Gabel’s holding her for ransom to her unusual upbringing, could be explained away, pushed aside and ignored. There was no deluding herself about the large, sturdy symbol of power and prestige she was looking at. Bellefleur made Kengarvey look like the meanest of crofter’s huts.
“Have you grown weary, Mistress Ainslee?” asked Gabel as he rode up beside her.
“Nay,” she replied and started walking again, hurrying a little to catch up with Ronald, whose litter she had been walking next to. “I but needed to pause for a moment before climbing the rest of this mountain.” She ignored his grin and frowned at how comfortably he sat astride her ash gray gelding. “I still believe that my horse needs a respite from carrying two people.”
“A mount as strong as this would not be troubled by the addition of your small weight.” He stroked the horse’s strong neck. “What do you call the animal?”
“Malcolm,” she replied with little grace, certain that the man planned to keep her horse.
“Malcolm?” Gabel laughed softly and shook his head. “Why call a destrier Malcolm?”
“Why not? ’Tis a good name.”
“A very good name, just an odd one for a horse.”
“I suppose you think I ought to have named him Blood-spiller or Skullcrusher.”
Gabel just smiled and did not respond to her petulance. “What do you think of my Bellefleur?”
“It looks a strong place, something much needed in this land.” She eyed him with a curiosity she made no effort to hide. “And why should a knight call his fortress by such a pretty name?”
“My cousin Elaine named it.” Gabel made a good-humored grimace. “I promised her whatever she wished for the day she turned thirteen. She decided she wanted to name my lands. Bellefleur is not such a poor choice.”
“Nay.” Ainslee briefly contemplated the sort of names a young girl could have thought of, and laughed softly. “It could have been far worse.”
After politely inquiring about Ronald’s health and comfort, Gabel rode to the front of his men. Ainslee made a brief effort to ignore him, then gave into the strong urge to watch him. He rode well, and she reluctantly admitted that he looked very good on the back of Malcolm. She liked her horse and had fought hard to wrest the animal from her family’s greedy hands, but realized that, if Gabel liked and wanted the beast, she would accept the loss. The horse would certainly live a better life at such a fine keep. She doubted that Bellefleur suffered from the lean winters which often plagued Kengarvey, long cold days when even feed for the horses was scarce.
She sighed as she walked toward Bellefleur. Despite her best efforts not to, she had slipped into the occasional reverie about a future with Gabel de Amalville. Bellefleur showed her just how big a piece of nonsense such imaginings were. Her bloodline could not be faulted, but her father’s and grandfather’s actions had stolen all of the other qualifications she needed to make such a good marriage. The lawless ways of the MacNairns over the last fifty years or more had stolen all prestige, power, and riches from the clan. Seeing Bellefleur made it achingly clear that Gabel would gain absolutely nothing from wedding a woman like her. Ainslee doubted that the man would even allow himself to consider the possibility, however briefly.
“Dinna look so mournful, lassie,” Ronald said, drawing Ainslee’s attention his way. “If we must be held prisoners, we have fallen into the right hands. We need not fear these men.”
“Not even if my father refuses to ransom us?” Ainslee asked, not wanting to consider such a possibility, but knowing her father well enough to know that such a possibility existed.
“Nay, not even then. And I dinna think that will happen.”
“Ronald, my father—”
“—is a lawless bastard—aye. Despite his countless faults, he willna leave us to rot with the Normans. He will fear to blacken the MacNairn name. True, the
“Have you grown weary, Mistress Ainslee?” asked Gabel as he rode up beside her.
“Nay,” she replied and started walking again, hurrying a little to catch up with Ronald, whose litter she had been walking next to. “I but needed to pause for a moment before climbing the rest of this mountain.” She ignored his grin and frowned at how comfortably he sat astride her ash gray gelding. “I still believe that my horse needs a respite from carrying two people.”
“A mount as strong as this would not be troubled by the addition of your small weight.” He stroked the horse’s strong neck. “What do you call the animal?”
“Malcolm,” she replied with little grace, certain that the man planned to keep her horse.
“Malcolm?” Gabel laughed softly and shook his head. “Why call a destrier Malcolm?”
“Why not? ’Tis a good name.”
“A very good name, just an odd one for a horse.”
“I suppose you think I ought to have named him Blood-spiller or Skullcrusher.”
Gabel just smiled and did not respond to her petulance. “What do you think of my Bellefleur?”
“It looks a strong place, something much needed in this land.” She eyed him with a curiosity she made no effort to hide. “And why should a knight call his fortress by such a pretty name?”
“My cousin Elaine named it.” Gabel made a good-humored grimace. “I promised her whatever she wished for the day she turned thirteen. She decided she wanted to name my lands. Bellefleur is not such a poor choice.”
“Nay.” Ainslee briefly contemplated the sort of names a young girl could have thought of, and laughed softly. “It could have been far worse.”
After politely inquiring about Ronald’s health and comfort, Gabel rode to the front of his men. Ainslee made a brief effort to ignore him, then gave into the strong urge to watch him. He rode well, and she reluctantly admitted that he looked very good on the back of Malcolm. She liked her horse and had fought hard to wrest the animal from her family’s greedy hands, but realized that, if Gabel liked and wanted the beast, she would accept the loss. The horse would certainly live a better life at such a fine keep. She doubted that Bellefleur suffered from the lean winters which often plagued Kengarvey, long cold days when even feed for the horses was scarce.
She sighed as she walked toward Bellefleur. Despite her best efforts not to, she had slipped into the occasional reverie about a future with Gabel de Amalville. Bellefleur showed her just how big a piece of nonsense such imaginings were. Her bloodline could not be faulted, but her father’s and grandfather’s actions had stolen all of the other qualifications she needed to make such a good marriage. The lawless ways of the MacNairns over the last fifty years or more had stolen all prestige, power, and riches from the clan. Seeing Bellefleur made it achingly clear that Gabel would gain absolutely nothing from wedding a woman like her. Ainslee doubted that the man would even allow himself to consider the possibility, however briefly.
“Dinna look so mournful, lassie,” Ronald said, drawing Ainslee’s attention his way. “If we must be held prisoners, we have fallen into the right hands. We need not fear these men.”
“Not even if my father refuses to ransom us?” Ainslee asked, not wanting to consider such a possibility, but knowing her father well enough to know that such a possibility existed.
“Nay, not even then. And I dinna think that will happen.”
“Ronald, my father—”
“—is a lawless bastard—aye. Despite his countless faults, he willna leave us to rot with the Normans. He will fear to blacken the MacNairn name. True, the
Similar Books
