With one last grim and warning stare into her eyes, Brendan lowered his head so that the cowl hid his face.
"Alas, trouble in Hell, with this one, there will be!" he muttered.
Head bowed, he walked out of the room.
Her knees would hold her no more. She sank to the floor, quivering.
She had dared dream that he would come!
And now he was here.
And she was terrified.
Brendan left Eleanor's room simply; outside her door, he told the guard to watch her well.
Going out the main door, he was relieved to see that although the sheriff had set a guard at her door, and his men stood sentinel at the entry and the gates, the family was alone in the great hall. He'd received descriptions of the people and the place from Gregory. There was Alfred of Clarin, a tall, stern, proud man, pious and moral, carrying a great weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Corbin, his younger brother, handsome and charming, with more of a sardonic look at life, and an acceptance of being the second son, landless other than the family's holdings, and those his by the good graces of first his uncle—and then his cousin. Eleanor.
Then there was Isobel, Corbin's wife.
Petite, elegant, a rare beauty. She sat before the fire as he passed the hall slowly. His first thought had been to leave as soon as possible.
His second thought was to listen.
"You cannot go with her to London!" Isobel was protesting, taking his hands. She appeared the true and loving wife. Her words were earnest.
"Alfred manages the estates with far greater talent than I," Corbin returned, drawing his hands back. "Someone must go."
"You can neither go!" she said, rising. "The king has sent out his call; you will be required to fight, to lead northern troops, when he is ready for his next assault. Corbin, you can't go to London! You'll be arrested yourself for failing the king's command. Alfred, tell him that he cannot go."
Alfred looked at her. "One of us must go."
"That is madness!" she said furiously, stamping a foot. She walked back to the chair where Corbin sat, brooding as he stared into the fire. "You risk everything! Corbin, she isn't innocent! I'm telling you, she was eager to get rid of her husband."
"Isobel, she cared for him. Don't you understand that?" Corbin said.
"The doctors know that he was poisoned. Don't you understand that?" Isobel replied. "Precious Eleanor! She would do this, she would do that! Are you both blind, are you deaf?"
"Isobel—"
"What other explanation is there?" she demanded.
"A contamination in the food supply—" Corbin began, but Isobel had already swung around to attack Alfred.
"Did you kill him?" she demanded.
"Good Lord, no, woman!" Alfred exclaimed, outraged at the very suggestion.
"Eleanor would gain from the count's natural death," Isobel said. "You, alone, Alfred, would gain from Eleanor's death."
Alfred strode across the room, slamming his hand on the table as he replied to Isobel. "I'll not take kindly to such words again, madam. I do my fighting in the field. Poison is a woman's work, slow—and vicious."
Isobel was silent for a moment, then she said softly. "There you have it, Alfred."
"Eleanor would never do such a thing."
"Even if she was desperate?" Isobel queried.
"And how would she be so desperate? She took great care with Count Alain. He saw the world rise and set in her every move."
"But I believe she was desperate," Isobel said softly. "You see, I think she is expecting a child."
"A child would have been gloriously welcomed by them both, Isobel," Corbin said, rising at last from his seat before the fire.
"Not if it was not the count's!" Isobel said softy.
There was silence for a moment.
"Isobel, what are you implying?" Corbin demanded.
"You both love your cousin," Isobel said, "and I understand that you don't wish to see that evil can exist, even in such a great heart! The French murmur of it; rumor abounds. Eleanor was seized surely, but then gave way to her captors. She formed an alliance with Wallace, and with Graham—the man to seize the ship from the pirate, the wolf in the forest who preys upon any party attempting the old Roman road north. Perhaps she was forced at first ... but it is said that even the French king saw what was happening, and gave her warning."
"Isobel, this is a pack of lies. Rumor," Alfred said angrily.
Isobel shook her head. "She didn't sleep with her husband. They kept separate rooms."
"The majority of the noble and wealthy in the known world keep separate rooms," Corbin said. "And separate beds."
