Dangerous

by Hawthorne, Julia

  “Are they about?” his guest asked as he dismounted.

  “They’ve gone home for their noon meal. Why?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Elisabeth.”

  Eric schooled his features to calm, but he couldn’t deceive his perceptive friend.

  Christian put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know. I feel the same, but judging by the letters she sends us, she seems well enough.”

  “Have there been many?” Eric asked as he sat on a pile of stones and motioned for his friend to join him.

  “Not as many as we’d like, but Briarton is a large holding. Her duties there keep her busy.”

  As does her husband, Eric added silently. Thinking of her with the vile Colton…

  “I’m glad to know that she’s well,” he said as evenly as his fury would allow.

  “She’s much more than that.” Christian remained silent until Eric met his gaze. “She’s with child.”

  For several moments, the only sound came from buzzing flies and a circling hawk calling to its companion. “But how? She thought she was barren.”

  “Apparently, she was mistaken. I must confess, I’ve known for weeks now. I wasn’t certain whether she’d want ye to know, but I decided you deserved to hear it from me rather than someone else.”

  “That would be unlikely to happen, as I’m quite outside the range of gossip here.” Eric glanced about at the meadow-like stillness that surrounded them. “I prefer it that way.”

  “That I can understand.” Christian paused, as if carefully considering his next words. “She still hasn’t told us why she married Grant so hastily. Do ye know?”

  Now that she was the mistress of Briarton and carrying its heir, there seemed little point in concealing the truth any longer. Dragging his hands through his damp hair, Eric buried his face in his hands. “She traded him her life for mine.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  With a heavy sigh, Eric lifted his head. “When I was dying of that poison, he claimed to have the cure. He’d give it to her only if she agreed to marry him.”

  The young nobleman’s features twisted in disgust. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “The day he arrived, he proposed to her in the garden, and she asked for time to think. Later, I asked her if she wanted to marry him,” he paused with a rueful grin, “or me.”

  Christian’s jaw dropped, then lifted into a smile. “She chose you, of course.”

  “And that evening declined Colton’s proposal.”

  “Because of you, but she wouldn’t have told him that.”

  “She didn’t, but we were together later that night and someone was watching us. It must have been him.”

  Christian chuckled. “I hate to think what he saw. Surely, that wasn’t enough to make him want to harm you.”

  “He didn’t mean to harm me. He hired an archer to kill me.”

  “I don’t understand. He gave her the mix that saved you.”

  Grimly, Eric shook his head. “Your mother informed me that the bottle held nothing but bark tea and some mixture of roots. It couldn’t possibly save a man so near to death.”

  “He did mean to kill you.” Christian shook his head. “Grant is clever as they come, and he doesn’t often fail.”

  He might have failed in that, but he’d succeeded in something even more important. Closing his eyes, Eric tried to blot out the sight he knew would never leave him: Elisabeth standing rigidly at the ceremony that bound her to another man, sacrificing her freedom to save Eric.

  Banishing the image from his mind, he focused on the safety of Elisabeth and her child. “Have there been any more attempts to take her?”

  “None. In her last letter to me, she said she feels safe now. No more spies watching, I believe were her words. If Grant planned those attacks, he’s stopped now that he has her.”

  Those last words plucked at Eric’s taut nerves. He has her. Every night in his bed, every day by his side. His child living inside her, waiting to be born into a life of boundless privilege.

  Scowling at his large, half-finished house, at last Eric understood what had driven him to carry out such an ambitious plan. In a corner of his heart, he’d fostered the hope that somehow Elisabeth would return to him, to the life they’d been so eager to share.

  A foolish dream, he chided himself, built of wishes and mortared with faery dust.

  “What the Devil is wrong with you?” Jumping to his feet, Christian grabbed Eric’s shoulders and shook him, glowering fiercely. “We need proof of what Grant’s done so the king’s tribunal can try him. And execute him,” he added, eyes sparking with vengeance.

