Dangerous

by Hawthorne, Julia

  Sword drawn in a battle stance, Christian stood as if he’d turned to stone. “Who the Devil are you?”

  “Miguel Santurio,” he replied easily, nodding his head. “And you?”

  “This is my brother Christian,” Elisabeth answered.

  As he sheathed his blade, Christian’s gaze remained fixed on the Spaniard. “By the saints, ye look just like Eric.”

  “One of us as ugly as the other,” Miguel jested. “Since you’re here, perhaps we can tilt the odds a bit.”

  “I’ve a feeling Eric’s legend will be growing this night. But you’ll want this.” Christian stripped off his Redmond plaid and offered it to Miguel before taking Elisabeth from him. “My men have orders to cut down anyone in Colton colors.”

  “Where are they posted?”

  Her brother hesitated, and Elisabeth said, “You can trust him. He won’t betray us.”

  “Of course not,” Miguel added as he fastened the woolen mantle over his black leather tunic. “Had my hands not been full, I’d have run Colton through in the hall.”

  Christian chuckled quietly. “I like you, Santurio. Our men are positioned just past your outer perimeter, awaiting my signal.”

  A commotion sounded in the hall below, and they traded grim smiles.

  “I think Eric’s plan is in motion.” Miguel led them down the servants’ staircase and paused at the bottom. “Go through the kitchens and follow the portico out to the stables. You’ll be within a few strides of a small stand of trees. Eric will meet us at the first road marker.”

  “What about you?” Elisabeth asked. She had no doubt Grant would kill him on sight for his part in her disappearance.

  With a rakish grin, he bowed and kissed her hand. “I’ll be with him, milady. Adiós.”

  As he vanished down the lower corridor, Christian turned the opposite way, chuckling softly. “Aye, him I like.”

  ***

  “Grab him!” one of the guards shouted while the head table crashed under the weight of the huge chestnut stallion. Pawing the air as he reared, he snorted at the men trying to catch hold of his mane.

  “You grab him!” another retorted, knocked to the stone floor when the horse pivoted on his hind feet and galloped through the center of the hall.

  Fortunately, no women were about, for it would be a terrifying sight for feminine eyes. Miguel leaned against an elaborately sculpted column, enjoying the spectacle immensely. Though the animal appeared wildly out of control, his eyes held a keen intelligence, and he seemed to know precisely what he was doing.

  Apparently heeding some unheard command, the destrier wheeled and cantered back through the destruction he’d caused. Leaping down the wide steps that led to the courtyard, he easily cleared a stone trough, the ground thundering beneath him as he galloped under the portcullis that had been opened to accommodate Colton’s men.

  “Jordanne!” Grant shouted into the night, his own mount prancing in a frantic circle. “Come out and face me, you spineless bastard!”

  Silence met his challenge, and he swore violently. “Go into the woods and get him, but leave him alive. I want to have the immense pleasure of killing him myself.”

  Miguel levered away from the shadowed corner and let himself out a narrow door into the rear courtyard, where he skimmed along the outer wall and found the postern entrance. The commotion of mustering soldiers covered the creak of the small gate. After a quick glance behind and before him, he slipped through it and made his way from the castle.

  Not a dozen strides into the dense trees, he tensed as a massive forearm locked about his throat. Though he had very sharp ears, he’d not heard even a whisper of movement through the undergrowth.

  “Where is she?” his brother’s voice hissed in his ear.

  “With Christian.”

  “You were to see her safely to the first marker,” Eric reminded him sternly as he shoved him back several steps.

  “Was that your horse in there destroying Lord Colton’s hall?”

  “It was.”

  “Clever.” Chuckling, Miguel drew his sword and rested the flat of the blade over his shoulder. “What now?”

  “That depends on Colton.”

  “He’s furious. I’d wager his thoughts are quite confused.” A broad grin flashed in the darkness, and Miguel chuckled again. “That was your intent, was it not?”

  “In part. But with you here, I’ve a new plan.”

