Stuart, Elizabeth (42 page)

And
she had no one she might count on for help. For even if Richard somehow learned
what had happened, he had no ships at his command. He would have to send to
Edward and it would be weeks, perhaps months, before she might expect rescue.

Father
Edmund's words came back to her. She was a valuable prize any dishonorable
knight might seize. If the man could wed her, perhaps even get her with child,
the marriage would be sanctioned by Holy Church and he would have legal right
to her lands. Of course, he would be forced to pay a huge fine to Edward, but
that would be no hindrance to Hugh de Veasy. And she had heard Richard say the
man wanted control of North Wales.

She
closed her eyes, trying desperately to get hold of her rising panic. Think...
she must think! Was it possible Father Edmund had been part of this plot or was
he as foolishly trusting as she had been? And was Bishop Vespain coming to
Ireland or had he even heard her request? It didn't really matter. Hugh de
Veasy would take care he was too late.

She
opened her eyes and gazed narrowly at the ship, her fear distilling to a sharp,
crystalline resolve to best the man. Other heiresses had fallen as fair game to
similar plots, but de Veasy would find her no easy victim. She hugged her arms
close to her chest where the dagger Owain had slipped to her rode comfortingly
inside her shift.

At
least she had weapons—the tiny dagger and the wits to use it. Small comfort to
a woman alone against a man and an army.

All
too soon, the little boat reached the waiting ship. Elen rose to her feet,
waiting for the men to help her on board. She wouldn't make a fuss now; it
would do little good. And if Hugh de Veasy thought her willing it might
forestall any use of force—at least for a time.

The
baron stepped forward to personally assist her over the side. "Welcome, my
lady," he remarked with a bow. "Bishop Vespain has charged me with
your safety until he arrives. It's my pleasure to be of assistance."

Elen
allowed him to take her hand and lift it to his lips. So he thought to continue
this farce a while longer. The idea suited her as well. She forced herself to
smile. "You have my gratitude, my lord. I've long hoped for freedom, but
it is now my fervent wish to dedicate myself to Holy Church."

"So
I've heard." De Veasy returned her smile, his eyes dark, glittering, half
closed against the light. "Knowing that to be the case, I had no
hesitation in assisting your rescue. Besides, I'd not miss the chance to annoy
our mutual friend. Sir Richard Basset grows too large in his own conceit. It's
my belief he planned to wed you and put himself above far better born
men."

Elen
glanced up in surprise. "Wed me?"

"Don't
be afraid. I can assure you, he'll get no such chance."

Elen
sent the man a thoughtful look. Hugh de Veasy obviously believed she hated
Richard. She wasn't sure how to use the fact to her advantage, but perhaps she
should follow the baron's lead. "Richard Basset is the sworn enemy of my
family," she said slowly. "I would never wed him... never! I only
hope I'll not be forced to look on him again."

De
Veasy took her hand, bending over it once more. "My dear lady, I can
promise you won't see him anytime soon at least. We're bound for Ambersly, an
estate I hold on the Irish coast. Sir Richard will have no idea where to look
for you. And even if he did, he dare not bring armed men there. Edward has expressly
forbidden such. Like any well-trained puppy, Richard won't think of going
against his master's will."

Elen
nodded, de Veasy's words adding to her despair. No, Richard wouldn't go against
Edward's orders, not even for her. The tiny hope that he might somehow
miraculously appear died a bitter death in her heart.

The
rattle of the rising anchor chain signaled the ship was ready for sailing. It
dipped forward with a lurch and was at once under way. Elen tried to think of
her father, of Rhodri and Enion—what would they do?—but instead she found
herself remembering a tall, golden knight smiling down at her in the summer
sun.

No
matter how dark the hour, she doubted Richard would be afraid. She steadied
herself against the roll of the ship, turning her face toward Ireland. Even in
his absence, the thought of Richard Basset was comforting.

Richard
held himself stiffly, straining eyes and ears in the ghostly midnight quiet for
any hint of his men returning from their expedition. The muted growl of waves
against sand came to him along with the eerie call of a night bird winging its
way up the Irish coast—but no noise of stealthy footsteps crunching on sand.

He
toyed restlessly with his dagger, trying to keep his thoughts on the dangerous
business at hand. Despite his efforts, a host of fears rose to plague him. What
if he had guessed wrong? What if de Veasy hadn't brought Elen to Ambersly? And
what might be happening to her now?

He
shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his
fists. If de Veasy had hurt her, if he'd touched her...

He
drew a deep, steadying breath. If de Veasy had hurt Elen, he would kill the
bastard if it was the last thing he did. And Philip, his dear half-brother?
Philip would pay for his treachery if Richard lived the night.

He
glanced over his shoulder toward the glittering blue-black sea. The royal
supply ship he had confiscated at the point of his sword lay well hidden with
his soldiers on board. He hadn't dared sail closer for fear they might be seen
by de Veasy's men.

The
ship from Anglesey had been a stroke of luck for Richard—that and the fact that
a keen-eyed Welshman had seen de Veasy's ship and watched the direction it
sailed. When Elen's unconscious guard came to with his tale of priests with
clubs, it had been easy enough to connect the day's events. Putting two and two
together, it had smelled to heaven of one of de Veasy's plots.

And
to Richard's surprise, the Welsh had swarmed forward to assist him. Owain had
demanded to be taken along and Richard had quickly enlisted his help. No one
was better suited to this cat-and-mouse game of midnight raiding than the
Welsh. He had taken a score of his own men and a dozen grim Welshmen Owain had
handpicked, and they had set out in Edward's small supply ship in hot pursuit.

What
bothered Richard most about this affair was Elen's willing participation.
Surely those pretend priests couldn't have taken her against her will. What
tale could de Veasy have spun to cause her to fly with him into danger? It was
difficult to believe she had left like that—without even a word.

