Elizabeth Elliott (36 page)

“And you accuse me of being blind?” Guy gave both men a look of disgust, then headed toward the door. The room swayed with every step, and he ended up with one hand braced against the wall. He could not even make it across the room by himself, much less to the farthest reaches of the
castle. He swallowed his pride and demanded the help he needed. “I am ready for that walk. Our destination will be the dungeons.”

Two hours later, Guy clung to the pommel of his saddle and willed the ground to stop shifting beneath him. Beneath his horse, to be more precise. He knew the warhorse stood stock-still, but the world seemed a whirl of motion all around him. His head reeled not only from the effects of the poison, but from the knowledge that Claudia was gone.

He had walked no further than the great hall when Thomas and Evard rushed forward with the news: the soldiers sent to relieve Claudia’s guards had found them bound and gagged, the guard at the bolthole as well. Two suffered the same effects of poison as Guy, while the third had been knocked unconscious. None of the three got so much as a glimpse of their assailant. Worse yet, Claudia had disappeared without a trace.

Even as he gave the order that mounted two hundred knights and soldiers, he half expected to awake and find this was nothing more than another drug-induced nightmare. It seemed impossible that she was now beyond his reach, beyond his power to protect. Each time he closed his eyes he pictured her as he last saw her, the look of terror on her face when he succumbed to the poison. He spoke the vilest curse that came to mind.

Only Kenric and Fitz Alan were close enough to hear him. Thomas and Evard rode through the ranks of the other soldiers to pass along Guy’s orders. Fitz Alan ignored the curse, looking preoccupied as he strapped a crossbow to the back of his saddle.

“We will find her,” Kenric assured him. He glanced over at Guy from his own mount, his face an emotionless mask. “I just hope you are convinced now of her guilt.”

Guy scowled and remained silent.

“You must face the truth,” Kenric went on. “She went from here willingly. If they meant to kill her, the body would
be in the dungeon. If they drugged her or knocked her unconscious, we would have found signs in the bolthole tunnel. Even a small man must hunch over to walk through those tunnels. There were no marks to indicate that they dragged her through. That means she walked out of Montague of her own free will.”

“ ’Tis possible they held a knife to her.” Guy knew his argument lacked conviction. Kenric and Fitz Alan were convinced of Claudia’s guilt. He had too little strength to waste on useless arguments. He would sort everything out with his brothers after they found Claudia. Until then, he needed their help to do just that. Already he wondered if he could lead a search party. Just sitting on his horse required almost more energy than he possessed.

“They passed beneath no less than a score of soldiers on the walls,” Kenric pointed out. “The guards would have heard the smallest sounds of a struggle. She did not walk out of the fortress at knifepoint. She crept out of it.”

“ ’Tis a clever plan,” Fitz Alan added. “First the spy poisons you, knowing we will blame your betrothed and thus separate the two of you. With every spare soldier standing guard on the walls, Lady Claudia’s escape from the dungeons was made that much easier.” One brow rose as he nodded toward Kenric. “We should have suspected such a plot and posted extra guards in the dungeons.”

“She was abducted,” Guy insisted. “She would not go willingly with her uncle’s men.”

“That does seem unlikely,” Kenric agreed. He watched Guy with an expectant air. When Guy remained silent, he released an impatient sigh. “Have you not yet guessed the obvious?”

Guy was in no mood for riddles. His head felt filled with mush, his thoughts so cluttered he could scarce think straight. It was an effort simply to remain upright on his horse. “Nay, I have not guessed the obvious. Enlighten me.”

Kenric made him wait for his answer while he secured his broadsword to his saddle. There was a strange look in his gray
eyes when their gazes finally met, a rare, worried expression that made Guy’s stomach clench. “She would leave willingly with her brother.”

Claudia pushed her horse harder to catch up with Dante. The road widened in this section of the forest, but as fast as they rode, the low-hanging branches were a constant threat. She ducked down to avoid an oak branch, then brought her horse alongside her brother’s. She had to shout to be heard over the noise of their horses and the one that followed them. “Dante! I cannot keep up this pace. Can we rest?”