  ***

  Grant stared into the forbidding darkness, trying to outguess his opponent. With most men, it was a simple exercise. They’d been trained as he had, and he knew what they would do almost before they did. Jordanne thought like an animal, using the elements as if they were more weapons at his disposal.

  Not long before, he’d discovered that Glenda had slipped away sometime during the evening, taking Andrew with her. Infuriated by her willful behavior, Grant had gone to confront Elisabeth, only to find her bed empty. Somehow, Jordanne had gained entry to the castle and spirited her away, but his escape was far from assured. Carrying Elisabeth would slow the Frenchman down, and even after he retrieved his accursed horse, their pace wouldn’t be quick.

  When he picked up the sound of scuffling nearby, Grant headed south, eager to join in the fight. Another struggle began off to the east, and he reined in his mount, uncertain which fray centered about Jordanne.

  As he listened to the confusing shouts of his men, a distasteful possibility formed in his mind. Should Santurio and Jordanne ever meet, it would be most unfortunate. If they were to join forces against him...

  He was startled from his reverie by a towering silhouette emerging from the trees before him. Under the faint moon, he saw a flash of Redmond blue and the deadly glint of steel, and he drew his sword as he dismounted. “So, Jordanne, you’ve answered my challenge.”

  “Oui.”

  The terse reply amused him, and he tossed out several more taunts, all of which met with little or no response. As they circled one another at the edge of the forest, his rival moved in and out of the light, giving his face an eerie quality. Grant shook off the impression and focused on the task at hand.

  The knight parried each thrust of Grant’s sword with confidence and strength, using only the effort necessary to repel the attack. Though Grant was breathing heavily and dripping with sweat, his opponent seemed unaffected by their battle. In truth, he fought like a much younger man.

  “You two-faced bastard,” Grant raged through gritted teeth. “I wanted Jordanne.”

  “One brother is much the same as another,” Santurio informed him in his native accent.

  “Aye,” Grant snarled. “I think you’re right.”

  ***

  Sheltered by the domed roots of an ancient willow, Elisabeth listened to the sounds of battle echoing through the forest. The fog was lifting from her mind, and though a blinding ache remained, she much preferred it to feeling less than half-witted. She glanced up when Christian rounded the giant tree.

  “How fare you?” he asked, crouching down beside her.

  “Well enough. And your men?”

  “A few are wounded, but nothing serious.”

  “They must need tending,” she said as she gradually stood to avoid losing her balance. “I’ll come with you.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I won’t have ye out in the open for someone to run off with. We’ll get ye to Caileann, but ’til then ye must stay here, where I know you’re safe.” He motioned to the two men he’d tasked with guarding her, and she complied with a nod.

  “Eric and Miguel?”

  “I’ve not seen them.” He paused with a wry grin. “Then again, knowing Eric I’d not expect to. Remarkable to find his brother here, is it not?”

  “It is. Have you found Grant?”

  “No. I’d wager he’s gone to ground somewhere close by. His men are starting to pull away, as mercenaries tend to do. After we get ye home, we’ll come back with fresh men and find him if we have to burn down the forest.”

>   The vengeance in his tone chilled her more than the night air had done. Before she could caution him to patience, the alert sentries stiffened as a lone figure staggered toward the bower. They stepped before him in challenge, and he brushed them away like gnats.

  “Miguel!” The guard’s right arm dangled uselessly at his side, and Christian helped him to a fallen log. “Who got hold of you?”

  “Colton,” he grunted as he sat. “But not before I grabbed this.”

  A plump money pouch dangled from his long fingers, and Christian chuckled. “I’d say he owes you at least that much.”

  “He’ll owe me a great deal more should I lose my arm.”

  Despite his protests, Elisabeth inspected the gaping wound in Miguel’s shoulder. Blood already soaked his tunic and continued to course down his chest. She used his knife to cut a large square from her dressing gown for a bandage. Christian took the belt from about his waist, and she used it to close the wound and slow the bleeding.

  “Velvet. How fancy,” Miguel grumbled, leaning his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. “Gracias, milady.”