"For years, my dear, we did the same," Corbin informed her. "Were that a crime, we'd have both lost our heads long ago.
Isobel was not satisfied. "He was—incapable." "Oh?" Corbin inquired, pouring himself a large draft of ale from a pitcher on the great wood table centered in the room. "Did you discuss this with the count?" "A woman knows."
He threw up his hands. "My cousin would not kill the knight she chose to marry because he was ... incapable." "He would find out about the child." ' 'Isobel, what makes you so certain she is expecting a child?'' Isobel was silent a moment, then smiled slyly and repeated, "A woman knows."
"I will ride with my cousin, Isobel, and that is that," Corbin said firmly. "She must have a voice to speak for her."
"As you will. But you will have your brother destroyed if you do."
Alfred had sunk into the chair at the head of the table. He pressed his head between his palms. "We will take that chance, Isobel," he said. He shook his head. "God, but this has made me ill as well!"
"Perhaps it is something you've been eating," Isobel suggested slyly.
He looked up at her. "Well, my cousin has been locked away now, so she could not be guilty, could she?"
"I heard the doctors. Alain was poisoned slowly," Isobel replied.
Brendan had heard enough. He decided to start out. As he crossed the hall, Isobel looked up, and saw him.
"Father!" she cried out, leaping to her feet.
For a moment, he contemplated the idea of pretending he had not heard her—and continuing on quickly out. But he did not want to arouse suspicion, and so he halted.
Isobel came to him, hands folded before her piously.' 'Father, has the lady confessed her sins to you?"
' 'No, madam. She protests her innocence. We will, of course, continue to pray for her soul as she journeys to London."
Corbin came over. "Perhaps she is innocent."
"God knows the truth, my son." He kept his head lowered.
"I will come with her; I will prove the truth."
Brendan hesitated, wondering if the man's desire to uphold his cousin's innocence—and her life—was sincere. He did not want her family on this supposed journey to London. Eleanor didn't want bloodshed on her behalf, but it was likely to occur. She would protest the slaying of her kin, he was certain.
"Perhaps it would be best, as your wife suggests, if you were to remain here."
"Even you, a man of God, stand against her!"
"This is England; she will be granted a fair trial—won't she?"
"The evidence stands against her," Alfred said wearily from the table. "Father, may we offer you wine, ale?" he added, as if remembering the hospitality of the castle.
Alfred did not look well. Brendan was tempted to test his role, but then decided against eating or drinking anything in this house. He also felt an inner fire; a startling anger against the very woman he had come to save. Was any of this true? Not the poisoning; he refused to believe Eleanor a murderer. But as to a babe, and her relations with Alain . . .
"No, sir, my sincere thanks. I must hurry back to the church, and pray. And I am weary."
"You are not the man who came earlier," Isobel said, frowning earlier.
"Aye. We thought that different men of God might find a change in the lady's story."
"And was there such a change?
" Corbin asked.
"No, sir, there was not. If you will excuse me I will leave, and I will pray for you." He gravely made the sign of the cross above Isobel's head. "The Lord watch over you, madam."
"Amen," she murmured.
"And keep you from his place of Purgatory for women, where the sinners who have spoken too much, and too quickly, where the wicked iron of a scold's bridle to silence their wagging tongues until the dawn of eternity has long gone on."
He left before Isobel could respond.
He returned to the rectory where his men had dared to cast off the heavy armor, and enjoy the round Father Gillean's fine supply of food.
Father Gillean had warned them that he must be left muddied, dirtied, apparently beaten, and tied like a hog for slaughter, along with the fellow churchman, the sheriff's far more aggressive priest, before they departed in the morning.
But apparently, though he had been frightened, and determined to be trussed when they first arrived, he was now at a small table in the rear of the room, playing chess with Hagar, who had an uncanny talent for the game. He was drinking wine, and softly swearing here and there.
