Fateful Encounter

by June Francis

  Fateful Encounter

  June Francis

  © June Francis 1989

  June Francis has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1989 by Mills & Boon Ltd.

  This edition published in 2016 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I MUST have been mad to let you talk me into this, Constance,’ muttered Robin Milburn moodily, huddling inside his woollen houppelande, which glistened with moisture. ‘I know we’ve come a good distance, but it’s not too late to change your mind.’

  Constance de Wensley cast a glance at the tree-smothered hills wreathed in mist, and swallowed an exasperated sigh. It had been fine that morning when they had set out. Placing a hand on her kinsman’s arm, she smiled up into his plump, but pleasantly boyish face. ‘Look upon this as an exciting venture into the unknown, Robin!’

  He grunted. ‘This isn’t the unknown! We know that somewhere along this road the forces of King Richard II were attacked and your husband Milo was killed.’ Constance’s dark brows puckered. ‘You are forgetting that the kings and chieftains of the native Irish have been swearing fealty to Richard for the last few months. Matters are bound to improve.’

  ‘And you’re forgetting what the guide told us in Dublin — that the king of Leinster and his allies have not departed from the mountains, as they swore to do in January. Despite all the agreements made between the English and Irish, I doubt much has changed since Milo’s father fled with him twenty-five years ago. This is a dangerous land, and I should never have allowed you to accompany me.’ He made a noise in his throat. ‘Look how it started in Dublin, with your maid breaking her ankle slipping on the gang-plank,’ he grumbled. ‘We had to send her home on the next ship.’

  ‘Oh, Robin, don’t be such a crosspatch,’ she replied impatiently.

  ‘But your father will be furious! We should have waited for him,’ insisted Robin.

  ‘He would have been an age. Likely he is still in London consulting with Sir Richard Stury — who is, as you know, a member of the Privy Council. They have hopes of bringing before Parliament a document stating the Lollard views and aims calling for reforms in the church. You know how dear that is to Father’s heart. He will have no thought for me until he returns to Yorkshire, where my stepmother is with my twin half-brothers.’ A shadow crossed her oval face.

  ‘And then he’ll be in a fury when he’s told what you’ve done, and will make for Ireland post-haste. And who’ll get all the blame? Me.’ His anxiety showed in his blue eyes.

  ‘I shall tell him that the blame is all mine.’ She smiled coaxingly. ‘When has Father ever stayed angry with me for long?’

  ‘Since the twins were born and pushed your nose out of joint,’ he replied promptly. ‘That’s why you wed Milo de Wensley in the way you did. A penniless son of a dreamer of an Anglo-Irish minor nobleman! You could have done better, Con, despite those brothers of yours. Your father would have still provided you with a handsome dowry, even though you were no longer the heiress you were before Henry and John were born.’

  ‘Do you not think I don’t know that!’ she said vehemently, her fingers tightening on the reins. ‘But I made my bed, so I had to lie in it. Do not think that I haven’t regretted it often. Things happened that I have never spoken of to anyone. And I have no intention of speaking of them now — so don’t look at me like that, Robin! Best to forget the last four years of my life with Milo, and to look ahead to the future.’

  ‘Then why come to Ireland?’ He wore a bewildered expression. ‘It seems madness.’

  She hesitated. ‘Can’t you understand why?’ He shook his head. ‘Then this I will tell you, because I think you might understand, being a younger son with no property to call your own. Milo’s land over here, left to him by his father, is now rightfully mine, so I do not now have to beg my father for anything.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to beg from him,’ he said in a distressed tone. ‘Your father is strict but fair — and he loves you, despite the times you have wilfully disobeyed him.’

  ‘You never heard what he said when he caught up with Milo and me after we ran away!’ She moistened her mouth, and swallowed. ‘I know he has forgiven me for the pain I caused him and Philippa,’ her voice was low, ‘but my stepmother and the boys are his life now, and I have no part of it. Sometimes I feel that he has completely forgotten my mother.’

  ‘How could he?’ Robin noted the proud Castilian features of her countenance. ‘Each time he looks at you he must be reminded of her, but my mother told me she caused quite a rift between your father and his brother. A Spanish maid in the train of Constanza, Duchess of Lancaster, whom they both loved.’

  She smiled slightly. ‘It is hard to believe that Father married her without permission — and that Uncle Hugo spent years barely speaking to him, until he met Aunt Rose.’

  ‘Even that caused a scandal!’ Robin chuckled. ‘She was Philippa’s maid, and Philippa was his betrothed, with whom your father fell in love.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have married her, though, had my stepmother not been so determined to marry Father — and it has worked out, and they are happy. But I can’t go back and live with them. In this way, I may perhaps build my own future.’

  ‘But I can’t stay indefinitely,’ said Robin. ‘Sooner or later I shall leave, and so will the king with his forces. What then?’

  ‘I shall worry about that when the time comes,’ she said calmly. ‘Now let us catch up with the others. Did that man Brandon not say that there was a town within a few miles? I’m starving.’

  ‘Ay.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I think Master Brandon has a fancy for you — and he’s a member of the Earl of March’s household.’