  “To what end? The men he’s responsible for killing are gone. Nothing can bring them back from the dead.”

  His friend’s heated glare quickly cooled into a sympathetic frown. “And you, Eric. What will bring you back from the dead?”

  The words connected with a stray thought, which led to several others, each more bizarre than the last. Isolated from one another, there seemed no connection among them. Taken in sequence, they resembled a deceptively simple strategy the Templars had taught him during his lessons long ago.

  “Eric, what is it?”

  “Grant was anxious to marry her in Caileann, rather than wait ’til they returned to Briarton. Even for a widow, the church requires notification of the intent to marry.”

  “We all thought it very odd, but she agreed to it, and Father Blair made no objection.”

  “How long has he been here?”

  The hazel eyes narrowed in comprehension. “You can’t be thinking he’s involved in this. The man’s a priest.”

  “Ofttimes people aren’t what they seem,” Eric reminded him. “How did he come to Caileann?”

  “The bishop in Edinburgh sent him, but I’m certain he has no care for whom Elisabeth marries.”

  “Blair arrived with a letter, no doubt. Closed with the bishop’s seal.”

  Frowning, Christian shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. Father talked with him and liked him. We had no reason to question him as if he were a criminal.”

  “I think we do now.”

  ***

  Kevin Blair left his workroom and stepped into the nave, startled to find Eric Jordanne lounging insolently on the steps leading to the altar. He’d been gone but a moment. How—?

  Shaking aside his sudden fit of nerves, he summoned a gracious smile. “Good morn to you, Eric. How are things progressing with your house?”

  “Quite well. This morning, however, I encountered a problem that you may be able to help me solve.”

  “Me?” Even to his own ears, his laughter sounded nervous. Hoping to appear nonchalant, he took a seat in the front pew. He’d prefer not to be within Jordanne’s lethal range, but he saw no help for it. “I’m not a craftsman, but I’ll be glad to help you if I can.”

  From his boot, the Frenchman drew a gleaming dagger. Pressing the point of it to his fingertip, he turned it slowly, apparently deep in thought. The blade hurled shards of sunlight onto the walls frescoed with heavenly scenes, an ominous contradiction in the midst of this peaceful place.

  “’Tis a puzzle, actually,” his visitor went on. “I hope to solve it before someone kills me.”

  “Dear God.” Kevin crossed himself, buying time to steady his voice. “Who would wish to kill you?”

  “I’m thinking you can tell me.”

  As those sharp blue eyes pinned him, Eric Jordanne looked every bit the deadly knight. Kevin never saw him move, yet the dagger now quivered in the wood beside his right elbow.

  He closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he sent up a quick prayer for forgiveness and another for deliverance. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Behind him, the chapel doors slammed shut, and he heard the bar being dropped across them. He knew without looking that it was Christian Redmond striding up the wide aisle. Turning toward Kevin, he stood beside Jordanne and crossed his arms. The darker face held barely contained fury
, the lighter one a bemused expression.

  Neither of them spoke. It was not necessary.

  They had him, and Kevin didn’t doubt they’d turn him over to the king if he didn’t offer them something in exchange for his life. He had more gold than he’d ever need, but he didn’t think it was sufficient to buy his freedom.

  “What do you want?” He hoped his meek tone would placate them a bit. That dagger hadn’t missed by accident, to be sure.

  “Let’s start with your name,” Christian prompted him. “Your real name.”

  “Kevin Blair is my real name. For a time, I studied with the Benedictine monks but eventually found the monastic life not to my liking.”

  “You missed women,” the young noble interpreted tersely.

  “I nearly married once, but she stole everything I had and ran off with an Italian sailor. I’m well educated but have no other skills, so my choices were quite limited.”

  “Scribe, tutor, steward.” Christian listed several other possibilities. “Why choose the path you have?”

  “Money. I wish to return home to York.”

