Love Above All (8 page)

Her opinion did not improve after they
arrived. The luxury of Carlisle Castle was entirely lacking at
Brougham.

“You will sleep tonight in the solar, along
with the women of the castle. My men and I will sleep in the hall,”
Quentin informed her after the lord of the castle had greeted them.
“Here, there are no private guest rooms.”

“I suppose you intend to place a guard at the
solar door to keep me from running away?” Fionna snapped.

“That won’t be necessary,” Quentin told her.
“You will find it impossible to leave Brougham once the gates are
locked for the night. Don’t make the mistake of judging the castle
by its aging appearance. It is far more secure than some stone
fortresses I could name.”

“Well then,” she said, tossing her head in
annoyance at the way he seemed to know what she was thinking, “you
and your men may sleep peacefully tonight, though I am certain I
will not sleep at all.”

“Do you want to quarrel?” Quentin asked with
infuriating calm. “If so, I am sure we can find a subject on which
we disagree.”

“I cannot think of a single subject on which
we do agree!”

“Unless,” said Quentin, “we can agree on the
pleasure to be found in a tub of hot, clean water at day’s end. I
doubt if we will find that pleasure here.”

“I doubt if there are any bathing facilities
at all,” Fionna responded. She had already noted how the lord of
the castle and all of his men who were nearby reeked as if they had
not washed for months. So did the women, including the lord’s
sister, who acted as his chatelaine.

“I believe I will not bother to change into
my other gown for the evening meal,” she said.

Quentin grinned at her. Unable to resist the
urge, she smiled back at him.

“I wish I could stay angry with you,” she
said. “Even though I do not want to ride south with you, I do
understand that you have a duty to fulfill.”

“Well, then, we have found a second subject
on which we can agree.”

That evening, seated at the greasy, uncovered
high table at one end of the filthy great hall, Fionna merely
picked at her food. For courtesy’s sake she made herself swallow a
mouthful of bloody, barely-roasted ox and a crust of stale bread
before, pleading extreme fatigue, she fled from the hall to the
solar. There all the women of the castle slept on the floor, on
thin, musty-smelling pallets, guarded from unwanted intrusions by a
pair of sentries at the door.

Unable to sleep and convinced her blanket
would be infested with vermin by morning, Fionna spent most of the
night planning her escape. It was going to have to be soon. Each
day took her farther from Abercorn and lessened the chance that she
would reach Janet before her brothers decided to remove the girl
from her convent school. For all she knew, Colum had already
returned to Scotland and Janet had been taken away from Abercorn
and forced to marry him.

The mere thought of her sister in Colum’s
power – or in his bed – terrified Fionna, and all the more because
she realized there was no point in arguing with Quentin about the
problem. She was sure Quentin wouldn’t listen to her. Manlike, he
was bent upon fulfilling his mission for King Henry before he would
think of anything else.

“Tomorrow,” she silently promised herself as
she lay wide awake among a dozen women who were snoring or tossing
restlessly, or whispering to each other. “It must be tomorrow. I
dare not wait any longer.”

As it happened, chance favored her. The next
afternoon the clear sky began to give way to lowering clouds.
Quentin, eager to press onward while the road remained dry, urged
his party to greater speed before the rain began. Perhaps it was
inevitable that a horse would founder and unseat someone. It was
the captain of Quentin’s men-at-arms who landed hard in the middle
of the road.

“Giles!” Quentin cried, pulling his mount to
a halt. “Don’t try to move until we’ve checked your injuries.”

The entire group drew up and several men,
including Quentin, Cadwallon, and Braedon, dismounted to see to
both man and horse.

“I’m not badly hurt,” Giles insisted to
Quentin. “I can go on.”

“But the horse cannot,” Cadwallon announced.
“Its leg is broken. The bone is showing through the laceration.
There is only one thing we can do for the poor beast. We’ll have to
put it out of its misery.”

