CHAPTER TEN
My Darling of All Men

Phemie's four red braids swung like slingshots as she raced down a flight of stairs with a wooden mug dangling from one hand. Her mistress had awakened crying, and she knew just the cure; a cup of chamomile tisane. She also had to preside over the needlewomen who were embroidering river pearls on a white gown, and bully the kitchen wenches into planning a suitable feast. Sheep's stomach stuffed with oatmeal was not wedding fare. "There's always somebody to be put right!" she grumbled, though in truth she reveled in such household battles.

Lady Catherine's pale, wan face and shadowed eyes worried Phemie, too. "It must be rotten gettin' married. I suppose she's kind o' happy inside herself, but she looks awful solemn." She whirled around a corner and skidded to a stop at the open door of Lord Alistair's bedchamber. He stood naked on the threshold, escorting out Sitric, who was dressed only in her shift.

Lord Alistair spied Phemie and his mouth dropped open; quickly he half ­concealed himself behind the door. Sitric stood proud and unashamed as a pagan goddess.

Red rage boiled up in Phemie; she forgot her place as a maidservant and shook a bony fist at his lordship. "Ye godless rascal. Ye two-faced lyin' unprincipled wretch. A black sight it was when first my lady saw ye!"

No one spoke to the Lord of the Heathery Isle in such a way. It made him feel like a fool to have to conceal himself behind a door. "Your ill-tongued accusations insult me, the chieftain of Clann Eóghain na h-Oitrich. I have been entirely true to Lady Catherine, in my heart… "

"True!" Phemie exploded. She was shaken from head to foot by devastating rage. "Ye're a wild liar. I wouldna ha' yer troubled conscience for the wealth o' nations. Eógham na h-Oitrich indeed. It's small comfort any o' yer breed ever brought my lady."

She whirled to face Sitric, who looked over her head as someone beneath notice. "An' this is the imp o' darkness at the bottom o' all the trouble. The prideful stock!"

He pulled together the rags of his dignity. "I command you to keep your vile suspicions to yourself, and not to spread your evil gossip to Lady Catherine..."

She breathed so hard her chest hurt. "I have no wish to hear anything' more o' yer lordship. Ye ha' done enough a'ready to make ye ashamed o' yerself till yer dyin' day -- if ye ha' any power o' shame left in ye."

She tramped away, cursing under her breath like a boiling kettle. when she returned from the kitchen with the tisane, she found Lady Catherine sitting at her table, already dressed except for her veil, and looking out the window. A sad gray rain was falling.

"Here ye are, poor body," coaxed Phemie. "Chamomile is good for no-well folks."

"I'm well enough, Phemie," mused Lady Catherine, but her eyes were heavy with tears shed in her sleep.

Phemie thought she knew what was wrong. That rascal of a lord-man was bringing sorrow to her lassie. Fury at Lord Alistair gave way for the moment to heartfelt sympathy. Her work-roughened hand traveled gently over Lady Catherine's brown hair, and amazing tenderness quieted her voice. "There's somethin' troublin' my bonnie dove. I'll no ask what it is, the heart knows its trials well enough without turnin' them over in words."

"It's only foolishness, nothing more. But I was dreaming all night long." Lady Catherine rested her cheek on her hand, remembering. "I was mad with mortal terror, lost in great roaring echoes that rolled and filled all space. Sounds crashed and shattered, exploded and destroyed, leaving me floating without direction in a cloud of fog and darkness, with no means of finding the path. Then through all the horror and blackness, I felt something coming toward me, something so wonderful that it caught my breath away. It grew in splendor and power until waiting became unbearable. Then out of the mist came a tall man wrapped in a black hooded cloak, trailing a shattered chain behind him. He knelt before me and said, 'Don't listen to me -- you mustn't hear it, you mustn't --I love you -- don't listen --I love you -- I love you.' My fear was entirely gone: he was the splendor and power. I put my hands on his shoulders and stooped down, and said, 'I'm listening. I hear you'. I kissed him, and with that kiss I gave him my whole heart forever. When I reached to put his hood back and see his face, I woke up." She tucked both fists under her chin. "What does it mean, Phemie?"

Phemie felt like a teakettle with a soldered lid; the pressure to speak was explosive. Everything in her wanted to reveal Lord Alistair's tryst. She put both hands over her mouth to keep from shouting. Through spread fingers she advised, "It's just sorrow an' vexation o' spirit to set yer heart on a man. There's no a one o' them that's worth a single tear. But -- do ye love him, lady-lass?"

"Forever. One of the singers at the feast the other evening spoke of 'a chiall do 'na fearaibh' -- my darling of all men. One love, one man. If the dream had lasted a moment longer, I would have seen his face." As she meditated, she traced on the desk with a dry quill pen: a tear, a heart, a lion. "Of course the man had to be Lord Alistair, but the voice was not his. The soul was not his, either. Because of the bond we have shared since childhood, I believed it would be a simple matter to speak to him earnestly, but every conversation seems to veer into flirtatious nonsense. That is my doing, of course; I assumed the manners and airs of a court lady. But surely when two souls have touched as ours have, such foolishness could be put aside. I'm sure the fog in the dream is my own confusion. If only it had lasted a moment longer and I had seen his face."

