Love Above All (30 page)

“I hope she does die,” Murdoch declared. “The
wench should have died weeks ago, in Liddel Water.”

“Are we to understand that you freely admit
to attempted murder upon your sister?” Royce asked, not troubling
to hide his disgust.

“If Fionna had died as she was supposed to
do,” Murdoch said, glancing at Quentin, “this cursed Norman
ambassador would be dead, too, and the rest of your kind would soon
be removed from Scottish soil.”

“Aye,” said Colum, showing his broken-toothed
grin. “If only Fionna were dead, I’d be beddin’ fair Janet, happily
beatin’ the wench into proper submission and silencin’ her adder’s
tongue.”

“One more word out of you,” Cadwallon warned,
stepping toward Colum with a hand on his sword hilt, “and you won’t
live to leave this camp.”

“You hear from their own mouths the kind of
men they are,” Janet cried. “They’d gladly see all of us dead. It’s
why they followed us so far. False kindred! Traitors! Would-be
murderers of your own blood! You are no longer my brothers. I
renounce kinship with you, for myself and in Fionna’s name. Royce,
if you want my opinion, rather than send them to King Alexander,
I’d prefer to see them drawn and quartered today, before my
eyes.”

“Aye, do it, Norman!” Murdoch shouted at
Royce. “I’ll endure any punishment you decree, so long as I don’t
have to listen to this raving madwoman’s voice for one more
moment.”

“Enough!” Royce exclaimed. Turning to the
fully armed knight who stood near him, he continued, “Sir William,
conduct the prisoners to Carlisle, and from there to Edinburgh.
When you have done so, report to me at Wortham Castle.”

“Gladly, my lord.” Sir William began to issue
orders for Murdoch and his men. All of them, still with their hands
firmly bound behind their backs, were to be mounted on horses that
were tied together in a string to prevent any of them from
escaping. With Royce’s men-at-arms to guard them, they rode out of
the camp. As Sir William left he sent a jaunty wave in Royce’s
direction. None of the Scots looked back.

“When I consider how gently rebellion is
treated under King Alexander’s rule,” Royce remarked dryly as he
gazed after the departing men, “I fear the worst that will happen
to them is that they will be admonished mildly and then, assuming
they are willing to repeat their original oaths of fealty, they
will be granted large estates in hope of ensuring their future
loyalty to the Scottish crown.”

“If that is so,” Janet snapped, “then you
should have executed every man of them, here and now. Otherwise,
they will surely come after us again.”

“I don’t think so,” said Quentin, whose
thoughts had rapidly progressed from outrage at Royce’s lenient
treatment of the prisoners to realization of the good sense his
friend was displaying. “Janet, you and Fionna are safe from your
brothers now and you, in particular, are safe from Colum. Nor can
there be any advantage to Murdoch in my death once we have crossed
into England.”

“Furthermore,” added Cadwallon, “by sending
that band of traitors to King Alexander, we have scored a
diplomatic advantage for King Henry. Royce, this was an excellent
day’s work.”

“Exactly,” Quentin agreed.

“Men!” Janet exclaimed in fury. “All you can
think about is affairs of state, while my sister lies near to
death. And to observe this farce of a judgment you called me away
from her side? I cannot approve of what you’ve done, Royce. I just
hope and pray I never see either of my so-called brothers again –
or Colum, either. In fact, I’d be happy never to see or speak to
another man for the rest of my life!” With that she stalked away
from the men, heading for her tent and Fionna.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Cadwallon asked,
gazing after her in undisguised admiration.

Royce chuckled in response. Quentin didn’t
say anything; he was too busy wondering whether Janet’s anger was
going to make reaching Fionna’s side more difficult.

As he feared, Janet did her best to prevent
him from seeing Fionna. She snapped and snarled at him and tried to
shoo him away from the tent entrance, until Quentin decided to
enlist Cadwallon’s help.

First, Quentin pretended to give up his
attempt to see Fionna, claiming he needed some rest and vowing to
return later. Then, when Janet supposed he was gone, Cadwallon
arrived. With soft words and an encouraging smile Cadwallon
succeeded in coaxing Janet away from Fionna’s side and into Royce’s
dining tent for the midday meal. The moment Janet disappeared from
sight Quentin reappeared at the blue tent.

