Seize The Dawn (28 page)

"My God, how I have wronged you, how I have wronged you!" she whispered.

She didn't know how much time passed then; she felt numb. At last, she stretched him out on the bed. She cleaned his face, and knelt by the side of the bed, and she tried to pray, but her mind seemed as cold and numb as the body of the man before her.

She allowed Bridie to help her to her feet.' 'Bridie, the doctor said that he was poisoned. And even Alain cried out the word."

That sobering thought gave Eleanor pause at last. Bridie pulled her away, toward the adjoining room, and her own bed. Eleanor stopped once, going back, tenderly kissing his cold forehead, smoothing back the white hair, touching the fine structure of his face.

"My poor dear, I know that you would never. Eleanor, you mustn't be distraught. Allow the wine to work, your soul to rest."

She closed her eyes. The numbness was still with her. Bridie pulled the warm wool blankets around her.

"We ... I will still find a way for you."

"You must find a way for yourself, my lady," Bridie said. She kept talking, soothingly. Eleanor drifted. Exhaustion, and the strong heated wine took their toll.

She drifted into sleep with Bridie at her side.

For the next two days, she gave little heed to anyone. She chose clothing for Alain, and sent for Richard Egans, the finest carpenter in the village. He set to making a splendid coffin for the count.

Alain was laid out in the great hall.

The villagers came in deep sorrow, all to pay their respects. They prayed. They left new spring flowers at his side.

He would be buried from the small village church. Father Gillean, the rotund little priest who had led the souls of Clarin for nearly fifty years, spoke with Eleanor, allowing her to choose certain passages to be read for the funeral. The fourth morning after his death, Count Alain de Lacville and Clarin was borne upon the shoulders of six young men of Clarin, and carried to the altar of the ancient stone church. The service was read. Eleanor stood with her family, Alfred at one side, Corbin at the other.

Isobel at Corbin's side, crying daintily.

Yet when the service had been read, and the body would have been carried to the grave site, someone from the far rear of the church cleared his throat

Eleanor heard the footsteps as they moved down the aisle, but she remained oblivious until she saw the man in the colors of the Duke of York standing before her.

He was not a man she knew, but obviously a man of some importance. His family emblem was emblazoned on his tunic as well.

She had not expected him, but apparently Alfred had. He looked at her gravely as the man approached. "Eleanor, Countess of Clarin and de Lacville?"

"Word of the count's manner of death has created a stir, Eleanor. This is Sir Miles Fitzgerald. He has been sent by the Duke of York to look into the ... circumstances." he stared again at the man who had come.

"My husband is not yet even in the ground—"

"My lady, he will not be set into the ground until my physicians have conferred with your doctor, and the body is examined."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked Alfred.

"You were so upset. I didn't want you to be further disturbed."

The numbness which had seemed to surround her for days departed then, cleanly, clearly.' 'I am being accused of murder, and you didn't want to upset me?"

"My lady, at the moment, we are merely seeing to the count. Your husband was a very important man. With the rumor about, the French will be demanding answers. Alain was a personal friend of King Philip, you are aware."

"Of course, I am aware," she said. "Well, Sir Miles, you wish to speak with me? Then indeed, let's return to the castle."

She left the church in the lead, aware that Fitzgerald followed her closely. Outside the church, she saw that he had been attended on his ride here by a number of knights. They had not gone so far as to clad themselves in armor, but they were well armed, and appeared a stalwart group.

' 'There is talk of poison. Your husband cried the word before he died," Fitzgerald said gravely, watching her. Neither Corbin nor Alfred sat They stood behind her, as if they would leap to her defense.

"There are those who say you chose an old man, knowing you must marry, before the king stepped in to make provisions for you."

"I knew I must marry, yes. And I chose Alain."

"So that he would bring prosperity back to Clarin—and die soon, leaving you a young widow with—perhaps—the right to choose a second husband entirely on your own."

"This is ridiculous!" she protested. "I did love Alain; aye, he was older! He was my friend as well as my husband, a very best friend—"

"But not a lover?" Fitzgerald queried softly.

She felt an icy grip, as if around her throat.

"Look," Corbin protested. "You do not know Eleanor, Sir Miles. She is loved deeply in this village for her kindness, and for her efforts to save lives. You never saw the tenderness she showed to her husband."

Fitzgerald sighed. "Believe me, this is a very sorry occasion for me, but I am sheriff for this region, responsible not just to the Duke of York, but to the king of England as well. Such an unhappy matter! But in England, we have laws. And we honor our laws. My lady, we must continue."

"Please do so," she said curtly.

"You were taken at sea by the Scots?" he inquired.

"I was seized by a pirate, then the ship was taken by the Scots who happened upon it. I was then brought to Paris, and handed over to Alain and King Philip."

She gritted her teeth, breathed slowly, then answered. "Perhaps you did not hear about incidents that occurred here, sir. A number of my people were horribly burned to death in a raid. Clarin was nearly destroyed. I rode—a
woman
—at the battle of Falkirk. I assure you, sir, I did not seek out the Scots."

She stood. "Sir Miles, I did not kill my husband. I loved him. I swear by the Holy Trinity, I did not kill my husband. Are we finished?"

Fitzgerald stood as well. "Madame, it is believed that you formed more than a friendship with the heinous outlaw, Sir Brendan Graham, and that you grew intimate with the greatest enemies of your king, Edward of England, Wales, Ireland, France—and overlord of Scotland."

"I never betrayed the king in any way. And I did not kill my husband. Are we finished?"

"Madame, you will not leave your room until we have finished ..." Here even he looked uncomfortable. "With the body. Are we understood."

Brendan's men were careful to choose their military targets with deep thought as to their worth—against the risks that must be taken.

He was alone with his band in the borderland at the time; Bruce holdings were now loyal to the king of England, Red Comyn's men were still improving Hebert's fortification, and Wallace had traveled to Edinburgh to confer with the Archbishop of Lamberton, a rare breed of military holy man who was doing his best to walk a fine line with the English presence—and keep the fight for freedom alive.

The men knew how to infiltrate through the countryside, and most importantly, how to eavesdrop, question the people—and even English guards at various points—to know what was happening where, and when, along the borders.

But on a Monday morning in early May, Brendan was taken by surprise when Eric, who had been scouting with Thomas and Collum, burst into the secluded copse where they had camped-—and where he now shaved carefully at a stream—to tell him that a group of armed and armored knights was crossing through the forest.

"Who are they?"

"I believe they've come from the motte and bailey castle just due north," Eric said. "They wear the king's colors, as if they were conscripted for his special command."

"The king—"

"The king is definitely not with them," Eric said, shrugging with disdain. "He's not an old fool; if he were ever to arrive in Scotland with so small a group, every man, woman, and child in this country would risk death just to scratch his face!"

"Aye, 'tis a curious group. Armed heavily, prepared for battle—yet moving away from us. Maybe civil war has erupted. Perhaps we should let them go. We don't know what they're doing."

But Eric paused, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You missed a spot Aye, nay, that's just an ugly chin you've got Not enough Norse blood in you, me lad!"

"I, at least, shall go to Valhalla. You will have to do penance For years in Purgatory," Eric informed him, deftly catching the heavy weapon.