Everlasting (15 page)

 
Raven casually followed Thurstan as he stalked outside to the drawbridge, then bent down to begin untying the bodies.

 
Desmond shouldered his way through those who had paused near the end of the drawbridge and, upon arriving at the fore of a youthful audience, found himself facing the Scotsmen. He had realized that they would be hard to kill. Even so, these soldiers had been chosen on Thurstan’s promise of their cunning—and the threat to murder their families if they didn’t comply.

 
The Scotsmen returned Desmond’s slack-jawed astonishment with unwavering stares as he made a desperate effort to reclaim his aplomb. He failed to a great degree before he turned his attention to his nephew. A harsh frown drew Desmond’s bushy brows sharply together.

 
“What’s the meaning of this commotion?” he demanded, and then, upon espying the slain men tied to the backs of their huge steed, he whirled upon Cedric. “What have you done?”

 
The laird’s chortle was seriously lacking in humor. “I was just going ta ask ye the very same question, Squire. Do ye ken these men who tried ta murder us whilst we were out hunting?”

 
“Did you provoke them?” Desmond asked curtly.

 
“Only with our presence,” Cedric said. “Ta be sure, we had na ken they were even in the area till they charged across the stream with weapons drawn.”

 
“My wedding is on the morrow,” Desmond cried, “and you’ve brought the brumes of gloom down upon us with this senseless killing.”

 
Raven scoffed. “Senseless? I dinna ken about that. Where I’m from, when faced with a man who’s got it in his head ta kill ye, it makes perfect sense ta separate that head from his body before he has the
chance. This pair were clearly of a mind ta kill us. With that settled, all that’s left to discover is their motive. Since me da and I knew them not at all,” he continued, his tone becoming cold and speculative, “we thought ye be knowing what reason they had ta seek us out?”

 
“The promise of a fat purse, perhaps,” Thurstan said drily. “I still say they’re thieves.”

 
Over the squire’s shoulder, Raven espied Abrielle, Cordelia, and their mothers venturing out onto the drawbridge. Upon facing Desmond again, he warned in a muted voice, “Your guests are approaching.”

 
Promptly turning, Desmond scurried toward the four as he advised them, “My ladies, I must urge you to return to your chambers. There has been some trouble…the Scotsmen have brought back two bodies, and though I’m reluctant to frighten you, I’d be remiss in my duties if I failed to think of your safety before looking into this matter more thoroughly. I must urge you to return to the security of your chambers and to stay there until we’ve managed to make some sense of this dreadful matter.”

 
Abrielle had had a terrible feeling all day, and now she could see the anger from Desmond’s cohorts directed at the Scotsmen. Raven and his father had been forced to kill two men? She could only believe it was because they were attacked first, but then, she didn’t know him very well. She could not let a handsome face mislead her into assuming he was honorable. But Raven was watching her now, standing at his father’s side. There was no appeal in his expression, as if he would never beg her to believe him.

 
“But who has been killed?” she asked Desmond, noticing too late that he’d been watching her when she’d been thinking about Raven. What had her expression revealed? she wondered, feeling a chill of mounting concern. She had to be more careful.

 
“I cannot yet explain how this tragedy happened,” Desmond said, “only that two men are now dead. So I must urge you to retire to your
chambers until this dreadful matter has been looked into more thoroughly.”

 
Though she wanted to resist being ordered about so, Abrielle inclined her head slightly in assent to placate Desmond. “Then we shall leave you to deal with this problem as well as you can.” She laid a hand briefly upon her friend’s arm and then touched the older women’s as she turned back toward the keep. “Come, ladies. Let us return and allow the men to deal with this horrible tragedy.” She would find out the details later, when she was not so on display.

 
Thurstan faced Raven as the Scotsman drew near. “Perhaps I should have a look at the slain men to determine if they’re known hereabouts. Then I would suggest that we remove them from sight lest some of the other ladies venture out and espy them.”

 
“And you should have a look, too, Squire,” Cedric said, motioning to the man.

 
Beyond the end of the drawbridge, Raven and Cedric laid out the two carcasses in the midst of the tufts of dried grass. More men had come forth from the keep, including Vachel and Reginald, who watched the proceedings with stern frowns.

 
When the severed head was placed within close proximity of its former body, Thurstan said, “I have never seen these men before, neither here in my uncle’s home nor at my own manor several leagues away.”

 
“And I haven’t either,” Desmond insisted, looking away from the bodies quickly.

 
Cedric questioned several older serfs who had gathered around them. “We’d be obliged ta know if any of ye recognize these men and can tell us where they belong.”

 
While Thurstan and Desmond were there watching the proceedings, the small group seemed wary. None admitted that the two had come from the squire’s lands, and they continued to shake their heads at nearly every question presented to them, frustrating the Scotsmen’s
attempts to find out exactly where the dead men had come from. Finally Cedric waved them away, allowing them to return to their duties.

 
“So your contention is that they’re merely thieves,” Raven said slowly, “who happened ta intrude on your hunt and randomly decide ta kill two well-armed men.”

 
“Are you suggesting there could be another reason?” Desmond demanded, puffing out his chest like a rooster.