  She frowned, but could not quite hide a smile. ‘Hush, Robin, he might hear you. Let’s catch up with them. And let’s pray there’s something hot and meaty when we reach the town. Despite its being April, it’s damnable cold now the mist has come down.’ She pressed her knee against her mare’s neck, and immediately she responded.

  As they rounded a bend, Constance’s gaze took in a new vista sweeping up from the road to the Wicklow Hills. Her heart gave a sudden lurch, as she thought she saw movement. Her eyes strained through the mist that swirled tantalisingly, parting here and there to reveal a boulder or tree, only to conceal them a moment later. Her fingers tightened on the reins, and her pulse jumped. ‘Robin!’ He turned to face her. ‘There are men in the hills — I’m certain.’

  He pushed back the wide-brimmed beaver hat, revealing thick brown hair, and his head slewed round to follow her pointing hand. ‘You’re mistaken. But, no, sweet Mary, I think you’re right!’ He shouted to the other riders a little ahead, and obediently they responded, and several faces turning up to the hills.

  An axe suddenly hissed in the misty air, to find a target in a tree on the other side of the road. There was a concerted gasp, and without more ado, the riders spurred their horses on to speed ahead of Constance and Robin. ‘Time these horses had a good gallop,’ they said in unison.

  Constance sent a swift estimating glance to the hills to see that the leading man was not far away, but after that, she dared not look again. So intent was she on
trying to catch up with Robin’s stallion that the thud of feet drawing closer did not register at first as a threat. Then a man shot into sight, running like a deer alongside her. The mare swerved away from him, and for a moment she thought he would be left behind. Then unexpectedly he was up behind her, one arm about her waist as the other stretched to pluck the reins from her gloved hand. Furiously she struggled, swaying perilously on the sidesaddle that had been made fashionable by Richard’s dead Queen Anne. Catching sight of a lean profile, barbarously moustached, she lashed out and caught him a blow on the chin. His eyebrows shot up, but he ducked her next blow, then he was pulling the reins to force the mare round and off the road. Still she fought him, leaning back in an attempt to throw him off balance, but he pushed against her so that her nose hit the horse’s mane, bringing tears to her eyes. The beast was brought to a jolting halt, and before she could realise what he was about, he had unfastened his damp mantle and blinded her with a fold of it, successfully muffling her cries of angry frustration.

  He dismounted, and placed her on the ground. She sought for an opening in the clammy folds of the garment, scared, but furious at being treated in such a manner, and at last managed to free her head. Then her arm shot out, but her feet became entangled just as she was pushing herself up, and she fell. Eventually she extricated herself, and saw that he had his back to her and appeared to be unbuckling her saddle. Her eyes sought for a weapon, and her fingers found a rock. She was struggling to lift it, when he turned, with her saddle in his hands.

  The slightest of smiles tugged at his mouth as he dropped the saddle. Her throat tightened, and she stilled. His smile broadened, angering her further. Suddenly she had her fear under control, and lunged at him with the stone held high, but its weight was too much for her, and they both fell in a tangle of arms and legs beneath her trembling mare.

  His breath hissed between his teeth as he sent the rock tumbling, then he dragged her fully on top of him. Terrified of the mare’s flaying hoofs, she did not move as he heeled and elbowed his way backwards with a speed that amazed her, and which took them from beneath the mare and to safety.

  He collapsed, his chest heaving, and for several seconds her relief at escaping injury was so great that she did not move. Then, lifting her head, she saw the fury in his face. Hurriedly she rose to her knees, but he seized her arms and pulled her back on top of him. She gave a scream as he rolled her over, imprisoning her beneath him. He flung a string of unintelligible words at her, which sounded so dire that she wilted beneath their force. Then his mouth came down over hers with a ruthless ferocity.

  Her body stiffened with resistance, preparing for the violation that she was certain would follow, and she punched at his face. He wrenched his mouth from hers and slapped her lightly. She gasped, and began to tremble, but the spirit that had never been subdued beneath Milo’s cruel domination fought within her, and she slapped him back. ‘How dare you touch me, you barbarian!’

  As he caught her wrist, his sharp pale grey eyes were staring into her face with an intensity that almost mesmerised her. He raised himself slightly to run his gaze over the tightly-fitting dark blue cote-hardie. Her veil had worked loose, and her black braids had cascaded from their confining loops about her ears to tickle her cheeks. She forced herself not to flinch beneath his scrutiny, noting that his good looks were marred by a thin white scar snaking down past his left eyebrow, so that the skin was puckered slightly.

  His lips formed words in English. ‘You will come with me.’

  ‘I will not,’ she responded, attempting to pull her hand away. ‘You must release me.’ She was surprised that he spoke English.

  ‘Release you? I did not run like the devil to let you go so easily.’ He smiled, touching her chin lightly with his fist, before lowering himself on to her again. She struggled to throw him off, her apprehension mounting, but it was useless. He kissed her again with an enthusiastic fervour that sent shock rippling through her body. Tears welled in her eyes. Robin had been right; she was a fool to have come to Ireland, knowing the dangers.

