Claire Delacroix (2 page)

Brianna would have her say first. “But you cannot surrender Tullymullagh!”

Connor shook his head. “We fought valiantly, child, but lost. There is naught else to be done.” His eyes flashed a warning that Brianna did not miss. “ ’Tis beyond fair that this righteous king does not see us all dead for greeting his vassal with swords.”

Brianna eyed the army within the hall and understood. Submit or die had been her sire’s choice. ’Twas unfair!

“And who,” Henry demanded with a coy quirk of his brow, “might this vision of loveliness be?”

Brianna bridled, but bit her tongue, valiantly trying to keep her silence. Men who composed flattery easily were seldom sincere.

Holding her tongue, however, was not a talent that came readily to Brianna. She struggled against the urge to tell this king precisely what she thought of him and his vassal.

“This is my daughter, Brianna,” her father said proudly, his introduction one more suited to the leisure of a social gathering. “My
only
daughter,” he added, no doubt also seeing the gleam that brightened the king’s eye.

Brianna glared back at the king. Aye, Henry was known to have an appreciation for women. Indeed, none other than the legendary beauty Eleanor of Aquitaine warmed his own bed.

Though the English king was seldom found within it.

“And a beauty she is,” Henry conceded. He smiled, but Brianna stood stiffly and did not respond. “I had heard that the Rose of Tullymullagh was beyond fair, but never guessed such beauty could truly exist.”

Connor straightened and inhaled sharply. “She is
not
a spoil of battle,” he declared with new steel in his tone.

Henry turned to Brianna’s father with feigned surprise. “Connor! You surprise me with your mistrust!”

But Connor’s eyes burned with anger and his voice throbbed low. “Should any man be fool enough to despoil my daughter, I shall hunt him down and see he has naught with which to repeat the deed.”

A murmur of uneasiness slid through the assembly of men at that declaration. The king looked at Brianna, who folded her arms across her chest.

“Provided his weapon survives the deed itself,” she added, putting enough emphasis on the word “weapon” to make the men fidget anew. Brianna had never been one to
stand by and let the fates decide any matter for her—and she would not begin now.

Whether the conquering king approved or not.

Henry cleared his throat. The men near her sidled away from the base of the stairs, granting her slightly more room. Henry watched their move, then summoned a smile that did not fool Brianna.

Henry had a scheme, she would wager, and ’twas not one that either she or her father would like.

“You must think my men base curs to even make such a charge,” he said smoothly.

Neither Brianna nor her father argued the point.

A frown momentarily marred the king’s brow, then he waved a hand dismissively. “But, I cannot take a man to task for holding his only child so dear. On the other hand, I see no reason not to use any available asset to ensure the stability we now need.”

The king gestured impatiently for Connor to rise. “Consider yourself divested of Castle Tullymullagh and its properties,” he said curtly. “I will accept your pledge of allegiance with all the others.”

Brianna bit back her gasp of outrage, but Henry waved smoothly to the older mercenary. “And you, Gavin Fitzgerald, as a result of your loyal service to both me and my family, shall have this prize keep to call your own.”

This
was the man who would be granted her stolen home?
This
was the man who would reign in her sire’s stead? ’Twas unacceptable! What could this man know of good governance? The mercenary grinned outright, revealing at least one missing tooth, as Brianna simmered.

“I thank you, my lord, for this token of your generosity,” he muttered and bowed awkwardly. His left leg stuck out stiffly, as though he had been lamed.

But then the king pivoted to face Brianna, his bright gaze
seeming to read her rebellious thoughts and cared little for them.

What plan did Henry have in store for her?

“And fear not, Connor. Your wish shall be fulfilled,” he declared with a decisiveness that made Brianna dread what he might say. “Your lovely daughter will not be
wasted
in all of this.”

The mercenary grinned. Brianna’s heart skipped a beat and a horrible suspicion rose in her mind.

Before any could ask, Henry continued. “Brianna’s hand in marriage will seal together old and new, by my dictate.”

Marriage?
To that mercenary? Not so long as Brianna drew breath!