  Jordanne growled dangerously. “I’d gladly send you farther south than that.”

  “Now, Eric, let him finish. Perhaps he can help us set things to rights.”

  The reasonable tone lifted Kevin’s flagging spirits. He might get out of this yet. “Truly, all I want is to leave this Godforsaken country and become a clothier.”

  Christian strolled along the front of the nave. “Since you’re not a priest, my sister’s marriage to Grant Colton isn’t sanctioned by the Church.” He turned to Kevin. “Correct?”

  “Yes, but they signed the marriage documents and so legally, they’re wed. Beyond that, I understand that Lady Elisabeth is now with child.”

  Jordanne’s growl was even more menacing than the last, and Kevin decided that it would be wise not to mention the lady again.

  Christian patted his friend’s shoulder as if soothing a temperamental wolfhound. “We suspect Colton orchestrated the raid that killed my kinsman John Redmond, but we have no proof. Can you help us?”

  Kevin’s jaw fell open in horror, and he crossed himself. “Why would he do such an evil thing?”

  “To gain my sister and a foothold in the Highlands. When she renounced her holdings, he was forced to devise a new strategy to strengthen his position.”

  “That’s why he asked me so many questions about her inheritance. At the time, I couldn’t imagine why he was so interested in the provisions that had been made for Lady Redmond. Her decision to relinquish her widow’s share distressed him greatly.”

  “No doubt,” Christian muttered.

  “I must warn you: the man is obsessed with her, to the point of arranging her abduction. Even should you be able to convince the bishop to dissolve their marriage, I fear Lord Colton would still present a grave threat to her.” His eyes went to Eric. “And to you. He despises you.”

  “Not nearly as much as I despise him.”

  Though he knew they’d not accept it, Kevin realized that he must offer an apology. Steeling his nerves, he looked from one to the other. “Words cannot express my remorse for what I’ve done. Greed closed my eyes to what should have been obvious to me, and I wish I could do something to atone for my part in this injustice.”

  The two men exchanged glances, then Christian looked to him with a smile. “Whatever Grant paid you, I’ll triple it if you’ll help us.”

  Kevin waited several moments to be sure his heart had only skipped and not stopped entirely. Then again, his recent associations had made him cautious. “With so much wealth in my possession, I would have need of safe passage home.”

  “I’ll send a knight with you.” Kevin’s gaze went to Eric, and the youngest brother laughed. “Not him. One who won’t be tempted to slit your throat while you sleep. What say you?”

  He’d be secure for the rest of his life. He could change his name and begin anew, far from the battle-torn border, tucked away in a cozy shop where even the malevolent Lord Colton would never find him. Beyond that, it was the right thing to do.

  “Very well.” He stood to offer his hand. “I will help you.”

  Christian accepted the gesture, then stepped back as he motioned toward the small workroom adjoining the nave.

  Kevin skirted the glowering Jordanne and fled to the safety of his writing desk. He pushed aside his transcriptions and smoothed out a fresh parchment before inking his quill.

  “And now.” Christian rested a boot on the edge of Kevin’s chair and draped his arm across his knee before nodding to him. “From the beginning.”

  Chapter Twelve

  One morning, Elisabeth was passing by one of the large arched windows that looked out over the bailey from the second story of Briarton Castle. Sunlight cascaded through the beveled panes, beckoning her over to drink in the long-awaited warmth of spring. Birds fluttered about gathering material for their nests, their mingled twittering so loud she could hear them through the glass.

  Farmers who’d come to have their plows sharpened by the blacksmith stopped to talk to one another, laughing and offering hearty handshakes before continuing on to their work in the fields. Maids hung rugs on stout lines, using paddles to beat the winter’s grime from the wool. Elisabeth pressed her hands to the glass, wishing she could join them, if only to enjoy their company.