“Lady Janet ordered me not to allow anyone to
enter until she returns,” the man-at-arms who was guarding the tent
said.

“Lady Janet issues too many orders,” Quentin
responded, the remark making the guard laugh.

The man knew Quentin, had often seen him with
Fionna, and apparently he wasn’t minded to begin a dispute with an
important nobleman. Whistling a little tune, the guard turned his
back long enough for Quentin to slip into the tent.

To Quentin’s eyes, Fionna was paler and
smaller than she had been earlier that day. She looked even more
fragile than when he’d first found her and carried her away from
Liddel Water.

“Fionna, my dearest.” Taking her hand,
Quentin knelt beside the cot. “Open your eyes and speak to me.”

He raised her hand to his lips and fervently
pressed a kiss on it. He smoothed back her hair, and when he
inadvertently touched the bruise Murdoch’s sword hilt had left on
her beautiful skin, Fionna moaned softly.

“Fionna? Please wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered a few times, then
slowly lifted. She stared blankly at his face for a while before
recognition lit her gaze and her fingers curled around his
hand.

“Quentin.” Her voice was a mere thread of
sound.

“I’ve come to thank you for saving my life,”
Quentin said, trying to smile at her and failing, because he was so
worried. “Riding at Murdoch the way you did was a brave and
foolhardy deed. You could have been killed. You almost were
killed.”

“But you weren’t,” she whispered.

“Thanks to you, I’m not even badly hurt.
Fionna, those were the longest moments of my life, from the time I
first noticed you charging toward us until I was able to get to my
feet and drag Murdoch away from you.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. Royce has packed Murdoch and the others
off to Edinburgh, where King Alexander will deal with them.”

“Good.” She took a long, slow breath, as if
she was testing how much it would hurt to inhale. Then she asked,
“Janet?”

“She is unharmed, and as irritating as ever.”
Encouraged by the smile that flickered across her lips he added,
“Cadwallon and I schemed to entice her to the midday meal. It’s the
first time she has left your side since I carried you off the field
of battle.”

“Cadwallon will make her eat.” Her eyelids
closed and her grip on his hand began to relax.

“Fionna?” Concerned, he leaned closer.

“So tired,” she murmured. “Want to
sleep....”

“Yes, do sleep. I’ll stay with you.” Still
holding her hand, Quentin settled himself on the ground, bracing
his shoulders against the edge of the cot. Fionna’s easy and steady
breathing told him she was slipping into the peaceful, healing
slumber she required.

Quentin felt himself beginning to drift into
sleep. He had been awake for more than a day and a half and a large
part of that time had been spent in battle, or in tracking
Gillemore and his friends through the dark forest. Slowly, knowing
Fionna was next to him and safe, Quentin let sleep claim him.

“Get up!”

The low, urgent voice woke Fionna out of a
dream in which she was wandering hand-in-hand with Quentin over a
hillside covered in pink and purple heather.

“Quentin, I said, get up! I told you to stay
away!”

“Janet?” Exerting a great effort, Fionna
finally managed to open her eyes. Her sister loomed above her,
vigorously shaking the shoulders of a figure that sprawled against
the cot with an arm draped over Fionna’s hips.

“Now, see what you’ve done?” Janet scolded
Quentin’s inert form. “You woke her up!”

“You woke me,” Fionna said, “not Quentin.”
Her fingers caressed his dark hair. Quentin lifted his head to
smile at her. The sight of his dear, sleepy face warmed her
heart.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Janet said,
still shaking Quentin’s shoulder. “This was a conspiracy between
you and Cadwallon, wasn’t it?”

“I plead guilty.” With lazy grace Quentin
rose to his feet. He caught his breath sharply and rubbed a hand
along his upper leg.

“Does it hurt very badly?” Fionna asked. “I
remember how heavily it bled.” She paused to yawn.

“It’s nothing,” Quentin said. “Braedon didn’t
have to put in a single stitch, which was a great disappointment to
him.”

Fionna smiled, and yawned again. Quentin
leaned over to kiss her full on the lips, a slow, lingering caress
that left her slightly breathless.

“I will leave now, before Janet can flay me
alive,” he whispered. “I promise, I will return later, with or
without her permission.”