  “Christian, I can’t care for him here. We must get him to Caileann immediately.”

  “No,” Miguel croaked weakly. “I won’t leave my brother out there.”

  “Of course not.” Christian turned to Elisabeth. “I’ll send you and the injured back with half a dozen soldiers.”

  “The lady will be riding with me.”

  With a delighted gasp, she raced toward the figure she still couldn’t see. She flung herself into Eric’s arms just as he emerged from the depths of the woods. He stank of blood and sweat, but she didn’t care. Burrowing against him, she reveled in the solid feel of him, the strength of his arms about her.

  Grasping her shoulders, he gently put her away. “I lost sight of Colton, and I’ve no idea where he’s gone. We’d best be on our way before he rallies his men and sweeps the forest.”

  ***

  While Elisabeth busied herself at her worktable, Eric eased his brother onto the padded bench beside the fireplace where she’d tended him so many months ago. Crouching before Miguel, he rested a hand on his uninjured arm.

  “That blow was meant for me.” He fingered the slash that had severed Miguel’s leather torque. “Why did you seek him out and engage him that way?”

  “You have someone who loves you. No one would miss me.”

  “That’s not true,” Eric assured him. “I would miss you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I hope to change that. You’re most fortunate, Miguel.” He canted his head to smile over at Elisabeth. “She’s as skilled as she is beautiful.”

  “I’m quite lovely in torn velvet,” she commented as she joined them.

  “Beauty such as yours requires nothing more, Lady Elisabeth.” Miguel clenched his teeth as she removed the makeshift wrapping and began cutting away his ruined leather doublet and tunic. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough,” she replied absently while she cleaned his wound. “I hope you like it here in Caileann. You’ll be staying a while.”

  Christian poked his head through the half-open door. “Lise, Father wishes to speak with Miguel.”

  “I’ve laid his shoulder open! You’ll have to wait.”

  “Perhaps it’s best to do it now,” Miguel said quietly.

  “You’re not strong enough for an interrogation,” she protested.

  “If I grow weaker, your father won’t have the proof he needs to take down Lord Colton. I want to do this for you.” He glanced to his brother. “For all of you.”

  Christian cast a pitying look at the soldier’s arm. “Are ye right-handed?”

  “It matters not. I can’t write.”

  “Then I’ll write it for you.” He opened the door wide. “Miguel Santurio, my father, Gabriel Redmond.”

  “Lord Redmond,” he acknowledged with a bow of his head. “Forgive me for not standing to greet you properly.”

  “That’s hardly necessary, lad,” Gabriel assured him as he sat in a chair nearby.

  “You should know I’m far from innocent in all this. Lord Colton paid me well for my services.”

  “I should hope so. From what my sons tell me, you’re a skilled and courageous warrior.” Gabriel leaned forward with a fatherly smile. “Mistakes can be forgiven if one truly wishes it.”

  “I do wish it. What do you require of me?”

  “Only the truth.”

  While Elisabeth carefully stitched the deep fissure in his shoulder, in a halting voice Miguel relayed all he knew of Grant’s plans. Christian scribbled furiously at Elisabeth’s writing desk while the Spaniard confessed his role in the attack on Redmond Keep, expressing shame that he’d not recognized the extent of his employer’s obsession. John’s death troubled him greatly, along with the many others who’d lost their lives.

  “’Twas not intended to happen as it did,” he added in a voice laden with regret. “Even Lord Colton admitted that. Often he seemed frightened that his ambition might be out of his control.”

  “Yet he didn’t stop,” Gabriel noted. “Why?”

  “He said that Redmond had stolen his wife, and I think he believed it. Though he paid us well, the thought that his lady was abducted by a rival caused many of us to be less suspicious of his motives than we might have been.”

  “His wish, no doubt,” Christian commented.

  “Our orders were to harm no one who didn’t resist and to touch nothing inside the keep. He wanted only two things: to reclaim his wife and kill Redmond for daring to take her.”

  “What of Kevin Blair?” Eric asked.

  “Who?” After hearing a terse description of the false priest, Miguel shook his head. “I’ve not met him. Was he involved, as well?”

