Seize The Dawn (32 page)

"Wildcat!" he exploded, pulling her away from the open window. He did so with such impetus that they fell to the floor together. She was angered, fighting wildly against him, scratching, clawing ... managing a kick that caught him unaware. He groaned; releasing his hold for a minute. She took the advantage, flying to the window again, but he was right behind her. Again, he caught her. She spun, striking out. The arms of the man were like shackles.

"Shush!" he commanded

"Let go—"

"You little fool! Stop it!" He swung her again, arms about her, bringing her down. She squirmed madly on the floor, but no matter what she tried, he caught her, and in seconds his weight stilled her legs, his fingers clamped around her wrist, and she could barely breathe.

She was thoroughly caught, vised, and all but stilled. She nearly cried out with the sheer frustration of being so beaten. His hand then fell over her mouth. Stunned, she realized there was a soft burr in the voice, a voice she knew well. The cowl fell back, and she saw his face. She lay still, stunned. His hand moved from her lips. Her gasp escaped.

This time, the "priest"
was
Brendan.

"Brendan!"

"You should have known!" he grated. "It's not as if I have not worn this guise before. Madam, you have injured me grievously. The future of my line in Scotland might have perished here."

"Oh? You
assumed
I'd risk the entire English nation and come for you?"

"No! It was the robes!" she protested. They still lay entangled. She could not believe he was there. His face, so close. Eyes sharp on her, flesh warm, vibrant. She clenched her teeth, trying not to tremble. This was madness.

He did so, rising, pulling her to her feet. She lowered her head, longing to throw herself into his arms, determined that she must not do so now. She turned away from him, walking to the window. The sheet hung to the stone floor below.

He was right. It had not been long enough. She might well have fallen to the stones, and broken her neck.

She kept her back to him, feeling a greater sense of fear with
each moment that passed.
He was here, with the sheriff's armed men, Englishmen. There would be no fighting his way from this threat of death!

"I remain in the castle now, and I might have been on my way through the water tunnels We're not out of here yet, are we?" she demanded. She was shaking. He was there; he had come for her. She should have been on her knees in gratitude. At the least, she should have been in his arms ... one last time. Touching his face. Remembering.

"He's trussed like a hog in the crypts below the church. There's another fellow there much more friendly to our cause. Of course, he instructed me to tie him up as well—he has a fondness for the food of the women of Clarin—and for his own head as well."

"Eleanor, I am not accusing you! I am telling you the situation. I have but a minute here. Tomorrow, you'll see me as part of your escort."

"What?" she demanded, astounded. "This is truly madness—unless I begged pardon of King Edward and came to the English side?"

"Now, that would be madness!" he said.

"Sir, you are the outlaw with a price on his head then—in England."

"And you've barely got a head left, my lady, so pay me heed! When you see me tomorrow, do not recognize me, do you understand? Eric is with me; de Longueville as well. You must pretend that you've never seen any of us."

She stared at him, trembling still, unable to believe he was there, so overwhelmed by the sight and scent of him that she could barely concentrate on his words.

She lowered her head. "I didn't want more men to die for this!" she said with anguish There is still a way out. I am accused, not condemned."

He was very still, studying her. "I won't leave you here. Because you're mistaken. They will see to it that you die."

She looked up at him. "As you noticed, I did not intend to stay. But perhaps it would be best if I did. Surely, they will have to give me a trial. I have been known as
Santa Lenora.
Legends travel. No one has offered me any harm; it is not unusual that I should be taken to London for a trial. I can defend myself in court, and that way, no man risks his life—"

"Our lives are risked being here!" he told her. "But there will be greater danger! You and your men should go. Tonight! Before there is a chance you'll be discovered. And I won't have my people killed either. I must be able to clear myself. If he was poisoned, then someone else is guilty. If I run, it will appear that I did do the deed. And before God, I didn't. Someone will speak on my behalf. I do believe in God, Brendan. And he will intercede. I didn't do it. I'd have never killed Alain, never—"

"God
has
interceded, my lady. We are here," he said angrily. She backed away from him, shaking her head. "You cannot get away with this!" she said softly. "You take too many risks; you've grown too desperate—"

"We've grown
able!"
He stepped forward, catching her by the shoulders. His jaw was clenched as he stared down at her. "Listen to yourself!" he said harshly.

