Once everyone was assembled around the twin graves, a man dressed in friar’s homespun opened his Bible and began to read. And for the first time in a very long time, Eric bowed his head in prayer.
***
When the reading began, little Ailsa whimpered and rested her cheek on Elisabeth’s shoulder. Her young cousin trembled with quiet sobs, and Elisabeth rocked her hoping to comfort her a bit.
Unbidden, into her mind came the memory of another funeral nearly a year ago. Two decades older than she, John Redmond had been a cousin of her father’s. He cared for her as one would a prized mare that promised to bear strong colts. When it became apparent that Elisabeth was barren, he turned his attention elsewhere.
“Don’t be weepin’ now, dear heart,” he told her one evening, kissing her cheek. “A mon what’s old as me needs sons to carry on for him when he’s gone.”
He died in a skirmish with a rival over a spit of land scarcely wide enough to ride across. She’d declined her widow’s share of his holdings, and they’d passed to his brothers. In all likelihood they were still bickering over who had claim to what. Elisabeth had quietly returned home to Caileann, much wiser than the idealistic lass she’d once been.
The rain began falling harder, and she pulled the hood of Ailsa’s cloak tighter around her face. As she did so, she noticed a slight movement in the trees atop the hill. When she looked straight at it, she saw nothing but branches, but the sensation that someone was watching them remained strong. The wind moved through the trees, shifting the branches just enough for her to make out a man on horseback.
Eric.
He sat astride Micah, his head bowed. Though she couldn’t hear him, she saw his lips moving in time with the prayer Father Blair was reading. In Latin. How could Eric possibly recite the lengthy verses from memory?
While she pondered the possible explanations, the prayer ended. Though she should be focused on the ceremony, Elisabeth couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figure in the shadows. Alone and unannounced, he’d come to honor two people he’d never met. What sort of man did such a thing?
She raised her hand slightly in greeting, and he responded with a solemn nod. Then he crossed himself and melted back into the forest as soundlessly as he’d appeared.
***
Someone was watching him.
Eric felt it, and he was careful to appear concerned only with the footing beneath Micah’s hooves. The presence he sensed wasn’t menacing. Neither was it innocent, as if someone were observing him to see what he was about.
When a grubby urchin dropped from an overhanging branch, Micah pulled up, snorting while he stamped a massive foot in disapproval.
A boy who could be no more than a handful of years looked up at Eric, cocking his head with a curious expression. “Hallo.”
“Hallo to you,” Eric echoed the greeting. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Have you anything to eat?”
Eric shook his head, keeping quiet so he could count the pairs of advancing footsteps coming up behind him. Three distinct gaits he heard, but no doubt there were more. If any of them belonged to the man who’d escaped him yestreen, his journey might well have reached its end.
“That’s too bad,” the boy said, rubbing his stomach. “I’m sore hungry.”
The whine was a bit too polished to be genuine, and Eric forced a thin smile. “Perhaps one of the men behind me will feed you.”
All went still. The only sound came from half-hearted raindrops pelting the few remaining leaves overhead. After several moments, someone broke the tense silence with a laugh.
A man dressed all in gray rode up beside Eric, assessing him from the back of a dappled stallion. A sword with a finely tooled hilt hung at his side, and his unyielding posture marked him as a soldier accustomed to long hours in the saddle. Judging by the way the others deferred to him, he was their leader. Could he be the “Gray” Elisabeth had described? If so, what was he doing so near to Caileann?
His silvery eyes lingered on Eric’s before he gave a slight nod. “We don’t often see men of such nerve hereabouts. What is your name, sir?”
“Eric Jordan,” he answered, omitting the part of his name that would brand him as French. His accent he could do little about, but he hoped that keeping his answers brief would help disguise it.
“And where are you bound this lovely day, Eric Jordan?”
“Annandale,” he replied, praying it was on the path he’d chosen.
“I see. What business have you there?”
“I’m hoping to find work.”
Gray eyed Micah dubiously. “Where does a journeyman come by such a fine mount?”
“I won him,” Eric said evenly. He’d told the story many a time, and he endured further scrutiny without so much as a flinch.
“Very well, then. Godspeed to you.”
Eric nodded politely. “Many thanks.”
Gray reined his horse aside, allowing Eric to pass. Instinct compelled him to hang back, pretending to pick his way down the rocky path. Once he’d passed out of sight, he tuned his sharp ears to the voices behind him.
“What news have you from Caileann?” Gray asked.
“They’re tending to their mourning, sir,” someone answered. “Guard’s doubled, and they’re turning away anyone not wearing Redmond plaid.”
“As expected,” Gray said with a sigh. “Once they’ve lowered their defenses, our man will give the signal. Until then, we wait.”
Eric had moved out of earshot, so he heard nothing more beyond an unintelligible babble of voices. He was tempted to double back to learn more but decided against it. Whatever the soldiers were planning was none of his concern. Surely, the Redmond would be safe enough within their well-defended walls.
But what if there were a traitor inside those walls?
