Lairds of the Eagle

Analise fell instantly in love with him from the first moment that she set her eyes upon him. At once her gaze lingered over his wavy dark hair like coal-black soot on her fingertips catching blue highlights from the candlelight. His jaw was strong with a tattoo along the length of it and a bold notch it the middle of his chin. A face of strength and youth, with piercing gray eyes. So handsome it flushed her cheeks, built so strong to impress her gaze, but she saw wisdom.

Nonetheless, she understood even in her simpleness twas foolish to believe or acknowledge such a miraculous event as falling immediately in love with one look. Yet the tingling whispers in her belly felt like the sprinkling of sparks gone awry and they did not recede as she continued to gaze upon him with no hope to look elsewhere.

How could it arise so quickly? Twas it desperation on her part or perchance pity? Nay, twas not pity for him. Never that. Nonetheless, it could be a touch of panic on her part, possibly a healthy amount, because she was frightened or had been until she first looked at the man that she'd fallen in love with through simply one glance.

Analise noted that her newly cherished love had not once gazed back at her and she guessed that it would be obvious to all gathered, in the oily and smoke-filled Keep, that he was not being considered as a participant by her stepbrother Armand. Nay, Armand had more gruesome plans for his helpless stepsister than that.

She was quite certain that in Armand’s twisted mind, if he could not possess her, twas her offense and she would render the price with his method of selection for a husband. However, she was not being wholly honest to herself in this, because Armand’s madness intended that she pay for much more than him being denied her body.

“The barbarian Lord Mondon, I think it should be, angel mine.”

Armand’s hissing in her ear brought her unwilling attention back to her torment and her tormentor. Sickeningly, she felt the indecent wetness of Armand’s tongue on the rim of her ear as she tried, without success, to put a small space between their bodies. However, Armand’s hand tightened like a vise on her arm, leaving her bright with pain, yet she dare not cry out or she would embrace worse.

“Tis said that, Lord Mondon, relishes the whip for his pleasure with women,” Armand continued, then he lifted his head by a sharp incline as if a newer thought occurred to him. “No-no, the man-lover, Count Baquene. Perfect, much more perfect. What would he do with your ripe curves, my pet?” Armand’s bony fingers closed on Analise’s hip suggestively. “Despise you for being so unmasculine, do you imagine?”

Analise ached to flee with every bone in her body tensed for it. Could no one see it? Could no one see how desperately she needed to escape? This was not a decent offering of her for honorable marriage, but another twisted torture of Armand’s employ. In her anguish, Analise’s eyes darted back to the one place that she'd sensed safety from in this frightening madness. And this time, he was gazing at her.

“I don't like it, Donan. Can you not feel the evil doings in your very bones?” Shancy asked in a low voice as he stooped over his older brother, and Laird, the Glenncannon. Although, the Glenncannon preferred in company to be simply called Eagle and in friendship, Donan.

Shancy continued to lean over his brother, Donan who was hitched upright, sitting in his uncommon wheeled chair. The chair with wheels was pushed beneath the end of a coarsely-planked head table in the front of the Keeps main hall. That was until Shancy realized that he'd been standing in the back bending position for long moments with no answer forth coming. He pulled his gaze from the extreme oddity of the men gathered in Lord Granville’s stone-block hall to see what was holding his brother’s attention so thoroughly. He lowered to a crouch beside Donan’s chair so he could gain his brother’s height and see that which his brother peered at.

It was common event for him to crouch beside Donan, they carried on many conversations positioned this way, and he kenned immediately what Donan ken. She was a wee curvaceous lass with comely golden hair and exceptional blue eyes. Her eyes were likened to a deep flowing stream of the darkest and rarest blue measure he’d ever come across. He could see now why he had missed her, because she'd been under his nose whilst he'd been standing looking further out into the crowd gathered.

Twas a queer group, he pondered once again and even stranger still with the delicate lass among them. However, the oddest occurrence in the whole gambit was Donan staring at a colleen. Bloody hell, his brother had not flicked so much as one of his dark eyelashes at a lass in nigh on five years. Never at all since the Crusade and the last battle taking Jerusalem, where Donan had been felled by a scimitar to his back.

Shancy grimaced; he didn't care to remember the year after, when he'd nearly lost Donan a dozen times to fever, infection, and filthy Saracen healing. However, praise the saints, in the end Donan had lived, but without the use of his legs, which never moved on their own since that day. A cripple at five and twenty, Donan had continued to use the same grim determination which had made him a knight of renowned under the Lionheart’s crusading banner.