A
shadow flitted from the thicket and, with no other warning, the Welshmen were
back. Startled, Richard muttered an oath beneath his breath. These men were
silent as death. Praise God they were with him this night instead of seeking
his life. "What did you find?" he whispered.

The
stiff body of a bound man was dumped unceremoniously at his feet. "A
present for you," Owain said softly. "We reached the keep without
mishap and took this man napping at his post. I've little doubt we can make him
talk."

Richard
knelt in the sand and dragged the gag from the soldier's mouth. "We want
information and we've little time to phrase it gently, my man. If you answer
truly, you'll live. If not, I promise you'll wish you were dead a thousand
times over. Do you understand?"

The
man nodded.

"Tell
me. Is the Baron of Ravensgate in residence?"

The
man hesitated. Richard drew his knife from his belt. "Y-yes. Rode in near
sundown."

"Had
he a woman with him?"

The
man nodded again.

A
flood of relief swept Richard that nearly sent him reeling. If Elen hadn't been
here, he wouldn't have known where to search. "Do you know where she's
kept?"

The
man shook his head.

"Think,"
Richard ordered grimly, pressing his blade against the man's throat.

"Uh,
the best apartments be on the third floor, uh... the side nearest the sun's
rising. The baron lodges there. She'd be near, most like."

Another
dozen questions concerning the placement of sentries and the castle's layout,
and Richard forced the gag back into the prisoner's mouth. The men dragged him
into a thicket. "He's not to be harmed," Richard ordered. "We'll
release him on our return."

"What
next, my lord?"

Richard
turned to Owain in surprise. The stubborn Welshman had never acknowledged him
in that respectful manner—and Richard had never demanded it. He grinned in the
dark. "I've heard you Welsh climb like flies on a wall. Think you we can
make the cliff face on the seaward side of the keep? According to our friend here,
it's not guarded."

"A
babe could make it," Owain responded scornfully.

"Good.
Once at the wall, we'll go over it into the garden and make for that side door
the man spoke of. You and your men will wait there. I'll stand a better chance
alone than to take this lot clattering about the halls."

"The
men will wait, but I'm with you," Owain replied stubbornly. "Elen is
my lady and I've sworn to bring her back. Besides, we stand a better chance
together."

Richard
thought for a moment. The man was probably right. "Very well. If you've a
wish to go, I won't stop you. But no more than we two."

"Aye."

With
that, the men scattered soundlessly through the trees toward the coast road.
They dashed through the forest shadows paralleling the short track. Richard
shifted the heavy rope he carried and glanced up at the night sky. What little
moon there was had set long since and the night was near black as the tomb. It
was a good night for raiding. If only Elen's safety didn't hang in the balance,
he'd be enjoying himself. His comrades were battle-hardened veterans and Owain
a wily old fox well seasoned by command.

Richard's
eyes narrowed and he glanced across at the tireless Welshman, not liking the
thought that had suddenly crossed his mind. No, it was ridiculous. The man he
sought was much younger and went by the name of Rhys.

Reaching
the cliffs below the ancient stone fortress of Ambersly, the men went grimly to
work. Without a word of complaint, they began inching silently up through the
jagged scree of rock, heaving themselves along, hand over hand, to the shadowy
summit at the the base of the castle wall. Once there, they paused for breath
and a few last whispered orders.

After
he tossed the scaling rope over the wall, Richard jerked it once to set the
hook over the edge. The keep was ancient and poorly fortified. He clambered up
easily, noticing the disreputable state of the battlements as he ascended.
Christ's body, his men were more like to be hit by crumbling stone than downed
by a sharp-eyed guard.

He
dropped down from the wall onto all fours and held his breath for any hint of
alarm. But there was no sound save the rustle of wind in the trees and the
scurrying of some creature in the grass.

He
gazed about at the shadowy riot of fruit trees and overgrown hedges. The garden
was little more than a wilderness, mute evidence that de Veasy was rarely in residence.
So much the better for his purpose tonight.

Owain
stepped toward him. "Let's to it."

The
two men crept silently along the side of the keep to the door the guard had
mentioned. It swung open with a heart-stopping creak. After hesitating a moment
they slipped inside. Now came the test.

They
reached the narrow spiraling stair which went up from the kitchens past the
great hall. The evening meal was long over, but they still risked detection by
servants fetching up wine and ale for de Veasy's men.

Richard
formed a brief prayer. God grant they weren't discovered in this narrow
stairwell. There was scarce room to draw steel, much less make a fight of it.
Taking a deep breath, he sprinted upward past the hall, ducking through a
doorway into a musty corridor he hoped led to the eastern wing.

Leaning
against the moldering wall, he glanced back. Owain was still with him, his
breathing no more labored than Richard's own. For all the man's years, Richard
recognized a raider of note. It was good to have the Welshman along.
"Come," he whispered. "If the man spoke truth, the main stair
should be just ahead."

Owain
nodded and they slipped noiselessly down the shadowy corridor. Richard began to
breathe easier. Perhaps they would make it after all.

Without
warning, disaster struck. Two soldiers stepped from a doorway directly into
their path. Sword up, Richard leaped to throttle the men, but a shout of alarm
rang out.

And
suddenly, the entire corridor was filled with fighting men. Richard swung his
blade with a fury, cutting and slashing in an attempt to reach the stair. Owain
darted forward to guard his back, determinedly holding off the growing hoard of
soldiers.

"Well,
well... what have we here? I fear I underestimated you, my friend. Welcome to
Ambersly."

Sword
still swinging, Richard glanced in the direction of that familiar, mocking
voice. Sir Hugh de Veasy stood in the hallway, smiling like a satyr.