by Lynsay Sands
"Put on my gown."
Seonaid's eyebrows rose at the snap of authority in the sister's voice. She wasn't at all surprised when Helen responded to it and immediately began removing her own clothes.
"We will switch clothes, then I shall show you a secret way out of here." Sister Blanche helped Lady Helen disrobe as she spoke. "Should we run into them, the habit may keep you safe. Men do not even really look at nuns. We may fool them with the switch."
Turning away as the women set about exchanging clothes, Seonaid moved to the door and listened for sounds in the hall. Aeldra followed, and they stood silent for a moment, listening. Then Seonaid suddenly glanced down at herself and frowned at the long gown and plaid she wore. Her outfit would hamper her movements if they encountered trouble, and it did appear trouble was brewing.
Gesturing for Aeldra to take her place at the door, Seonaid removed her plaid and used her dagger to cut a slice into the plain white shift she'd worn beneath the plaid. She cut a couple of inches below waist level, then tore the cloth all the way around her body until the bottom of the gown fell away to land in a soft pile around her feet. She then tucked the much shortened shift into the top of the plaid braies she had been wearing beneath the gown and plaid. Seonaid and Aeldra usually ran around in the plaid braies and a short tunic at home. They had only donned the gowns for their stay at the abbey to keep from shocking the abbess and nuns. But now that trouble had arrived, the nuns' sensibilities were less important than practicality. Should they need to fight or run, they could do both much easier in braies than long gowns.
Finished with her own garb, Seonaid quickly used a bit of cloth to tie her long black hair back, then took Aeldra's place at the door. She would keep watch while Aeldra made the same alterations to her own dress.
"Where the devil is everyone?"
Blake shrugged at Rolfe's muttered question. The gardens had been empty, as had the entry, the hall, and every other room they had peered into thus far. The abbey was as silent and vacant as a tomb. It was downright eerie, he thought, as he came to an empty side hall.
Pausing, he turned and peered at the men following him. Rolfe, Little George, the bishop, and twenty men-at-arms, curiosity and concern on every face as they peered about the inner sanctity of the abbey. He could not blame them. 'Twas not a place they were likely to see again.
Sighing, he shook his head and peered back toward the main hall.
"What is it?" Rolfe asked, looking back the way they had come.
"The chapel," Blake said. "I swear I saw the door close as I stood at the end of the hall."
"Aye, but we looked in there. It was empty."
"Hmm." He continued to stare up the hall. His instincts were telling him to check it again. A warrior quickly learned to rely on his instincts. Turning abruptly, he headed back the way they had come, pausing after only a few steps to order the men-at-arms to continue searching the passage for any of the abbey's inhabitants. When he continued on, he was aware Rolfe was following him, with Little George and the bishop close behind.
Seonaid straightened from peering into the hall when her cousin nudged her. Aeldra had finished repairing her clothes so that she too was no longer hampered by skirts, and Sister Blanche and Helen had finished exchanging garments and were moving to join them.
"Your gowns," Lady Helen said with surprise as she saw that they had changed their clothing as well. "You look so ... different in braies."
Seonaid smiled at the comment as she eased the door closed and turned to properly examine the two women. She could have said the same to them. Both of them had been transformed by the switch. With her hair hidden beneath the nun's habit and every inch of her body hidden as well, Helen had an ethereal beauty. She had been attractive before, but her beauty was somehow transformed to a pure and innocent sweetness. Sister Blanche, on the other hand, looked a perfect mess, her usually serene expression tense and pinched, her shorn head odd without its covering.
Seonaid glanced about, then moved toward the front of the room to snatch the pristine white cloth off the table holding the candles.
"What are you doing?" Sister Blanche hurried after her as the candles tumbled to the floor.
"Should anyone see the two of ye together, they would recognize the switch at once," Seonaid pointed out. "We must cover yer head."