Phemie had seen his face, and the rest of him, too, before he had jumped behind that door. The effort not to speak turned her face purple. "I just hope an' pray ye willna regret it when it's too late."

Lady Catherine answered whimsically. "Yes, if I regret anything it will be when it is too late. Did you ever hear of anyone regretting something too early, or just in time? That's what regret means -- being too late." She rose and smoothed the flowing sleeves of her dark red gown, regal in its simplicity, and fitted a circlet around her white veil. Her confrontation with Lord Alistair could be postponed no longer. Through gritted teeth Phemie declared, "He'd best be good to ye, I'll say that much. Or I'll give him a killin' that he'll no forget in a hurry."

Lady Catherine embraced her companion warmly. "Sometimes, Phemie, I wonder what I'm going to do." Stoutly Phemie reassured her. "There's a time to reckon an' forecast, an' there's a time to shut yer eyes an' jump! Do as ye like, my lassie, an' may the powers above keep ye always on the side o' the angels."

***

After finishing the chamomile tisane, at Phemie's insistence, Lady Catherine sought out Lord Alistair in his council chamber, which adjoined the great hall. Her mood of dreams had passed; she had serious matters on her mind.

The council chamber was furnished with a long plank table, three-legged stools, and a chest hollowed out from a huge squared log. Maps of the coastline were pinned to rush matting on one wall. There was only one small window, through which cold rain blew.

Lord Alistair was nursing an attack of temper and consoling himself by counting treasure: silver coins from beyond the Solway, river pearls, lumps of agate and amber, heavy gold bracelets looted from dead foes. At his elbow was a goblet of wine. When he spied Lady Catherine, his face stiffened.

She hesitated, clasped her hands together, and said, "My lord, I wish to speak to you earnestly." Gone was the raillery with which she had lured him.

He was certain then that the maidservant had revealed his indiscretion; he resolved somehow to have her whipped. "Perhaps another day would be better, my love, for this earnest discussion. After the wedding, perhaps."

She pressed on. "There is something I must ask you."

He shot a sideways glance at the goblet of wine and then pushed it aside: he needed all his wits about him to meet her servant's accusations. He forced warmth into his voice, though in his thoughts he cursed all womankind -- all gossiping servants, possessive lovers, and prudish maidens who caused trouble for men. "What is it, I wonder? What is it you have to say to me? It must be something very sweet because nothing but sweetness and gentleness could live in your heart."

Lady Catherine had always had an intense passion for justice, perhaps from years spent studying her father's legal documents. In this case right and wrong were clear. "I don't know whether you will find what I say sweet or not. We must do something to bring Vincent up to his rightful place as your brother. It is unjust that he continues to waste his life away in the dungeon... "

He had expected to be angry, but not as angry as this. That name was never to be mentioned above ground. "Be silent." There was no affection, but only cold command in his order. "The person of whom you speak does not exist. Any further attempt to bring this imaginary being to my attention will seriously displease me."

She was so shocked that she took a step backward. At once he realized that he had spoken too sharply, and rose to pacify her with a gallant kiss on the wrist.

"My dearest love. I see I have startled you, but in truth you startled me. Of course I did not mean those hasty words. Displease me! Nonsense! Calm your trembling heart -- you need have no fear of me."

"Look me in the face my lord, and see if I have any fear of you," said Lady Catherine, with indignation flashing in her eyes. "I fear no one." She withdrew her hand from his clasp.

He assumed the charming and whimsical expression that never failed to mollify indignant women. "It is my joy to fulfil your every wish. I thought you had forgotten the existence of-- that one -- long ago."

"As you have, my lord."

"Do not attempt to reproach me, my love, you know not my trials." He drew a hand across his forehead. "I burdened myself with the well-being of that individual from the day of my father's death, and console myself for my labors on his behalf by the knowledge that he is quite content where he is."

His charm did not mollify Lady Catherine. She could feel her face becoming white with anger. "You are certain of that, my lord? It is you he is protecting by concealing himself and the blood-tie between you."

On second thought he poured himself another goblet of wine and drank it in one swallow. She did not know how right she was. "Surely you can see it would not be safe for him to come up."

She circled the table, trying to hold herself in check. A gust of rain spattered her face, but she was too angry to notice. Pausing behind his chair, she said, "And yet when you received my last desperate message from Ambermere, you sent him to the mainland to find me."

"I did not." Fury and frustration pounded in his brain: trapped into honesty, he pressed his temples with his fingers. "He is the only counselor I have who always tells me the truth, the only one I can trust. So that he may advise me, I often let him read my letters. To seek you out and bring you back was his notion. Of course I am delighted that he did so."