Since that time, Donan had forced a place for himself in the world as a cripple. A place that Shancy considered was sadly lacking in bonny lasses. It had been a toothy point between them and the one point that he'd found hard to speak about to his closest friend and brother.

“She is frightened,” Donan muttered. It had taken him this long to realize it, for he'd been so captured in the blueness of the lass’ eyes that he'd scarcely breathed for many moments. What was he doing, he admonished himself, intending to jerk his gaze away from the look of innocent blue eyes that he had no right to stare upon? Yet even as the intention was upon him, the deed never came, for it seemed as if he had no will to surrender. The lass was speaking to him, speaking to him so clearly through her gaze that he could taste the words on his tongue.

“Aye she is,” Shancy answered. “And what in bleeding hell is as fair a lady as she is, doing in this rough crowd? Were we not told that Lord Granville proclaimed this a hunting party and all we’ve seen are harlots, except for this one wee lass. What in Kilagarum, is she doing here? Ah!”

Analise let out a gasp and she recoiled as a weighty male hand closed over her breast.

“Try the other one, Lord Chaffering,” Armand drawled. “A man has a right to know exactly what he is bidding his coins for.”

Analise jerked away from Lord Chaffering’s grasping fingers in front of her and Armand’s hand pressuring the small of her back. She was astounded that the effort gained her freedom as she stumbled to the side, and then free from her two lecherous assailants. But not for long, her fretful thoughts assured her as she struggled to consider where to flee, even though she knew it was hopeless. If only she could escape to the outer Bailey and obtain a horse. Any horse. What did it matter that she was terrified to ride. Of the two evils facing her, this was the least!

“Analise,” Armand whined behind her, with an outraged and nasal tone that he oft times used.

Analise instinctively bolted forward to the only place of safety she could conceive of in the hazy hall, until she stood in front of the man that she'd simply fallen in love with at first sight. She was breathless as he moved his most incredible chair on wheels to face her, and her gaze riveted onto the majestic eagle tattooed onto the left side of his cheek, jaw, and then down the muscular column of his throat. He was of the old people, she realized, because she'd not seen markings such as his since she was a child.

Donan was furious. He'd seen the licentious groping of the lady and no man from his peerage could allow a lady to be handled as she'd been. Quickly, he bowed his head to the lady standing before him, for he could not bow his body. Then, he lifted his hand outward, silently requesting askance of her to place her hand into his as his gaze caught the two men that had handled her so harshly coming toward them. The lady before him, a golden-haired nightingale, did not falter, and more, she clutched his hand as he sustained the shock of their touch. Twas highly improper for them to be so introduced. However, he'd given over proper in favor of reality years ago.

“I would be, Baron Barnard, my Lady Analise.” Donan chose to use his English baronage in the moment and he'd heard the lady’s name called from the slick, black-haired lech approaching. “And this would be my brother, Lord Shancy.”

Donan held Lady Analise’s small hand, pulling her closer to him and slightly to the side of his legs bent up in front of him, before he pronounced loudly. “And to be sure, my lady, my brother would be honored to take you to fetch your shawl. It but saddens me, lass, that I'm not able to perform this honor for you.”

“What is this?” the tall black-haired man exclaimed, arriving behind Lady Analise.

She seemed to have some intuition of where the lecher's hands would be seeking for she stepped forward, to the side of his chair and out of hands reach. She turned, stepping back further and Donan wondered if she realized that she still clutched his hand so closely.

“I am, Lord Armand, and do not employ that we have met, Sir.” Armand announced, glaring at Lady Analise the entirety.

“Baron of Barnard, the Glenncannon, or perhaps you could be recalling me as, the Eagle, some still do,” Donan replied, watching Lord Armand’s eyes lighten with interest.

“Then you are certainly here for the auction!” Lord Armand exclaimed. “Certainly. How perverse, I should have guessed,” he said, staring pointedly at Donan’s crippled legs.

At the mention of the auction, Lady Analise’s hand began to shake within the grasp of his hand and it took willpower not to look at her. He'd been a viewer of the world for all his thirty years and he had a sickly green feeling that he could guess just what this auction would be entailing.

“Aye, the auction,” Donan lied. “And you are just the man that I was seeking. Lady Analise’s guardian, I'm thinking clearly?”

“Stepbrother,” Armand answered, with two of his bony fingers grooming his wassail thin mustache.