  Grant forbade her to leave the private wing of the keep except for meals. Though her rooms were large and luxurious, they were a gilded cage to someone accustomed to roaming about more or less as she pleased. He argued that she needed her rest, but she knew perfectly well that he was hiding something from her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

  While she stood at the window, a group of six horsemen rode through the gates, halting in the midst of the bailey. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed that their leader was a man dressed in silvery gray dismounting from a dappled stallion. She couldn’t see his face, but his build was similar to that of the well-spoken man who’d abducted her last autumn. Hoping to catch a few strains of conversation, she eased open a narrow side window in time to hear him addressing his men. The smoothly accented voice carried on the breeze, and a chill slithered up her spine.

  It was Gray.

  He strode with purpose to a side door that led directly to Grant’s private study. Apparently, he was no ordinary visitor to the castle but had been allowed special access to the lord’s domain. What was he doing in Briarton?

  Heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fury, Elisabeth schooled her features to calm and slowly descended the main staircase. Grant’s ever-present guards wouldn’t permit her near his study, but some eavesdropping might reveal Gray’s purpose for being there.

  Keeping alert for the bevy of maids scurrying about their duties, she reached the base of the stairs without incident. As it was mid-morning, the main hall was vacant, but a platter of biscuits from their early meal had been left out for anyone who might be hungry. Elisabeth snatched one up so that if Grant saw her, she could claim she’d defied his orders in search of something to eat. The child growing inside her was older than anyone suspected, and he demanded a great deal of food.

  Nibbling at her biscuit, she sat in a massive chair tucked into a corner, its back to the open corridor. Small as she was, she doubted anyone could see her from the entryway. Before long, she heard the echoes of heavy boot steps and male voices.

  “The clans we discussed before are gaining in strength,” Gray said in a cautionary tone. “They mean to converge on the eastern edge of your territory and destroy your forces.”

  “Those three canna agree on which meat to serve at dinner, much less on military strategy,” Grant scoffed.

  “That may be so, but I would remind you of the disastrous consequences the last time you underestimated an opponent.”

  “I gained what I sought, did I not? Elisabeth was wasted on that doddering old sot, and now she’s where she should have been all along. With me.�
��

  “Many good men have died in that quest,” Gray reminded him quietly.

  They moved further away from her, and Elisabeth heard nothing more of their conversation. Staring at the head table, her mind spun through what she’d learned. John hadn’t died in a clan skirmish but had been attacked by Grant’s men, killed simply because he’d had the gall to marry her. She had no trouble believing that Grant was more than capable of such a thing, just as he’d devised the ambush that had nearly cost Eric his life.

  Resting her head against the high back of the velvet-covered chair, she closed her eyes and finally accepted the truth.

  She was married to a monster.

  ***

  “You know what to do?” Elisabeth whispered to Glenda when Grant entered the main hall for dinner.

  “When she was young, my grandma traveled about doing mystery plays,” the cheeky maid replied with a wink. “I’ve a bit of her in me.”

  “I hope it’s more than a bit. Grant won’t be easy to trick.”

  As he neared the dais that held the head table, Glenda began sobbing. “Please, milady. I simply must get myself home.”

  “Glenda, dear,” Grant cooed, offering her a chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “My ma has taken sick with a terrible fever,” the girl sniffled, wringing her skirts between her hands. “She’s been abed for days, and with the four little ones to tend, my da is at his wits’ end. He’s fallen behind in his planting, and he’s begged me to come home to help. It should only be a day or two, ’til he can make other arrangements.”

  “Then you must go, of course. My personal coachman will take you, then you may send a messenger when you’re ready to return.” Smiling, he patted her shoulder. “Your family needs you, and that’s where you should be.”

  Leaping from her seat, Glenda thanked him profusely before darting off to pack her things. As Grant settled in beside her, Elisabeth could scarcely contain her astonishment. This wasn’t the same man who’d conspired to kill John so he might have her for his own. He wasn’t capable of poisoning Eric to secure her hand in marriage.