she had fairly won the game.This moment would pass and sanity would be restored.Two words froze her blood.“Congratulations, Sire.”One witness, a callow youth with a shock of brown hair, looked at his feet when Alianor’s stare confronted him.The others murmured their congratulations to the King.Panting, John looked at them one by one.He calmed — they dared not defy their sovereign.He had won.He had won.He had won.The rhythmic, silent chant in his head soothed his battered pride.Still chuffing hard like a horse after a race, he turned on Alianor, his mottled face twisted into a sneer.“Prepare yourself, Lady Coventry,” he bellowed.“You leave on the morrow.By the rood, I’ll send de Lacy’s hungry cock a sample of our fine English tarts!”Chapter ThreeIrelandSpring — 1210“HAVE YOU LOST ALL your senses, Uilleam?”Whenever his uncle used his full name, Liam knew Niall was unhappy with him.The two men sat side by side in the cover of Crone’s Wood, while the other eight men riding with them stayed hidden along the road.Liam’s blood-bay gelding stirred under the saddle.Biorra acted as impatient as his master felt.“Niall, I’ve explained myself three times already.I’ll not do it again.”His decision was made and Liam hoped his words would see an end to the argument.Unfortunately, he was not so lucky.After all, the man at his side was cut from the same stubborn cloth.“Aye, but ’tis Quintin de Lacy you propose crossing.” Niall didn’t sound as incredulous as he had when Liam first mentioned his plans.This time he sounded worried.Biorra snorted and Liam did, too.“De Lacy is no different than any other mark.We do whatever we must to provide for our people.Would you have me cower like a whipped cur at the mere mention of his name?”From the corner of his eye, Liam saw Niall shake his head.“Nay,” his uncle sighed, conceding this round of battle lost.Liam grinned, and leaned over from his saddle to slap Niall on the shoulder.“Stop harping like an old fishwife.If I wanted to hear naggin’, I’d be married, wouldn’t I?”Niall chuckled, but his heart wasn’t in it.His brow furrowed.“I fear de Lacy’s a different animal, Liam.Best not to mess with men of his ilk.”“Nonsense,” Liam said.“He’s a man, no different than us, other than he’s a Norman swine.” He waited for Niall to laugh and break the tension in the air.He did not.“Aye, a man,” Niall’s voice lowered, as if he feared someone might be listening, “but I’ve ne’er heard of a more malevolent one.’Tis said he threw his first wife down stone steps in a fit of mad rage, and killed her right enough.An’ the child she carried.”A chill touched Liam.Or did something cold brush up against him? Maybe a damp branch, for the forest was dense.He shook off his unease.“The tale was never proved true.”“Witnesses paid off, no doubt, by de Lacy’s deep purse,” Niall muttered.“Is it worth the risk of provoking pure evil? Surely not.”“You heard what Fearghas said back at the inn.This widow wed de Lacy with blessings from the Sassenach King himself.She’s traveling with the King’s own guard.What does it tell us, Niall? Her worth and thus her dowry will be substantial.So aye, I’d say the risk’s damme well worth it.”“Poor lady,” Niall said.“Aye, de Lacy’s bawdy preferences are legendary.A pinch-faced old widow hasn’t a prayer of pleasing him.But faced with a hag, mayhap we should pity de Lacy instead.” Again, his attempt at humor fell on deaf ears.“Bawdy preferences?” Niall spat in disgust.“Why, the man’s touch is a curse itself.Remember when the little O’Grady twins went to work there …”A shrill cry pierced the air, eerie enough to freeze the blood of even the hardiest men.Their mounts shied at the sound echoing through the misty trees.Neither hawk nor owl, nor anything human.The two men looked at each other.“Bean-sidhe,” Niall said, reaching down to pat his gray mare’s shivering withers in an attempt to calm her.“’Tis She on the wind.”“Well, if the banshee be keening this night, it doesn’t bode well for the English.After all, it’s the men of Eire She loves and protects.”At last Niall laughed.“Aye, Liam, an’ surely Her warning is meant for the Sassenach soldiers, not the Emerald Prince.”A COLD, DAMP WIND fluttered the curtains on the carriage sheltering two women as it trundled through the Wicklow Mountains.Alianor flicked the curtains back and peered into the gloomy woods.Each jolt of the carriage was another nail hammered into the coffin of her destiny.She saw nothing to alarm her in the falling dusk.Still, the dread inside her grew.She felt her heartbeat pounding in her head, matching the steady, plodding gait of the horses.The fierce throbbing hurt.She rubbed her temples and tried to think.Seated beside her mistress, the copper-haired Edie clucked her tongue in disapproval.“’Tis a fool’s errand to travel on through the night.We should have stayed at the inn where we stopped for evening meal.Whatever could the captain be thinking?”Edie’s words gave wings to Alianor’s thoughts, and by lantern light she saw worry creasing her maidservant’s face.She knew the girl was right, but tried to shrug off her unease.“We’re traveling with a brace of the King’s soldiers to protect us, Edie.Surely no one would be so idiotic …” Alianor trailed off.Perhaps imagining disaster invited it.She banned the thought from her mind; it was only silly superstition, born of weariness and grief.Edie shivered, drawing her heavy wool shawl closer about her shoulders.“Like as not, milady, by morn we’ll all be murdered and left for Irish wolves.”“Don’t be a goose,” Alianor chided the girl.She sought a diversion for them both and asked Edie’s opinion on how to style her hair for her wedding.The fine black velvet gown she planned to wear for the ceremony tomorrow was packed in her single trunk tied to the back of the carriage.Aye, she had chosen black a purpose, one small act of defiance she might risk.For even her betrothed could not deny she was being forced too soon to the altar after Walter’s death.Alianor had donned plainer garb for travel, a simple, black woolen gown with a round neck and fitted sleeves.Edie had tamed her usual riot of curls by plaiting her hair and arranging it on either side of her head.Her head was covered with a linen cap and opaque black veil.She felt every inch the dour, matronly widow she appeared.Alianor’s fingers smoothed a cloak folded on the seat between the women.It was a parting gift from Queen Isabella.Made from the finest crimson wool, trimmed with marten and silk-lined, it also boasted a delicate embroidered floral motif [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]