“Well met my good man and this would be fairly served. Whilst you and I converse, my brother the Viscount, would be graciously escorting your prize, shall we say, to fetch her shawl.” Donan used an abundance of a courtly flourish in his deep voice, as he pushed his chair forward a wee smidgen.

Shancy needed no further prodding. He could guess his brother’s intent and the Lord Armand appeared about to protest. So quickly, he stole the little blue-eyed lass aside, with a courtly sweep, moving with determination toward the far end of the hall and the ladies retiring chambers. He could only imagine Donan meant to secure the lady out of the company of leering males, for he had also seen the rough groping of her breasts.

After that, Shancy didn't entertain much hope, because this Lord Armand was the lass’ stepbrother and unless she was of age, which she did not look to be, it appeared little could be done. However, it was worth any attempt just for the reason that she had captured Donan’s interest so thoroughly. Why the two of them had been holding hands as if they were man and wife for an age.

Aye, it was worth any possibility this was, he thought, nodding his head toward two of the Glenncannon knights, while employing a quick hand gesture, as he thought they all could be leaving the castle rather quickly. He saw the Glenncannon men move in closer to Donan and that left him feeling fortified.

“Angel mine!” Armand called out behind them in a nasal whine. “I insist that you hasten!” Armand’s face took on the energy of evil intent as Analise picked up her skirts, nearly running down the length of the back hall with Lord Shancy forced to follow behind.

This was her chance, Analise thought. Her beloved had given her a chance. Of course he could not know that he was her one and only love, because they'd just barely met. Still she knew, so perchance he did also. It was a tragedy she was forced to leave her Baron so soon after having met him, but he'd given her this chance to escape and she would not waste it.

Lord Barnard’s brother, Lord Shancy was kind and handsome also, although not nearly so appealing as her Baron. Lord Shancy sported the same eagle tattoo as Lord Barnard, but Lord Shancy looked quite concerned for her and she sought to relieve his anxiety.

“I am more comforted now, my lord, having met your brother.” Analise walked quickly through the back hall toward her chamber as she spoke. “He is quite special, don’t you agree?”

“Aye, but are we entered in a foot race I’d not been aware of?”

Analise laughed, a tinkling sound, but she kept her pace. “Nay, my lord, however tis best not to keep my stepbrother waiting.” She cast a serious gaze at Lord Shancy. “He could have a foul temper, you see.”

“Aye,” Shancy agreed as he tried to decide what actions he should take now. It was difficult to speak to a lady of perverse matters and this donnybrook auction was healthy with perversity. However, it was then it tallied wholly in his mind just what the fair lass had implied.

“Special? Did you say Donan was special?” They had apparently reached Lady Analise’s chamber door, for she stopped outside of it and looked up to him. She was a contrast of vivid fey innocence with the curvaceous body of a more mature woman.

“Aye, my lord.” Analise was blushing and she found herself wanting to leave her Baron with a word, and this would be her last chance. Say something to his brother and she was sure Donan, as his brother called him, would hear of it. “Lord Donan, touched my soul with simply a glance that must never be mistaken for pity, for I have none for so well made a knight, who is the true caretaker of a maiden’s resolve.”

Shancy was impressed with the earnest seriousness of Lady Analise’s expression and words. Aye, here was a lady of fine regard, who would not let a wee bit of crippling stand in her way to see the truer man.

“Please, my lord, tis maidenly fancy, surely not meant for a brave lord’s serious thoughts,” Analise teased with a clear smile. “Nonetheless, I would beg you a favor in that you return without me and offer my regrets. For I believe it could be best this eve if I stay inside these chambers.” Analise promised silently to do penance for the lie, she did so dislike being dishonest.

“Aye, my lady, and with the door firmly bolted,” Shancy agreed, relieved that this could be a solution and also awarding some time to ponder the matter. He'd not expected the gift of a solid door and chamber beyond. It must be a type of storage solar turned to this use.

“Of course, my lord, and it has been a pleasure to meet a true gentleman.” Analise curtsied with her purple skirts spreading out on the gray stone flooring beneath her feet as Shancy acknowledged her with a bow.

“My Lady Analise.” On the way up from his bow, Shancy added, “Using the firm bolt and telling of a wee illness on your part, should anyone be trying to disturb you, would be a thought.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With that said, Shancy waited for Analise to enter her chamber and to hear the sound of the firm bolt, before he ventured only a rock throws away, to stand pondering the dilemma.