With more Redmond than usual gathered at the castle, it was an ideal time to strike, and Gray had mentioned a man who would alert them when it was safe to attack. The rain dripping down Eric’s cheeks summoned the memory of Elisabeth weeping over her cousins. Their loss had struck her hard. How would she fare were she to lose more of her kin?
Very firmly, he pushed aside emotion and focused on logic. Avoiding the web of Scottish politics was crucial to beginning life anew in this country. He was no longer a knight, but a laborer with a strong back and a willing demeanor. With any fortune at all, he’d die many years from now without anyone learning the truth about him.
But even as he moved forward, he knew that despite his attempts to free himself of care for others, it simply wasn’t in him to ride away and leave the Redmond to their fate.
The drizzle had become a downpour, and he resolutely shook the water from his cloak. A bit further along, they reached better footing, and he urged Micah into a trot that would end their miserable journey as quickly as possible.
When Eric arrived at the Redmond stronghold, he was asked to surrender his weapons at the gate. He’d been allowed to keep them on his first visit, and as he handed them over now, he was pleased to see that extra precautions were being taken to protect the people of Caileann. The guard eyed the fine French sword with soldierly approval and hung it with Eric’s knives on a hook inside the guardhouse.
“Not to worry, Jordanne,” the man assured him with a broad smile. “I’ll watch over ’em like they was my own.”
He forced a smile so he’d not alarm the guard, then headed for the keep. He chose a different entrance this time, hoping to avoid anyone else who might recognize him. It wouldn’t do for word to get around that a dark-skinned Frenchman had been spotted returning to the Redmond fortress. He found a set of narrow stairs and made for the private chambers on the upper floor. After a bit of searching, he located the earl’s study. When he knocked on the open door, Gabriel looked up from the maps spread on his desk.
“Might I have a moment, Lord Redmond?”
The older man frowned as he rose from his seat. “By the somber look of you, it’s quite important.�
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Eric relayed his encounter with the Scottish soldiers while Gabriel restlessly paced the room. “I’ve many friends, and I thought I knew all my enemies. This one I’ve not met.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I heard.”
Gabriel studied him for a long, thoughtful moment. “You may have put yourself in danger coming to me with this. Why?”
“Only a coward allows men to die when he can save them.”
“Well said,” the earl approved, offering his hand. “I greatly admire your integrity.”
Eric accepted the gesture, then backed toward the door. “I’ll be going now. Best of luck to you all.”
“And to you, Eric. You’ll always be welcome here in Caileann.”
Eric hastened down the winding stairs, anxious to get through the hall and out the gates before anyone else discovered him there. He was nearly through the bailey when he heard it.
“Eric!”
Ignoring Elisabeth’s call, he continued past a visiting tinsmith’s wagon.
“Eric, wait!”
That was the end of his escape. Three guards stepped in to block the opening of the barbican, and he gave in with a defeated sigh. He knew he should have gone by way of the kitchens.
Elisabeth ran toward him, hair streaming behind her in auburn clouds. Like a carefree child, he mused darkly, delighted to see him again.
“Did you not hear me?” she asked, a little breathless from her run.
“I heard you.”
That set her back on her heels, and her lovely smile vanished like sunshine behind a cloud. “Then why didn’t you stop?”
He stared at the open gates as if he were in a great hurry to leave. In truth, he was trying manfully not to look at her. If he did, he might never go. “Did you need something, Lady Redmond?”
“You might look at me when you speak.”
After a moment, he complied, bracing himself against the bewildering effect she had on him. “Is that better?”
“Much. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting to see you at the funeral earlier. When you left without saying goodbye, I assumed you had urgent business elsewhere.”
The urgency he felt had naught to do with business, and everything to do with escaping the spell she seemed to have cast over him. Since there was no polite way to say such a thing, he merely said, “I forgot to tell your father something important yestreen. Now that I have, I must be on my way.”
“I understand.” She bathed him in a warm smile. “If ever you lack for anything, I hope you’ll find your way back here. I’ll do all I can to help you.”
Before Eric could respond, a burly man approached them with a friendly smile. “Ah, Lady Elisabeth. Glenda said I’d be finding you here.”
She gave the man a puzzled look. “My apologies, but I don’t recall making your acquaintance.”
“Timothy, milady,” he replied, sweeping into a low bow. “At your service.”
Something about the man seemed familiar, and Eric instinctively stepped to Elisabeth’s side. His blades still hung in the guardhouse, but he flexed his hands in preparation for a fight. “What business have you here?”
“To pay my respects, of course. Such a horrible thing, those lads dying.”
In a bolt of recognition, Eric realized this was the man who’d eluded him at the cave. He pushed Elisabeth out of range and pulled as far away from Timothy as he could. The blade headed for his stomach skittered off to sink into the flesh just above his left hip.
“I came for her, but I’ll settle for you,” the man growled as he removed the blade and moved in for another strike.
Eric’s injured leg buckled as he stumbled backwards. He fell onto his back, his vision blurring when his head smacked the ground. But he was free of the knife, and he clamped his hand over the wound to stanch the flow of blood as best he could.
A sheep’s horn blared, and the main gates swung shut with an ominous metallic clang. Armed men flooded the bailey, and women called out for their children, herding them to safety inside the keep. Trapped now, Eric’s assailant advanced on him with blood in his eyes.