  “We have his confession and now yours,” Gabriel answered as he slowly rose. “To my mind, they’re proof enough to confine Grant for a king’s tribunal.” He turned a sympathetic gaze on his youngest son. “I’d imagine you wish to lead the escort.”

  “Indeed, I do.”

  “I’ll allow it with one caveat.” The earl paused with a sober look. “Grant Colton will arrive here bound but unharmed. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  ***

  “Miguel.” When his dark eyes opened, Elisabeth helped him sit and held a cup to his lips. “Drink this. ’Twill bring down your fever.”

  He did as she bade him, dark eyes watching her over the rim of the cup as he drank. Not only would the lemon balm tame his fever, the willow bark would ease his pain so he might rest more comfortably. Though he’d uttered not a single complaint, from the tightness about his mouth she knew he was suffering greatly.

  Instinct told her that more than his injury plagued him. She dipped a cloth in the basin of cool water and pressed it to his burning forehead. “You must have led a most interesting life. Tell me about it.”

  “I was born in a village near Barcelona and from the time I was seven, I held all manner of jobs. After my mother died, I apprenticed with a weaver.” Chuckling quietly, he continued. “He had four ugly daughters, and one evening I heard him telling his wife he planned to marry the ugliest one to me. I crawled out a back window and never looked back.”

  Though he was a stranger, he reminded her so much of his brother, she couldn’t keep back a smile. “Where did you go from there?”

  “I signed on with the crew of a ship going to Nîmes. From there, I went to Moulins, then not long ago I found my way to Paris. Such a place it is.” He added a shameless grin, and she could only imagine the raucous times he’d enjoyed there.

  “Is that where you met Grant?”

  Grimacing, he nodded. “I swear to you, I’d no hint of what he had in mind for me to be doing.”

  “The fault doesn’t lie with you. When Grant wants something, he finds a way to have it.”

  “You know him well, milady.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “I’ll not regain the use of this arm, will I
?”

  She longed to reassure him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she encouraged him with a warm smile. “Whatever happens, you’ll have a place here with us. I’ve no doubt that with practice you’ll learn to use your left hand as well as you do your right. With your charm, you’ll not lack for maids eager to share your company.”

  “Charm,” he repeated with a crooked grin. “’Tis what brought me into this world, my father’s charm. Eric, as well. I wonder how many others he’s left in his wake.”

  More like Eric and Miguel. Fierce warriors with devilish grins and generous hearts. A flush crept along her jaw, and she fanned her cheeks with her hand. “Not very many, I hope. Two of you are nearly more than I can bear.”

  He joined in her laughter but quickly grew somber. “Do you know he loves you?”

  “Aye, and I love him as much.”

  “When this business with Colton is finished, what will you do?”

  “Make a life with Eric and Andrew.” Taking his left hand, she squeezed it gently. “I’d very much like for you to be part of it, as well.”

  “Familia.” Even in Spanish the word seemed unfamiliar to him. “I’ve not had one in a long time.”

  “You do now,” she told him, smoothing the furrows from his brow as she helped him lie back. “You should rest, let my herbs do their work.”

  Sighing, he closed his eyes and drifted off again, her hand gently clasped in his.

  ***

  Eric lay on his back in the bed in Elisabeth’s former rooms, Andrew cuddled in his arms. A smile played over the boy’s face, and he murmured sleepily, turning so his other cheek rested on Eric’s shoulder.

  With Elisabeth, they’d have the life they should have shared from the moment he was conceived. A family, he mused with a grin. For months, his fine house had echoed with silence, and now it would be filled with Elisabeth’s heart-warming laughter, Andrew’s babbling conversation.

  And Miguel.

  They’d have time together while he recuperated, to learn about one another, perhaps forge some common ground beyond their mysterious father. Eric smiled, grateful that his lonely existence was about to become more than he could have hoped for. Behind him the door opened, and Elisabeth entered the chamber where they had shared so many passionate nights. He shifted so she might join them in the generous bed.