“You cannot wed me to that old goat! You cannot bend me to your will in this!” The words were out before Brianna could consider the wisdom of uttering them. She crossed the room with furious steps, the men in the hall parting before her anger, and halted before both dais and king.

She jabbed her finger toward a king who looked decidedly displeased. “I will
not
wed this man and you cannot make me!”

The fighting men chuckled at her obvious distaste, but the king did not smile.

“On the contrary,” Henry agreed too easily for Brianna’s comfort. “I suspect Margaux de Montvieux would not take kindly to her husband accepting another bride.” He arched a brow. “And Margaux is not a woman whose spite I would think it wise to cultivate.”

Gavin flushed at Henry’s comment, but Brianna had no interest in whatever marital troubles he—or the king—might have.

Indeed, it appeared that she would soon have some of her own.

“Then, who will you force me to wed?” Brianna demanded
when the king did not continue quickly enough for her taste. She hoped against hope that her fear did not show in her voice.

“Gavin’s son.” Henry smiled coldly. “Of course.”

And in that very moment, Brianna guessed the ebony-haired knight’s claim to a position on the dais.

When she turned to look at him, that man bowed low with a grace alien to his sire. “Chevalier Burke de Montvieux, at your service,” he said in a voice that might have been pleasant enough under other circumstances.

Not only did Brianna have very definite ideas about marriage, but this scheme did not fit with them at all. She had decided long ago to follow her parents’ example and wed for love alone.

Time ’twas to make her feelings clear.

Brianna squared her shoulders and looked the king dead in the eye. “I cannot wed a stranger! I will not wed this man, simply because of your dictate.”

“You have little choice,” the king retorted, his lips thinning with impatience.

“Father?” Brianna appealed, well aware that her father had never before denied her anything she had requested.

To her horror, Connor shook his head. “I can do naught in this, child. The king’s will must be the way.”

Brianna was not prepared to make that concession. Her thoughts flew like quicksilver as she sought some escape from this quandary.

The king had said that she had little choice, but Brianna would make as much of it as she could. She looked at this Gavin and knew instinctively that he was a man to deny himself naught, whether he was wed to a virago or not.

Aye, Brianna suspected his seed was spread far and wide.

’Twas a remote chance but the best one she had. Brianna took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and hoped her suspicion
proved right. She turned to the hardened mercenary and summoned every grace she had ever learned.

“I mean no offense, sir, but is this man your
only
son?”

“Brianna!” Her father chided her rudeness, but to Brianna’s delight, Gavin shuffled his feet and did not respond. A dull red rose over his ears and his lips thinned. Gavin glanced at the knight beside him, thence to the king, his mood clearly less than prime.

“Surely,” Henry commented drily, “you have not forgotten the number of your own progeny, Gavin?”

The mercenary fired a glance of loathing at Brianna. “My lord, I truly believe that this match is one best made by Burke—”

The king interrupted crisply. “But I choose to indulge the lady. She has, after all, a certain charm.”

Brianna ignored the fleeting smile the king sent in her direction.

“But, my lord,” Gavin stepped forward with obvious consternation. “Rowan travels with my lady wife and I know not where they are these days.”

“Then you shall find them,” the king retorted. “Immediately.”

“My wife may protest. She is quite attached to Rowan.”

Henry straightened and his tone was chilling. “Rest assured, Gavin Fitzgerald, that if Margaux de Montvieux has an argument with this arrangement, she may pursue the matter with me.” Henry arched a regal brow. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. ’Twill be done immediately, my lord. Rowan shall be summoned at your dictate, my lord.” And Gavin bowed not once but twice to show his obeisance.

Fawning cur.

“And?” the king asked archly.

Gavin failed to contrive an innocent expression. “
And
, my lord?”

Henry’s smile faded as he eyed his vassal. “Are you not forgetting someone else?” he asked sharply.

Once more, Gavin colored deeply. “I truly do not believe, my lord, that ’twould be appropriate—”

“The lady has requested a choice—” Henry’s tone was harsh “—and she shall have the choice of all
three
of your sons, regardless of your beliefs about the matter.”

Three?

“You have
three
sons?” Connor asked quietly.