"There are laws in England, good laws—" "And justice can be miscarried."

"Brendan, I am grateful. Good God, I am grateful. Don't you see? Grateful enough not to let you die for me!" "We won't die!"

"I—won't go along with your plan. You must get out of here, leave Clarin now. I'll betray you in the morning."

"No, my lady. You will not. You're arguing this, because you want to believe that in the end, your precious England will save you. You know it's a he. Otherwise, you'd not have been halfway out the window."

"I've had time to think it clearly through. My cousins will not let me go alone. One of them will come to London. I will be defended—"

He let out an oath of frustration. "What?" He demanded harshly. "Damn you! You will not stay behind! You'll not risk your fool neck to the block. Why would you, lady? For a pile of stones; this land, dirt, your dead husband's riches?"

"I have to go. They know that you will not confess. Don't dare think to betray me in the morning, if you truly want this to end without bloodshed. You don't recognize me, or any of the men."

Going out the main door, he was relieved to see that although the sheriff had set a guard at her door, and his men stood sentinel at the entry and the gates, the family was alone in the great hall. He'd received descriptions of the people and the place from Gregory. There was Alfred of Clarin, a tall, stern, proud man, pious and moral, carrying a great weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Corbin, his younger brother, handsome and charming, with more of a sardonic look at life, and an acceptance of being the second son, landless other than the family's holdings, and those his by the good graces of first his uncle—and then his cousin. Eleanor.

Then there was Isobel, Corbin's wife.

Petite, elegant, a rare beauty. She sat before the fire as he passed the hall slowly. His first thought had been to leave as soon as possible.

His second thought was to listen.

"You cannot go with her to London!" Isobel was protesting, taking his hands. She appeared the true and loving wife. Her words were earnest.

"Alfred manages the estates with far greater talent than I," Corbin returned, drawing his hands back. "Someone must go."

"You can neither go!" she said, rising. "The king has sent out his call; you will be required to fight, to lead northern troops, when he is ready for his next assault. Corbin, you can't go to London! You'll be arrested yourself for failing the king's command. Alfred, tell him that he cannot go."

Alfred looked at her. "One of us must go."

"That is madness!" she said furiously, stamping a foot. She walked back to the chair where Corbin sat, brooding as he stared into the fire. "You risk everything! Corbin, she isn't innocent! I'm telling you, she was eager to get rid of her husband."

"Isobel, she
cared
for him. Don't you understand that?" Corbin said.

"The doctors know that he was poisoned. Don't you understand that?" Isobel replied. "Precious Eleanor! She would do this, she would do that! Are you both blind, are you deaf?"

"Eleanor would gain from the count's natural death," Isobel said. "You, alone, Alfred, would gain from Eleanor's death."

Alfred strode across the room, slamming his hand on the table as he replied to Isobel. "I'll not take kindly to such words again, madam. I do my fighting in the field. Poison is a woman's work, slow—and vicious."

"And how would she be so desperate? She took great care with Count Alain. He saw the world rise and set in her every move."

"But I believe she was desperate," Isobel said softly. "You see, I think she is expecting a child."

"A child would have been gloriously welcomed by them both, Isobel," Corbin said, rising at last from his seat before the fire.

"You both love your cousin," Isobel said, "and I understand that you don't wish to see that evil can exist, even in such a great heart! The French murmur of it; rumor abounds. Eleanor was seized surely, but then gave way to her captors. She formed an alliance with Wallace, and with Graham—the man to seize the ship from the pirate, the wolf in the forest who preys upon any party attempting the old Roman road north. Perhaps she was forced at first ... but it is said that even the French king saw what was happening, and gave her warning."