Dante shook his head without looking at her, his attention on the road ahead. “Soon, Claudia. Not yet.”

She let his horse pull ahead of hers again. The gray palfrey tossed its head in protest and tried to get the bit between its teeth as it had countless times before. Her arms ached from the strain of keeping the horse at a steady canter rather than a flat-out gallop. It wanted to be the leader. Claudia wanted to be anywhere but on its back.

They had not rested since dawn, and had kept up a grueling pace since then. She could tell by the direction of the sun that they rode east, but Dante had not told her their destination. She had thought they would ride south, toward London or Wales. Perhaps they rode this way to avoid any patrols Guy might send to look for them. Guy would look first to the west and Baron Lonsdale. Dante assured her that her escape would appear the work of their uncle. Guy would never think to search in this direction until they were safely away from Montague. Safely away from Guy.

A sudden image came to mind of the way Guy smiled at her when they were alone in their chamber, a sly, seductive smile that made her heart ache even worse. She looked at the trees that rushed past her and tried to banish the image from her mind. She also tried to banish the thought that what she was doing was wrong, that she should have stayed at Montague. This morning she had voiced that worry and Dante told her again that Guy intended to hang her today. The words
sounded even less believable in the cold light of day than they had in the dungeons. But why would Dante lie to her? Still, she could not shake the nagging suspicion that he was not being completely truthful.

The night before she thought that nothing would be worse than the uncertainty of not knowing whether Guy lived or died. Today she discovered an equal torment; the uncertainty of not knowing whether Guy wanted
her
to live or die. If she had remained in the dungeons, she might have a rope around her neck at this very moment. Or would Guy’s arms be around her as he whispered soft words that everything would be all right? She could almost hear his voice when she closed her eyes.

Her horse nearly plowed into Dante’s.

She gasped and pulled hard on the reins, coming to a sliding stop next to him. The man who rode behind them came to a stop as well. Armand was his name, a knight in Dante’s hire. She had met Armand in the forest beyond Montague’s walls where he awaited with the horses. He was a silent, handsome man who seemed to speak only when Dante questioned him.

Claudia’s gaze moved to her brother. Dante looked tired to the bone. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his dark brown hair was tousled, as if he had raked his hands through it repeatedly. She stared hard at his face, trying to decide what had changed since she saw Dante last to make him appear so different. His features were the same, with a few new lines around his eyes and mouth, but it was the eyes themselves that worried her. She looked into their dark green depths and saw … nothing. It was like looking at a ghost. Even though he was flesh and blood, what she saw was only a shadow of the man she once knew. The empty depths of his eyes made her shiver.

“The crossroads are just ahead,” Dante said. “We will walk the horses to the stream that lies just beyond. Armand, take your horse at least half a mile beyond the stream at a
steady canter, then double back through the woods. We will meet you at the crofter’s hut.”

“Aye, my lord.” Armand gave a smooth half-bow from his saddle, glanced at Claudia with an unreadable expression, then spurred his horse forward.

Dante and Claudia walked their horses past a wide clearing where another road intersected theirs. She watched Armand disappear around a bend in the road ahead of them. “Do you think they will search this far for us?”

“Aye,” Dante answered.

She waited for him to say something more. He remained maddeningly silent, his gaze alert as he watched the road and woods around them. The road was well worn, but they had yet to encounter any travelers, none who might mention their passing to Guy or his men. She could no longer decide if that was a good thing or bad. If only she could see Guy once more, look into his eyes and ask if he thought her innocent or guilty. Was it worth her life to learn the truth? She made a conscious effort to occupy her mind with less dangerous thoughts. “Where are we going?”

“To a crofter’s hut.”

“I know that already,” she said, with an impatient sigh. “Why are we going there? Should we not go to London, or to your fortress in Wales?”

He gave her an oblique glance. “You ask too many questions.”

“ ’Tis no crime,” she argued. “I would like to know more of my future than the fact that I am bound for a crofter’s hut. That seems a reasonable request to me.”