"Oh." Sister Blanche reached up to self-consciously feel her own shorn head, but Seonaid brushed her hand aside and draped the cloth about her head. She then tied the fine linen beneath her chin, and paused to frown over her handiwork. Unfortunately, her efforts revealed how little knowledge she had of primping and fashion. Muttering under her breath, she fussed a bit, relieved when Helen nudged her out of the way and took over the duty. Once the Englishwoman had finished, Seonaid eyed the sister and nodded her satisfaction.
"Let us go. We must gather the blades from our rooms, then find the exit you speak of."
"The blades from your rooms?" Sister Blanche peered at her, bewildered. "But Mother Elizabeth took them."
"We took them back an' we needs must have them to escape."
"Nay, we cannot risk it," the sister protested at once.
"Would ye send us out with naught to protect us?"
Biting her lip, Sister Blanche peered unhappily about, then sighed. "I shall fetch them for you, then."
Seonaid shook her head. "I'll no let ye risk yerself for us."
" 'Tis my fault you are at risk," Sister Blanche argued. "Besides, they would not dare harm a bride of God."
Seonaid smiled slightly. "Ye look little like a sister right now, Sister."
The nun glanced down at her clothes with a start. "Oh, aye, well, but if I had any difficulty I could remove this." She gestured to the cloth on her head. "They would know I was a sister then."
Seonaid opened her mouth to argue, but Sister Blanche shook her head. "I will not argue with you. I am going and that is final."
"I shall go as well," Helen announced, hurrying to follow the sister as she moved toward the door.
"Nay!" Sister Blanche turned on her at once. " 'Tis not safe for you."
"They would not recognize me dressed in your clothes," Helen pointed out. "In truth, I shall probably be safer than you yourself. Besides, Sister, you surely cannot carry the swords by yourself. They will have to be concealed beneath your skirts, and two would be too awkward for one woman."
The words were true, of course, and Seonaid's lips twitched with amusement as Sister Blanche realized it herself and gave an unhappy nod.
Admonishing them to be quick and quiet about it, Seonaid told them where to find the swords and led them to the door. After pausing to listen for anyone approaching, she opened the door to let them out, then watched until they had turned the corner at the end of the hall. She had started to close the door again when a sound from the other end of the hall drew her eyes. 'Twas the first man she had seen, the fair-haired Scot. He had come around the corner at the end of the hall even as Helen and Sister Blanche disappeared around the other. She didn't think he had spotted the other women, but he had definitely seen her.
Cursing her bad luck, Seonaid slammed the door and turned to warn Aeldra.
*
Reaching the hall in question, Blake stepped into it, then paused in surprise. The hallway was as empty as it had been the first time he had walked down it, but a long-haired Scot now leaned out of the chapel door, his back to them as he peered toward the opposite end of the passage. Curious, Blake glanced along the hall himself and missed his opportunity to get a look at the fellow's face. The sudden slamming of the chapel door told him that his presence had been discovered.
Cursing, Blake pulled his sword from his scabbard and charged toward the door just as Rolfe reached his side.
He half expected the door of the chapel to be barred when he reached it and was surprised when it gave way abruptly beneath his touch. Turning the knob, he crashed into the room, sword at the ready, aware the other men entered behind him.
For
a moment they all stood staring blankly about, for as before, the room appeared empty.
"Empty." Rolfe frowned around the room. "What did you see to make you hie back here?"
"A Scot standing in the doorway. He saw me and slammed the door."
"Hmm." Rolfe glanced around again. "Well, he is not here now."
Blake paused by the pew nearest the door and picked up one of the two plaids that had been left there. "Aye. But I didn't imagine him."
The bishop frowned at the sight of the plaid. "Well, where did he go?"
Blake dropped the cloth. "Could there be a secret passage in here?"
The bishop frowned over the possibility, his gaze moving to the walls and the tapestries hanging there. "I do not know. Of course, 'tis possible one of the tapestries hides a secret passage or--"
Blake raised an eyebrow when the prelate suddenly stilled. Following his wide-eyed gaze to the image of the crucifixion of Christ, he stared at it curiously for a moment before he realized what had caught the other man's attention. The tapestries in the room all reached from floor to ceiling, as did the one the bishop was staring at, almost. It fell an inch or so short of the floor due to the way it bulged out from the wall. Beneath it, two sets of boots showed.