“Aye,” Gavin conceded with evident reluctance. “There is also the eldest, Luc.”

“The eldest?” Connor echoed and drew himself up at this affront. Indeed, he once again looked the proud warrior Brianna knew and her heart danced at the sight. Connor fixed Gavin with the cold eye for which he was reputed far and wide. “There is an
elder
son than these two?”

Gavin nodded unwillingly. “But—”

“But
naught!
” Connor turned that glare upon Henry in turn. “You would dishonor my daughter by not wedding her to the eldest son, to the heir? What travesty is this? What mockery do you make of me in my defeat?”

“It matters little, in truth,” Gavin protested with unexpected fervor. “Burke is my heir.”

Why would the second son be heir? Brianna was curious despite herself. Why did Gavin prefer to forget this eldest son?

Was he bastard-born?

“Connor,” Henry interjected, evidently intending to be the voice of reason. “In truth, Burke is the greater heir, though he is indeed the second son. His mother’s holding of Montvieux in Normandy is a wealthy one and is destined to pass to him.”

“Normandy?” Brianna echoed with horror. “But what about Tullymullagh?”

“Dare I hope that your generosity should provide for my son to inherit Tullymullagh after me, my lord?” Gavin inquired of the king with a deep bow.

Brianna barely kept her lip from curling. She had never seen a man grovel like a dog awaiting scraps from the table—indeed, she would not have tolerated such behavior even from Tullymullagh’s hounds!

“Of course,” Henry agreed. He flicked a small smile to Brianna. “However, I see no harm in letting the lady choose between all of your sons.” His gaze was openly assessing and Brianna’s ire rose that he spoke of her as though she were not present. “She appears to be one more easily managed when occasionally given her way.”

Brianna felt her cheeks flush scarlet at this assessment. Oh, she would see that her acquiescence was not easily won!

“Then, I shall send word to both sons.” Gavin made another painful bow.

The king turned his piercing glance upon Brianna with an abruptness that made her fear he had heard her thoughts. “Think well how you will choose between these men, Brianna of Tullymullagh,” he counselled sternly, “for you will know none of them any better than you do now. I have indulged you, as doubtless your father has done many times before me, but do not mistake kindness for weakness.”

Brianna straightened as she stared proudly back at the king. She was not a slow-witted child to be lectured by some foreign king bent on humiliating her father.

“And I would suggest, my lord,” she countered with all the sweetness of fresh honey, “that you not mistake concession for submission.”

Her father inhaled sharply, but Henry’s lips quirked with reluctant amusement. He eyed her for a long moment, then
turned away. “ ’Tis with regret that I must abandon matters here just as they become interesting, but duty summons me on to Cashel.”

“We shall miss your august presence, my lord,” Gavin declared.

The king slanted the older man a wry glance. “Do not fear for your prize, Gavin. I shall invest you with Tullymullagh this very day.” He turned to Brianna. “Lady Brianna? Will you grace these ceremonies with your presence?”

How dare he ask her to watch her father’s defeat?

“I will not bear witness to such injustice,” Brianna snapped, then spun on her heel and stalked back up the stairs. The king’s mocking laughter taunted her, and she loathed how quickly Gavin echoed his sovereign’s mirth.

They would not steal Tullymullagh away from her sire, Brianna resolved as she stormed down the corridor. Somehow, in some way, Brianna would thwart their plans. She would wed
none
of Gavin’s sons.

Brianna stopped short, suddenly recalling the king’s words. He had called this a contest for her hand.

A
contest
.

Could she truly ensure there was no victor in this contest? Aye! If Brianna set terms upon the resolution, the brothers would have to meet them. ’Twould be just like a bard’s tale, the princess demanding that a trio of suitors compete to earn her favor.

And, indeed, if she could think of a challenge that was fiendishly difficult, it might well be that none of the sons would complete it.

The very idea made Brianna smile for the first time that day. She must devise some test of valor, some ordeal of great proportions that would ensure she did not have to make this loveless match in the end.

Indeed, if the quest were demanding enough, that old mercenary
could draw his last breath before all was resolved. ’Twas true that Gavin did not look to have many years left in his sorry hide.