“Fine. You will stay at a deserted crofter’s hut with Armand for about a fortnight, then we will all journey south to Cheshire. From there you will travel to Wales with Armand and Oliver. I must return to London, but I should join you in Wales by first snowfall.” His brows lifted as he gave her a pointed look. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Who is Oliver, and why will you not stay with me when we reach this hut?”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Oliver is another of my men. He and I have business to attend to that may take as long as a week. Armand will take good care of you until we return.”

“You trust this Armand so much that you will leave me alone with him?”

“I have no worries that Armand will try to take advantage of you as Montague did. You will be safe in his care.”

Dante’s confidence did not make her feel any better about the plan. “What is this business you must attend to?”

His expression hardened. “I have one rule that I expect you to follow, as do all others. My business is my own, and I will not be questioned about it.”

She studied his profile, made harsh by his scowl. This was not the man she had envisioned whenever she thought about their reunion. Their parents often teased that Dante wore his heart on his sleeve, his emotions so transparent that any could read them. That was no longer the case. Gone was the lighthearted young man who smiled often and easily. This Dante looked at her with eyes far older than his years. He seemed a stranger. She had changed as well, she supposed. The world had made them both sadder and wiser. “Do you also have business to attend in Cheshire?”

“Aye.” He pulled his horse to a halt at the edge of a small stream that ran across the road. “We need to make our horses walk backward. Pull down on the reins and press your heels against the palfrey’s flanks.” He turned and pointed at a fallen tree at the side of the road a good twenty paces behind them, the trunk fallen so long ago that its bark was covered with soft green moss. “Back the horse up until you reach that felled tree, then I will tell you what to do next.”

Claudia followed his instructions and touched her heels to the palfrey’s flanks. Amazingly, the horse obeyed the command and began to back up in an oddly gaited pace. “Why are we doing this?”

“Your questions grow bothersome, Claudia.” He took his gaze from the road behind him long enough to frown at her. “I do not recall such a curious nature in you. ’Tis only natural,
I suppose. All women are too curious for their own good, and you have grown into a woman since I saw you last.”

Rather than argue his views of women, she gave him an exaggerated smile. “What a lovely compliment. I see you learned fine English manners at Edward’s court. ’Tis said you hide behind some sort of disguise when you are there, which must make it convenient to dole out such praises. None know who you are to hold you accountable for them.”

“What do you know of Edward’s court, or my presence there?” he demanded.

The sudden intensity in his eyes made her grip on the reins slacken, and the horse ambled to a halt. She gathered the reins and urged the horse into its backward gait again. “I know only what Guy told me, which is more than you have ever shared about your life at court.”

“What did that bastard tell you?”

“He is not a bastard! Guy is kind and—”

“I do not care what you think he is,” Dante bit out. “I want to know what he told you.”

“Guy told me that you are Edward’s best knight,” she said in a quiet voice, “that you are so formidable most fear to meet you. He says you wear a disguise so you may mingle unnoticed without it, that you are too modest to appreciate the attention you would receive if all knew your identity.”

He digested that for a moment, then smiled another of his dark smiles. “It would seem Baron Montague has a sense of humor.”

“Are you telling me he lied?”

“Nay, he did not lie to you. Yet the truths he told you would be open to many interpretations. It would also seem he has a talent for making you believe what he wants you to believe.”

Claudia had no patience for his riddles. “What do you mean?”

“He made you believe that he loved you,” Dante retorted. “A Montague could no more love a Chiavari than he could fly. If anything, you were little more than a game to
him, a challenge to see if he could win your affections. ’Tis a sport to English nobles of his ilk, a means to sate their jaded appetites for a time.” He shook his head. “You must put Baron Montague from your mind, harden your heart to him. Accept that you meant nothing more to him than a pleasant distraction, for you will not set eyes upon him again.”

Dante’s words cut through her like a knife, and she winced as if he had slapped her. “You are wrong. He did care for me.”

“I am right,” he countered. They had reached the fallen tree and he brought his horse to a halt. “You led a sheltered life at Lonsdale and know little of worldly men and their ways. In this you must trust my judgment. I am your brother and will do only what is best for you, unlike others such as Montague who will tell you lies just to use you.”