Fionna could not bear to watch while the
horse was dispatched. She glanced around, noting how the overgrown
road they were traveling on stretched straight and true through a
wooded landscape, its direction carved out of the countryside in
centuries past by the Roman legions who had once occupied the land
as far north as Carlisle. Fionna’s mother had told her stories
about the Romans, claiming she was the descendant of one of their
generals who dared to venture into the land of the Picts. And
there, in the misty northern hills, the Roman found a red-haired
woman whom he had kept by his side for the rest of his life.

Scanning her surroundings in haste and seeing
no one on the road except Quentin’s party, Fionna knew this was the
opportunity she needed. She decided it ought to be possible for her
to disappear among the trees, but only if she moved quickly.

The men were either concentrating on the
injured horse, removing its trappings and discussing how best to
finish it off, or making certain that Giles was as lightly injured
as he claimed. For once, neither Quentin nor either of his
lieutenants was watching her. If she slipped away into the forest
they might suppose for a time that she wanted to avoid the bloody
sight of a horse being put to death, or they might imagine she had
seized the opportunity to respond to a call of nature. Either way,
she could almost certainly count on at least a few minutes before
anyone thought about her or decided she needed to be found.

As quietly as possible she pulled her horse
around and left the road, moving into the trees in a northerly
direction. Almost immediately the road and the men on it were
hidden from view, which Fionna took to mean they wouldn’t be able
to see her, either. The underbrush was thicker than she expected
and she had to be careful not to let her own horse trip on the
uneven ground, but in a remarkably short time she was well away
from the road.

She heard no one calling after her, and no
sound of pursuit. Perhaps they hadn’t missed her yet. She kept
going until she came out of the trees onto a meadow and saw hills
in the distance ahead of her on her right. She recognized those
heights from the ride south. Now she knew she was going in the
right direction.

Once away from the trees and bushes she was
able to advance more quickly. By the time she was back in the
forest again she had located a stream that flowed northward, so she
followed the streambed.

The day was growing darker, with heavy clouds
and a rising wind. Her horse rebelled at the first roll of thunder,
but Fionna kept her seat and her control of the animal. She pushed
steadily onward, knowing she was heading for the border. Once she
crossed into Scotland, her way would be clear to Abercorn and
Janet.

“You are fortunate,” Quentin said to Giles.
He clapped his man-at-arms on the back with a light hand, taking
care not to cause him more pain. “A wrenched neck and shoulder, a
sprained wrist, a few cuts and bruises. The damage could have been
much worse.”

“I know it,” said Giles. “I could be dead,
like my horse, or lying in the road with a broken neck and unable
to move. I am sorry about the horse, Quentin.”

“It couldn’t be helped. I’d rather lose a
horse than a loyal fighting man. We need the men-at-arms free for
action, so you’ll have to ride double with one of the squires until
we reach English soil. That can be your penance for allowing your
mount to step into a hole,” Quentin said, knowing that riding
double, however humiliating it was to Giles to give control to a
mere squire, would provide the respite the injured man needed to
recover from his spill.

“Let’s move on,” Quentin called to his men.
He reached for the reins of his horse, preparing to swing back into
the saddle. Only then did he pause to look around. “Where is Lady
Fionna?”

“She can’t have gone far,” said one of the
men-at-arms. “This countryside is too lonely for a noblewoman to
want to wander off by herself.”

“Fionna wouldn’t wander,” Braedon said. “Not
that lady. If she has left us, it was with a definite purpose in
mind.”

Quentin turned slowly around, searching first
the empty swathe of straight roadway, next seeking for movement in
the dense woodlands that grew close to the road. Nowhere could he
detect any sign of Fionna.

“She could have done as I just did and
stepped behind a bush for a private moment, to relieve herself,”
suggested a squire.

“And took her horse along?” Quentin asked.
His mouth closed into a hard line as he turned around again, still
looking for Fionna’s slim figure. “She’s bolted, like a hare from
its hole. Did anyone see her go? Speak up; there will be no
punishment for not telling me the instant she left. I need to know
which direction she took.”

“We were all preoccupied, either dealing with
the injured horse, or seeing to Giles,” Cadwallon said when no one
else responded to Quentin’s demand. “What do you want us to do
now?”