“Ye killed my brother, Frenchman. ’Tis proud I’ll be to send ye to join him.”
“Eric!”
He glanced over to see Christian, still astride his horse, draw a sword from its sheath behind the saddle. The blade gleamed as it spun through the air to land in the dirt beside Eric. He grabbed it and braced the pommel on the ground just as his attacker came within reach. He deflected the blow with his boot, groaning at the pain the swift movement caused his hip.
Timothy’s momentum carried him fully onto Christian’s sword, and he hung there a moment, a look of bewilderment on his shaggy face.
’Twas the expression he’d wear for eternity, Eric thought as he slid from beneath the grisly statue. He slowly gained his feet, and the corpse toppled over onto the ground with an undignified thump. The sheep’s horn blew once more, assuring everyone that all was clear.
“Close,” Christian declared as he dismounted and handed Wallace’s reins to a stable boy.
“I’ve had closer.” Closing his eyes, Eric bowed his head for a quick prayer of thanks.
“Eric!”
He lifted his head to find Elisabeth pushing through the crowd spilling out from the main hall. This time he allowed himself to enjoy the sight of her running to meet him. She flung herself at him in a fierce embrace.
When she released him, she demanded, “What were you thinking, engaging him that way?”
“’Twas not me doing the engaging, Lady Redmond,” he reminded her, shifting his weight to his uninjured leg.
Her sharp eyes caught the motion, and she gazed down to where his bloody hand held his wound closed. When those lovely emerald eyes met his again, compassion for him had chased away the anger. “Come with me.”
“Truly, that’s not necessary.”
“Christian, help him up to my chambers. My healing supplies are in there.”
“I can walk,” Eric protested. She turned away as if he hadn’t spoken, clearly expecting him to follow after her like some mindless whelp.
“Save your breath, Eric,” Christian advised as he pulled Eric’s arm across his wide shoulders and began walking toward the keep. “Ye canna win an argument with that one.”
Chapter Five
“Sit there, Eric.”
Elisabeth motioned to one of the cushioned benches flanking the fireplace in a bedchamber as unlike Christian’s masculine domain as could be imagined. Eric did as she bade him, then took in the welcoming room that so clearly bore her mark.
Over the bed arched a damask canopy of the palest blue, and he thought that lying in it must be like looking up at the sky. A hearty fire blazed beneath the white marble arch of the fireplace, lending a golden glow to the rich tapestries adorning the walls. Graceful oaken furniture invited a visitor to sit, perhaps leaf through one of the books arranged on the delicate tables. Intricately woven rugs strewn about the wooden floor brightened the room with their vibrant colors.
Skilled likenesses of Elisabeth’s family stood on the mantel, and above them hung a gold crucifix that seemed to watch over them. A sketch of a tall woman graced the far corner of the collection. With the crescent moon clasped in her hand like a bow, she smiled down upon a slender robed figure whose face was raised toward the sky.
“Diana,” Elisabeth answered his unspoken question. “Goddess of the hunt.”
Her admiration of the ancient Greek deity surprised him. “Are you not Catholic?”
“Oh, aye, though the Pope excommunicated all of us along with Robert.”
“I heard something about him killing a rival for the throne in church.”
“’Tis the truth,” she admitted with a sigh, “but if he hadn’t, no doubt he’d be the one dead now.”
“I’d imagine so.”
“Diana’s story has fascinated me since I was a child,” she replied, changing the topic as she went to the washstand in the co
rner. “It’s said that she has a soft heart for us lowly mortals, and she gives aid to women when she can. Pagan or no, I’d not refuse her help if she offered it.”
She poured some water into a porcelain bowl, then took a small knife and some herbs from a wooden box on a nearby table. After mixing the herbs into the water, she removed a towel from the washstand and crossed the room to kneel before him. She studied the blood-soaked leather on his upper thigh and slowly pried it away.
“This is a jagged wound,” she lamented. “It needs to be stitched.”
“I thought as much.”
Mouth set in a determined line, she cut a flap in the leather and began to clean his wound. Though he said nothing, she glanced up with worried eyes. “I’m hurting you.”
“No, milady.”
Her raised brow made it plain she knew he lied. “If you distract yourself, perhaps it won’t hurt so much.”
Dropping his head back against the wall, he stared at the fanciful tapestry hanging opposite him. She hummed while she worked, her touch so gentle he scarcely noticed her prodding the raw flesh. When she began threading sinew through a needle, he braced himself for the bite.
“I’ll be quick as I can, Eric. Would you like something to help dull the pain?”
“Your singing helps greatly.”
“Does it?” She bent to her delicate task. “I wouldn’t expect a knight to appreciate a child’s lullaby.”
“Did your mother teach it to you?”
“Yes, though I didn’t understand the French ’til I was much older.”
Hearing the familiar tune made him long for home, but the memories it roused were happy ones. “My mother used to sing that song to me when I was a boy.”
Pausing, she smiled up at him. “She must have been very proud of you.”
“Her life was a difficult one even before I was born, but she never complained. Often she told me I was her saving grace.”
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