 
“Should I?” Raven queried in return, the dead calm of his demeanor more threatening than any display of choler.

 
“And do you have proof of any accusations you might make?”

 
“Nay, Squire.”

 
“Then just bury these men and be done with it before their deaths ruin the festivities that have been planned,” Desmond said, trying to sound reasonable. “If they were trying to kill anyone, then they’ve paid for the deed with their lives.”

 
“Very well,” Raven said, “but in case they have kinsmen here, ’tis only fair ta let them know what has befallen these two.”

 
Thurstan scowled. “Neither my uncle nor I recognize them, but if you will not be satisfied with that, then lay out the bodies in the midst of the serfs’ huts. If no one claims them, then at least they’ve been seen. After that, I’ll have men see to their burial.”

 
Sensing victory, Desmond could not let it go, but threatened more by Raven than by his parent, he addressed his remarks to the father. “I seriously doubt more will be discovered, considering that you have managed to kill the only two who could have adequately appeased your desire to know why they sought to kill you…if that is what they did. Of course we have only your word for that, yours and your son’s.”

 
“I dinna lie,” Cedric rumbled, settling his hand once again upon the hilt of his claymore as his brilliant eyes flashed with a flaming fury.

 
Desmond flung up a hand, conveying his disinterest in the elder’s declaration. Upon turning about, he stalked back to the keep. It incensed him beyond measure that the two fools had failed so miserably to accomplish his directive. Because of their bungling efforts to comport themselves as warriors, he would now have to find another who would be more competent at the task of dispensing with the Scotsmen. No doubt he would have to promise a lucrative fee, but if it would mean that he could forget the pair thereafter, he would be willing to placate the assassin…at least until the deed was done.

 
After witnessing their host’s departure, Vachel returned to the keep to abide by his earlier promise that he would tell his family everything that had transpired. He was certain both would be extremely distressed over this latest occurrence and fearful that Desmond was somehow involved. If he could, he had to placate their qualms and reassure them that Abrielle’s betrothed couldn’t have been involved in this attempt on the Scotsmen’s lives. Even so, it was the strange, intensifying coldness around his own heart, a feeling that had served him well throughout his efforts in the Crusades, that was warning him to be extremely leery of the squire. He hated to lay the whole ugly burden on Abrielle, for he knew she was far too fine and noble for the likes of Desmond de Marlé. But the betrothal contract was signed and binding, and he knew that man could not sever it, and he doubted God would.

 
REACHING UP WITH trembling fingers, Abrielle closed and latched the stained-glass window overlooking the drawbridge where the Scotsmen had briefly lingered after Thurstan’s departure. She was grateful that the younger firebrands had dispersed to prepare for the event to honor the hunters. No doubt many would be lamenting the fact that the highland pair had captured both trophies, leaving none for the rest of them to garner.

 
And then her thoughts returned to what she had trouble facing: Could Desmond really have made an attempt on the Scotsmen’s lives? Was she legally bound to a man who could murder to get what he wanted? She would be spending the rest of her life treading delicately for fear of upsetting such a man.

 
Abrielle was worried about the continued well-being of the Scotsmen. It was beyond her ability to understand their reasoning for daring to remain in the area, for she could only believe they were inviting similar attempts by staying.

 
Oblivious to the colorful aura created by the lowering sun glimmering through the leaded panes of stained glass, Abrielle stared across the room at nothing in particular as she tried to imagine herself going through the wedding ceremony as if nothing untoward had happened. At the moment it seemed an impossible feat. Indeed, had she fallen into a dark pit of despair whence there would be no escape, she would have felt no less miserable than she did now.

 
A light rapping on the outer door of the chambers evoked a sharp gasp from her, for she couldn’t help but be fearful that Desmond had come for a visit. Dutifully progressing to the portal, she paused in an effort to collect her wits. If it were he, then she would have to give the excuse that she wasn’t feeling well, and that would be no lie. Merely the possibility of having to entertain the man would make that premise a matter of fact.

 
Leaning near the barrier, Abrielle asked in a muted voice, “Who is it?”

 
“Cordelia,” came the softly murmured response.

 
Greatly relieved, Abrielle swung open the heavy door before hurriedly motioning her friend into her parents’ chambers. Cordelia cast a cautious glance up and down the hall before complying, and then closed the portal securely behind her before following her friend into the sitting room. Although Abrielle took a seat upon the chaise and patted the cushions to invite her to do the same, Cordelia chose in
stead to claim her full attention by placing a small bench directly in front of her.

 
“So do you think that Desmond had something to do with the attack on the Scotsmen?” Cordelia asked in a low voice.

 
“I don’t want to believe it of a man I am soon to marry. I know there is little proof, but it seems as if no one else has a motive. Who else would bother?”

 
“There is Thurstan.”

 
“I think Thurstan is angry because my family and I are to receive most of Desmond’s fortune, one way or another. But that has nothing to do with the Seaberns.” She gave a heavy sigh. “This is all my fault. Little did I imagine when Raven Seabern rescued me that night from Desmond’s vile intentions that his life would thereafter be in serious peril.”