“Let her go,” said Braedon with a careless
shrug. “We’re all aware that she didn’t want to ride with us, and
we are in a hurry.”

“We cannot allow a young woman to travel
unescorted,” Cadwallon stated firmly. He cast a dark look in
Braedon’s dirrection before telling Quentin, “We’ll have to split
up. One group will search for Fionna, while the rest of us travel
on to Wortham Castle.”

“Damnation.” Quentin uttered the single word
through clenched teeth. He was by now examining the damp ground
along the sides of the road, trying to find a sign to indicate
which way Fionna had gone, though he could guess easily enough.
Letting loose a long, disgusted breath, he made his decision.
“Braedon is correct when he says we must hurry. The messages we
carry are overdue.”

“Then, we’ll leave her behind,” Braedon
said.

“You and Cadwallon will,” Quentin told him.
“I will not. I must go after Fionna.” And all the more eagerly
because he had just spotted something that confirmed his
speculations. He made another decision, not to tell his men what he
had noticed.

“Hold on, there, Quentin,” Cadwallon
protested. “Think about this for a moment.”

“Listen to me.” Quentin’s peremptory tone
silenced his friend and reminded every man present that he was
their leader. He pulled a sealed parchment packet out of his
saddlebag and handed it to Cadwallon, who took it with open
reluctance.

“My report to Royce was written the night
before we left Edinburgh,” Quentin said, “but, Cadwallon, you are
carrying in your head the information we agreed should not be
committed to ink and parchment. Therefore, you are the one who must
lead my men to Wortham and hand over this report to Royce. After
Royce has read it you will tell him what you learned in Scotland,
and Braedon will add the information he was able to gather among
the squires and the royal servants. The rest of you men will answer
honestly whatever questions Baron Royce asks of you. You will hold
nothing back. Is that understood?” He let his commanding gaze range
over the troop of horsemen who surrounded him.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Yes.”

“As you wish.”

One by one Quentin’s men agreed to his
orders. All of them, except Cadwallon.

“I am not happy to see you riding off into
the borderlands without men-at-arms at your back,” Cadwallon
objected.

“When you reach Wortham, tell Royce where
I’ve gone and why, and ask him to send a few men-at-arms after
me.”

“And just how in the name of heaven,”
demanded Cadwallon, “do you expect us to find you again in this
wilderness?”

“Do you enjoy riding so much that you’ll come
back with them?” Quentin asked with a wry smile. “I think we can be
certain Fionna won’t head for Carlisle. She’ll be afraid Lord
Walter will detain her while he tries to contact me and she’ll
tolerate no further delays. No, I’m sure Fionna will stay well away
from Carlisle. Instead, she’ll head directly north, taking as
straight a route as she can to Abercorn.

“I hope to catch her today, or tomorrow at
the latest,” Quentin went on. “When I do, I’ll compel her to ride
for Wortham with me. I’ll tie her to her horse, and tie her horse
to mine, if I must. With luck, we’ll join you at Wortham within
hours of your arrival there. The chances are good you won’t have to
come after us at all, but if you do, we’ll most likely meet on the
road.”

“Are you sure you don’t want even a single
man-at-arms to go with you?” Cadwallon persisted. “It would make
two searchers, instead of just one.”

“I don’t expect her to be difficult to find,”
Quentin said. “I know where she’s going. And I can move faster if
I’m alone.”

“This sister of hers must be a remarkable
woman, to inspire such devotion,” said Cadwallon, who had learned
during the past two days about Fionna’s deep concern over Janet’s
fate. “Or, perhaps, Fionna is the remarkable sister. Either way, I
don’t want to miss what happens when those two meet. When Fionna
finally reaches Abercorn, I intend to be there, too.”

“We are wasting time. Let’s move on,” said
Braedon, who wasn’t troubling to hide his annoyance with Fionna.
“The wench isn’t worth another hour of delay.”

“He’s right about that,” Quentin said to
Cadwallon. “Ride as fast as you can while still avoiding any more
accidents. It’s vital for you to arrive at Wortham safely, and with
that packet in your possession. Royce will know what to do with the
information it contains.”