That explained a great many inconsistencies that had been puzzling Lady Catherine. Through set teeth she hissed, "He has been true to you. He has never betrayed you. Where is your loyalty to him?"

He had no answer, and her pointed question shamed him. Accustomed to rank and state though he was, Lord Alistair knew he held it all on sufferance, and he could not suppress a begrudging respect for Vincent. "I shall ask him myself if he wishes to change his manner of life. There! What could be fairer than that. But remember that Vincent knows nothing whatsoever about living above."

Her lips, usually soft and laughing, were pressed into one straight line: her searching eyes read him through and through. "Vincent knows more about everything than you know about anything."

Lord Alistair was not accustomed to jealousy, and it clawed him deeply. He pretended not to hear that inconsiderate remark of hers. Instead, he indicated the cluttered table with a sweep of his arm. "Choose something for yourself -- a bauble -- a jewel. Anything that takes your eye. A silver chain, golden balls for your hair -- no, that would not suit you -- please yourself, my love."

"Thank you, I care for nothing." She lifted her chin: anger gave her voice a ring of cold iron. "My lord, you have made plans without consulting me. Women are already decorating the chapel for the wedding --I saw them carrying garlands of evergreen. If it is your joy to fulfil my wishes, then postpone this marriage."

Lord Alistair was not slow to recognize a crisis: he met her request with complete composure. Smiling, he walked around the table and embraced her lightly. "Oh I think not. We won't talk nonsense of that kind today." Gently he tucked a strand of hair back under her veil. "What is the matter, dearest? Has someone been troubling you? Am I the one? What a thoughtless brute I am! I'll ask Vincent if he wants to come up -- truly."

Lady Catherine had a temper, but she was always susceptible to kindness, and it was impossible not to respond to the tenderness of his voice and touch. Her righteous anger faded somewhat and she relaxed into his embrace. "You will?"

"On my word of honor," he said, smiling, and crossed his heart. "You are loyal to your friends, and that is commendable: I only hope and pray you will show the same loyalty to me.

Though she felt easier in her mind concerning Vincent's future, Lord Alistair had not satisfied all her doubts; some misgivings remained. "It's not only that. My own mind is troubling me -- my own reason. I'm not sure you and I would be happy together."

"After the kisses we've shared!" The reproach of his tone pierced her.

She hid her face against his chest, knowing that she had indeed led him a dance. "I think we have been -- rather headlong. You must make allowances. I'm alone here, without the protection of parents or brothers. You must give me time. We scarcely know each other yet."

"That is soon remedied," he said tracing her lips with his thumb. "I warn you, I am not a patient man. When you are my wife, you shall have your own way in everything. I shouldn't be so unmanageable if I weren't so -- starved. Honestly, my dearest love, there is nothing to wait for that I can see."

"Oh, we must wait," she insisted in sudden panic, and braced her hands against his chest. "We must!"

Stroking her cheek, he spoke very tenderly. "Don't be afraid of my love, sweeting. Let it be your defense."

She could not answer him. He had her defeated, cornered. She had no weapons with which to oppose him. But still deep in her heart the doubt remained: was this indeed love that had come to her? If so, why did she feel so trapped?

In deepening despair she repeated, "Please --I must wait until I'm sure."

Very lightly he brushed her lips with his fingers. "I've waited for you all my life. Heaven sent you to me, to show me what true love means. Every hour I have to wait for you increases my longing."

She twisted her hands in his tunic. "Perhaps I should go on retreat for a month or so. In silence and solitude, Jacobus could help me pray for guidance."

Fondly he teased her. "Half a saint, half a firebrand. Altogether a woman. You wonder if I love you, here is my proof. I will wait seven days more to make you my wife, since you ask it." He held her lightly, gently, pleading, "See how easily you can manage me? Say yes. Say yes."

His thoughtfulness only deepened her misery, though she did not know why. She could think of no excuse to refuse his plea. Lower and lower her head fell until she was staring at her shoes. "Very well," she whispered at last. "Unless when the day comes, I need another seven."

As he tilted up her chin he broke into a soft laugh of mastery. "Oh, how reluctant you are. You feather! You wisp of thistledown! Do you really prefer stones to bread?" Despite his condescending tone, his embrace was restrained. "Trust me, Catriona. Our marriage is the dearest wish of everyone, including Vincent. After all, he brought you here to marry me."

Tears blurred her eyes. "You think he'll be glad?"

"He'll be delighted, in principle, although our lovemaking will not meet with his approval: Jacobus trained him in monkish habits. In me, you have a whole man, one who can love you in every way, even tenderly. I am no brute, and your happiness is precious to me."

His kiss was light, but it stifled her. Sudden despair made her reckless: violently she wrenched herself free, panting like a cornered animal. "I have agreed to wed you as our two fathers promised. Until that time, do not put your hands on me! " She whirled and ran from the council chamber, leaving Lord Alistair in a very complicated state of disquietude.