Blake raised his sword and gestured to the other men, then moved toward the tapestry. Pausing a foot or so before it, he waited until the other men had arranged themselves around him, then spoke. "Come out of there, you."
Seonaid cursed under her breath. She had feared the hiding place might not bear up well under close inspection, but there had been little time to find a new one after closing the chapel door. Glancing toward Aeldra, they shared a grim glance, then stepped to the side, half-revealing herself to the enemy and getting her first really good look at them. Well, one of them. Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the man who stood in front, so she did not notice the others accompanying him. The one in front was enough to keep anyone's attention.
Seonaid had never met the Cameron, but if the man before her was Rollo, God had been truly kind when fashioning him. His hair--as she had noticed earlier--was blond, but 'twas truly a poor description. A touch shorter than her brother's darker tresses, it hung to his shoulders in golden waves that caught and reflected the candlelight in the room. It was glorious, a shade of spun gold she was sure only an angel could possess. His face was equally impressive, with wide, deep blue eyes, and long gold lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked. A straight strong nose, firm full lips, and a short golden beard and mustache made him as attractive a man as Seonaid had ever seen. She almost expected to see wings sprouting from his back and a halo above his head, but she supposed angels did not have quite so wondrous a body. At least not any of the images of angels she had seen. In the paintings and tapestries sporting visions of angels, they were a thin, small-boned crew. The man before her could never have been so described. He was taller than her own six feet, his shoulders twice the width of her own, his upper arms probably as big around as her thigh. Nay, bigger. And his legs were strong and well formed where they were revealed by the short plaid he wore.
Damn. She released a small sigh. 'Twas almost worth it to die for one night in his bed, she thought, recalling what Helen had said about his plan to kill her.
Blake stared at the creature peeking around the edge of the tapestry and frowned. The lighting in the chapel was poor and the Scot had only leaned his upper body partly out from behind the tapestry, revealing one arm and one eye, but it was enough to tell him this was no soldier. He was lean and sleekly muscled, but was lacking in the bulk that identified a warrior. The fellow did not make his way by the sword. Blake supposed he should have guessed as much when the man had chosen to hide rather than confront him in battle. He shifted impatiently when the silence continued and the man stayed half-concealed behind the cloth.
"I said come out," he snapped, shifting his position threateningly. The Scot seemed to give a start at his words, then glanced back behind the tapestry.
Seonaid was confused. While she had been hidden behind the tapestry, the man's words had been muffled and she had not noticed his accent. It was English, not Scot. She glanced back to Aeldra in confusion.
Aeldra too looked slightly surprised at his accent, then shrugged.
Seonaid peered back to the man, opening her mouth to speak, then paused. Mayhap he had been raised in England. It wasn't at all uncommon for such a thing to happen. Many Scottish heirs were raised there, either by rich relatives or at court itself. Shrugging such considerations aside, she glanced toward Aeldra again, her hand rising behind the tapestry to grab it higher up. She gave her an expressive look, then stepped farther out from behind the tapestry even as Aeldra caught what she meant to do, raised her own hand, and slid out from the other side.
Blake was about to repeat his order for the Scot to show himself when he suddenly did just that. Or, she did, he realized with dismay, taking in the ice blue eyes and obviously womanly features. Movement from the other side of the tapestry drew his attention, and he peered at the petite woman slipping out from the other side. Short, blond, shapely, and pretty. Blake was just turning his eyes back to the taller woman when Rolfe suddenly let out a gasp of dismay behind him.
Blake glanced away to see the alarm on the other man's face, then turned quickly back, but it was too late. As they moved out to the sides, both the small female and the taller one had grasped hold of the tapestry and jerked it forward. The heavy rug was even now pulling away from its position on the wall and crashing down atop them. Blake barely managed a step to the side as the tapestry fell. It was not enough to save him completely and the heavy ornament caught his shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.
