Page 43 of The Handfasting
“But what about the clan?” he asked. “I don’t want war with the clan.”
“They’re my clan as well,” No?l assured him. “When the time comes, we’ll find a way to keep the peace. Ye’re a clever man. Ye’ll think of somethin’.”
Ysenda’s beautiful silver eyes shone with hope. But there was wisdom and caution in her voice. “’Twill all have to be kept a secret. If the laird suspects that Caimbeul has a claim to the holdin’…”
She didn’t finish the thought. But they all knew the risk. Laird Gille wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate his heir if Caimbeul proved to be…inconvenient.
“Aye,” No?l said. “’Twill be a secret between the three of us.”
They nodded in solemn agreement.
And then, with a soft cry of victory, Ysenda threw herself into No?l’s arms.
He chuckled with pleasure and held her close.
But as their lingering embrace went on and on, Caimbeul finally rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
“Where are ye goin’?” Ysenda asked him.
“Back to the keep,” he said over his shoulder. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to do for a long while. But don’t fret. By the time ye get finished…celebratin’…ye can catch up with me.”
No?l bid him farewell. Then he grinned and kissed the top of his lovely wife’s head. “It looks like we’ll have our whole lives to celebrate.”
“Not just our lives,” she murmured. “Eternity.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” he asked her softly. “The Viking well. It granted us our Yuletide wish.”
She nodded. Then she gazed up at him. Her smile was as sweet as mulled wine. Her eyes glowed with the warmth of Christmas candles. “For ever and aye.”
Epilogue
Leaving her Highland home to travel south with the Knights of de Ware, Ysenda had never felt so well protected. Of course, that hadn’t kept her from packing her own chain mail and weapons. Old habits were hard to break. It would be a long while before she’d grow to accept that she had an army of knights at her command and that her brother could take care of himself.
Caimbeul had certainly proved that upon their return to the castle.
Ysenda had had a lot of time to think on the way home from the well. Now that she was no longer beholden to her father, years of anger over Caimbeul’s mistreatment began to fester within her. All the laird’s past abuses—his mocking, violence, and cruelty—congealed into a single, hard knot of rage and injustice that stuck in her craw. With each step she took toward the castle, fury flowed hotter in her veins.
When they finally arrived at the keep to face her father, he was alone in the great hall and deep in his cups. His drunken sneer as the three of them approached only added fuel to the almost irresistible desire Ysenda had to pay him back for all the pain he’d caused.
But she’d held her tongue as Sir No?l explained that they wished to take Caimbeul with them to France.
Her father’s eyes lit up. “Ach, aye!” he crowed. “I’ve heard the French courts like to use dwarves and such for entertainment.”
Ysenda longed to curse her father for his brutal words.
But then she heard the echo of her mother’s voice. Above all, the warrior maid had taught Ysenda to maintain control of her emotions. Losing one’s temper was never wise. Besides, she and Caimbeul would leave soon and likely never see the laird again. There was no point in stirring up trouble. So she tensed her jaw against the urge to fire off a biting retort.
The laird eyed Caimbeul speculatively over the top of his cup. “Or maybe ye’re plannin’ to sell him along the way? The lad has a decent voice. No doubt a singin’ cripple could bring ye a good price.”
Ysenda clenched her teeth until they hurt. But she kept mentally repeating her mother’s advice. One must take a deep breath, harness all the anger, and choose one’s battles wisely.
The laird took a drink and then smacked his lips. “He’s probably got another five or six years o’ life at most. Still, ye’ll get your coin’s worth.”
That made Ysenda’s blood boil. But no matter how much she yearned to claw that smug smirk off of the laird’s face, no matter how gratifying it would be to tear the beard from his chin, no matter how her fist ached to…
Crack!
Ysenda lifted a brow as her father’s head snapped back under Caimbeul’s solid punch. The laird staggered backward, dropping his cup and clutching his nose.