“That man will be the death of you,” Janet
warned, closing the tent flap behind Quentin with a firmness that
suggested she wished the cloth flap were a wooden door she could
slam. “He shouldn’t have been here, not while you were alone and
sleeping.”

“I’m glad he was here.” Fionna wished Janet
would lower her voice. The sound was making her head ache.

“Did he ask you to marry him?” Janet demanded
to know.

“Of course not. I have no dowry. Please,
Janet, let me sleep now.”

“That man,” Janet said, more sourly this
time, “ought to be ashamed of himself for what he’s done to
you.”

Fionna barely heard her. She was falling
asleep again.

In his own tent, stretched out on his cot,
Quentin was thinking about Fionna. Not only did he owe his life to
her; he owed her his protection. But he couldn’t offer it; not yet,
not until after he had spoken with King Henry.

Having reached that point in his meditations,
he allowed his thoughts to dwell, most unwillingly, on the heiress
whom Henry had suggested as his reward for undertaking the mission
to King Alexander. Lady Eleanor was only thirteen, and an orphan.
Henry, being a sensible king, wanted her wed to a noble whom he
could trust to manage her estates in England and Normandy, to send
the taxes from those estates to the royal treasury on time, and to
remain loyal to Henry’s interests.

Quentin had never even met the girl.
Uninterested in remarrying after the years of misery generated by
his first arranged match, he had made a non-committal response when
Henry first mentioned the alliance. No betrothal had taken place
and Quentin suspected that Lady Eleanor remained unaware of Henry’s
plans for her. Nevertheless, honor required him to speak to the
king and explain why he wanted to refuse the offer. He prayed Henry
would agree, for only then would Quentin be free to reveal his
heart to Fionna.

He’d been wrong to make love to her when he
wasn’t sure King Henry would release him from the half-promise he
had given before leaving the royal court. His unknown, proposed
bride hadn’t mattered – no woman had mattered to him – until he had
met his Scottish lass, his brave, impulsive, passionate Fionna.

She had been willing to die for him. He hoped
Henry would understand what that meant to a man.

The next morning Cadwallon visited Fionna. He
sat on the edge of Janet’s cot while he asked inane questions about
the state of Fionna’s health, whether she was in pain from her
injuries, and how well she had slept the previous night.

“Cadwallon, I promise you, I am much
improved,” Fionna told him. “In fact, I intend to join you for the
midday meal.”

“No, you most certainly will not!” Janet
exclaimed. “You will remain in bed until I say you are well enough
to rise.”

“The longer I remain in bed, the weaker I
will become,” Fionna responded. “Cadwallon, dear friend, will you
kindly take my sister for a walk so I can rest for a little while?
Janet is driving me mad with her constant attention.”

“I do wish she’d expend some of her attention
on me,” Cadwallon said, casting a hopeful smile in Janet’s
direction.

“Don’t wait for it, or expect it!” Janet
snapped at him. “After the trick you and Quentin played on me
yesterday, all you deserve from me is a hard slap.”

“Ah, dear lady, your cruel rejection wounds
me to the very heart,” Cadwallon said, lifting one big hand to his
massive chest in a gesture so delicate and fluttering that Fionna
began to laugh.

“Oh, dear,” Fionna murmured, pressing her
right hand to her left side. “Cadwallon, please don’t make me
laugh. It hurts.”

“See what you’ve done, you unfeeling brute?”
Janet cried. “Cadwallon, I want you out of this tent at once!”

“Is something wrong?” Braedon stuck his head
through the tent flap. “May I join you?”

“No!” Janet yelled at him.

“Come in,” Fionna said, smiling at him. “I
haven’t seen you since you escorted me to a safe place during the
battle, and then went looking for Janet. How did you fare, Braedon?
You appear to be uninjured.”

“I am ashamed to say I escaped unscathed,”
Braedon told her.

“A good thing, that,” Cadwallon said. “Not
only did Braedon successfully remove Janet from the melee while I
engaged Colum, but after the battle was over he helped Cook to sew
up most of the wounded men.”

“Braedon, it seems you are a hero,” Fionna
said, offering her hand to him.

“So are you, for saving Quentin,” Braedon
responded. “But you should have remained where I told you to stay.
I thought I would die of terror when Janet and I reached those
bushes and you weren’t there.