As soon as the tapestry came loose from the wall and began to flap out over the men, Seonaid yelled to Aeldra and raced toward the door, intent on escape. An enraged shout from her cousin made her whirl around, dismay on her face as she saw the tapestry had not come down to cover all of the men. One, a mountain of a man, had been a step or two behind the bishop, guarding the other men's backs, and had entirely escaped the dusty old tapestry entangling the others. He had also managed to catch Aeldra as she raced past him and stood holding her off the ground from behind, his arms around her waist, seemingly impervious to her scratching fingernails as she clawed at him and kicked her feet furiously. She was caught.
Cursing, Seonaid glanced briefly around for something to help her cousin with, but she couldn't find anything appropriate. Giving up the search as Aeldra screeched again, this time in warning, she glanced around to see that the man in the plaid had made his way out from beneath the tapestry and was moving toward her.
Seonaid grabbed up a pew and hurled it at him just as the chapel door opened and Lady Helen and Sister Blanche hurried in. Excitement and victory were on their faces as they entered, but dismay soon followed as they spied the chaos they had walked in on. Not bothering to explain what should have been obvious, Seonaid grabbed up both swords as the women held them out and ordered them to get out of the room before turning back to confront the fellow in the plaid.
Blake slowed his forward impetus as he spied the two blades with which he was faced. Surprise was his first reaction. She held the blades as if she were comfortable with them, which drew his attention to the fact that they were smaller than the average sword and of lighter weight. They had obviously been made specifically for the woman before him and the one giving Little George such a rough time.
"Hold," Blake said as the pieces fell together. He had first assumed the Scot in the chapel a man, and no doubt the one who had broken into the abbey, but now that he knew she was a woman and one who exactly fit Rolfe's description of his betrothed, Blake began to realize he faced none other than Seonaid Dunbar. She fit the description far too well to be anyone but her. Ice blue eyes, glorious blue-black hair, well-formed. Aye, he was finally confronting his betrothed. And she was wearing braies.
"I mean ye no harm," he murmured once he had her attention.
"Nor I you," she answered sweetly, then lifted one of the swords and had at him.
The viciousness of her attack took Blake by surprise, and at first he was kept busy fending off her blows. By the time he recognized that she was directing the battle so that they shifted position, the two of them had already turned enough that she was approaching the spot where Little George and her friend struggled. Before Blake could do anything about it, she had closed the last of the distance between herself and his first and had kicked out to the side with her right foot. Blake winced as her foot connected viciously with Little George's left leg.
The giant grunted in pain and released the woman he held, reaching instinctively to brace himself as he tumbled toward the floor of the chapel. The petite woman threw herself to the side to avoid being crushed by his weight, but was on her feet and at the dark-haired woman's side in a flash, reaching for the smaller second sword to arm herself.
"What goes on here?"
Sister Blanche and Lady Helen straightened guiltily from their bent positions before the door of the chapel. They had listened to Seonaid's order but hadn't fully obeyed. They had gone so far as to leave the chapel, but it was as far as either of them had been willing to go. Pausing in the hall, they had cracked the door open and watched the commotion within as Lady Seonaid and her cousin faced off against the plaid-clad man inside. Now Blanche and Helen whirled to face the abbess as she strode down the hallway toward them, the skirts of her dark gown flowing out behind her.
"Mother!" Sister Blanche peered at the woman in dismay, then glanced guiltily toward the door to the chapel before straightening her shoulders. "Scots have infiltrated the abbey. Lady Seonaid and Lady Aeldra are fending them off."
"What!" The abbess stared at her askance. "It was the English you were to let in, not the Scots. My God, Blanche, what have you done?"
"What indeed," Lady Helen muttered bitterly. "Just opened the door under your direction to allow men to have at the women who sought protection within these sacred walls."