  He raised his head and looked down into her eyes. ‘There is no need to cry,’ he said, resting his hands on her breasts. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘What difference will it make if I tell you?’ she replied, her voice unsteady. Her fear was no greater than at the times Milo had bedded her with all the finesse of a beast in the fields.

  ‘None, but we need to know your name.’ He moved a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. ‘If you are someone important, all the better.’

  ‘Do you keep a list of all the women you ravish?’ she said vehemently, attempting to throw him off again.

  ‘You are expecting me to ravish you?’ His body pressed down on hers, subduing it. ‘To be sure, I’m tempted! You’re comely, and I like a woman with spirit.’

  ‘I would not have thought you cared about the sort of woman you defiled,’ she retorted furiously. ‘You’re the kind of man who cares about a woman’s purity only if she’s your sister or your betrothed. Any other woman is a target for your attentions. Probably you have ravished hundreds of women!’

  ‘Not hundreds,’ he said unsteadily, ‘and never one who talked as much as you. You don’t look English,’ he flicked one olive cheek, ‘but you talk like an Englishwoman, and not one from Dublin or any part of the Pale. I’m glad of that! And from appearance — and the feel ...’ she gasped as he felt the material about her thigh, ‘you are not poor.’

  ‘My father’s a wool-merchant. If you were considering a ransom, you will get more money if you do not despoil me,’ she said.

  ‘A wool-merchant!’ He brought his scarred face close to hers. ‘Is he very rich?’

  She moistened her mouth. ‘Not really rich,’ she lied. ‘And he’s in England, but he has an agent in Dublin. But if you hurt me — or aught else — I doubt he would be prepared to pay much. After all, I am only a daughter, and not worth as much as a son.’

  ‘It makes no difference if you’re a woman — because it’s not for a ransom that I want you.’ His mouth touched hers lightly.

  ‘No!’ she cried vehemently, attempting to push him away.

  He shrugged, and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  ‘No! I ...’ She stopped abruptly. Robin was just behind, and for an instant she could not think what to do. As it was, she did not have to do anything because her kinsman acted swiftly, bringing a piece of wood down on the man’s head. As he fell, she wrenched her fingers from his hold, and jumped aside.

  ‘It appears that I came just in time,’ said Robin with grim satisfaction. He knelt beside the man, and rolled him over. ‘I don’t think I’ve killed him.’

  ‘It would serve him right if you had,’ she declared tersely, smoothing down her skirts with an unsteady hand. ‘I’m glad you came when you did. He was just going to take me away.’

  ‘Are you all right? He didn’t ... ?’

  She shook her head. ‘When did you realise I wasn’t with you? Where are the others?’ Her cheeks were pink.

  ‘Almost immediately. Can you ride? We’ll lose sight of the rest of them if we don’t make haste.’ He sounded uneasy.

  ‘I can ride.’ She gazed at the man, noting that his chest was rising and falling. A groan escaped him. ‘Let’s go,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s stirring — and there were others with him, don’t forget.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ He stared at her flushed face. ‘How did he manage to catch you?’

  ‘He ran after me.’ She made to pick up her saddle. ‘No, leave it,’ Robin ordered suddenly. ‘I can hear someone coming. Let’s go! I left my horse on the road.’ Constance dropped the saddle, picked up the man’s mantle and flung it over her mare. She dragged herself up, sparing one last glance at the Irishman, and she thought his eyelids fluttered. ‘He’s waking,’ she cried. ‘Let’s go!’ Robin ran to the road, and she followed swiftly.

  ‘Let’s pray the rest of them can’t run as fast he could,’ sa
id Robin drily, as he pulled himself up into the saddle.

  She made no reply, being intent on listening for signs of pursuit. When there came the slightest sound of voices muffled by the mist, her glance met Robin’s for a moment, and then they set out to put as much distance as possible between them and the owners of the voices. Soon the only sound to be heard was their own breathing and that of hoofs drumming on the earth.

  The mist swirled; its clammy streamers chilled her face, and the cold seemed to seep into her bones. Still they went on, not daring to slow down. After a while, Robin called a halt. There was no sign of the party they had travelled with in the belief that there was safety in numbers. ‘This is futile,’ he muttered. ‘We have no notion of where we are.’ The lines of his face expressed his misery.

  ‘What can we do but go on?’ Her voice sounded loud, and she could not prevent herself from glancing swiftly over her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said disgruntled. ‘I told you this was madness.’

  She ignored that remark. ‘All roads lead somewhere. Surely, sooner or later, we shall arrive at a town?’ She attempted to force a note of optimism into her voice.

  He grunted. ‘I suppose you’re right. But I wish this damned mist would lift. We could be anywhere!’

  Constance made no reply, convinced that the mist would be with them for the remainder of the evening. She had experienced the same sort of weather on the Yorkshire fells, where she had spent part of her childhood. Her thoughts drifted with the swirling mist. Had it been like this last autumn, when Milo had been caught in the ambush? He might never have returned to Ireland if Richard II of England had not insisted on all absentee landlords born in Ireland joining him in an attempt to resolve by force the problems in that land. Perhaps the man could have been one of those involved in that ambush? Her body burned, almost feeling the weight of him again. She questioned again her decision in coming to Ireland.