Thomas de Longueville had done the cooking, with Gregory, who had first approached the church, and given him the idea of entering the castle as the lady's confessor. Now, de Longueville served the meal, and was telling them all they were a group of unkempt wild men, living on berries and raw butchered meat so long that they knew not of the finer gifts of the earth God had granted to flavor their food.
Brendan didn't know what the surprisingly versatile Frenchman had found with which to cook, but the bowl of stew he sat down to was hot and appealing and he all but wolfed it down before he realized that Eric was staring at him, ready to hear what had occurred.
"You reached Eleanor with no difficulty?"
"I walked into the castle, up the stairs, and into her chamber."
"Aye?"
' 'And found her ready to fly out the window,'' he said, scowling.
"She knows then, that we have come?"
"Aye—and she told us to go home."
Eric laughed. "She meant to escape on her own."
"So it appeared—yet when I insisted she'd break her fool neck, she claimed to have a change of heart. She claims now that she wants to face her accusers, and that she will find justice."
Eric leaned forward. "She'd not betray us in the morning? I'm ready to risk my life—but not if the damsel is unwilling."
"She will not betray us," Brendan said angrily.
"Then what makes you so irritable?"
Brendan hesitated. "It is a matter between the lady, and myself," he said. Then he called across the room. "Father Gillean!"
"Aye, my son."
"Has she always been so stubborn."
"Aye, like a mule!" he replied.
They all laughed, and Gillean broke away from his chess game, coming to stand before Brendan.
"Aye, son, stubborn as a mule, loyal to a fault. She did not kill her count, and for that reason alone, I've given you what aid I can. I remain an Englishman, you know. And if you come around these parts again ..."
"You'll thack and whack us!" Liam finished, laughing.
"I am English, bound to my king."
"Yet we are here," Brendan said quietly, watching him.
Gillean hesitated. "Aye. Yet you would be here with or without my agreement. The night is better spent upon a chair, than laid out like carnage upon a cold stone floor. And in my vocation, sir, a man must answer first to God—and then his king. But thank the Lord, the two have always agreed before now. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to that great lumbering heathen fellow of yours—and my game."
Gillean walked away.
"We are ready for the morning?" Brendan said.
"We are ready." Eric told him. "Aye, we are ready."
Clad in their armor, visors covering their faces, Brendan and his men sat their horses, waiting. Miles Fitzgerald, as sheriff, served his duty, escorting Eleanor from the house. She was dressed in a warm, fur-trimmed cloak, a garment that seemed to state her position in life—but was also warm and fit enough to sustain a long journey. She walked with her head high, hair knotted in a braid, a simple band and veil covering it. She left the inner wall ahead of Fitzgerald. Brendan shook his head to see that Corbin had indeed meant to follow and defend his kinswoman.
She reached Fitzgerald's contingent, a group of twelve men mounted and armed, but not clad in armor. A group of villagers had gathered at the castle.
A tomato was thrown. It hit Fitzgerald in the face. He swore angrily, instantly reaching for his sword. His men followed suit.
Eric, at Brendan's side, cursed softly in Gaelic.
Eleanor placed a hand upon Fitzgerald's arm. "Please!" she said loudly, calling to the crowd. "Don't fear for me—I will find justice. These men but do their duty. I beg of you, for me, cause no trouble."
They watched from their small distance as Fitzgerald led Eleanor to a waiting horse. She didn't mount. She started a low conversation with him.
"What the hell is going on?" Eric asked.
"I don't know," Brendan said, watching.
The two kept talking, Eleanor insisting, stubbornly shaking her head.
"I shall have to see to this," Brendan muttered.
"You can't ride over there!" Liam protested.
"I must."
Brendan spurred his horse, trotting over to the group.
"What is the delay?" he asked curtly, steadying the English warhorse he had chosen.
"The lady is insisting we bring her maid."
He stared at Eleanor, his face hidden, except for his eyes.
"There are other maids, my lady."
"Bridie must come."
"Why don't we bring the fool woman and be done with this?" he demanded of Fitzgerald.
"She was asea with the Lady Eleanor, and in France with her. She could be an accomplice."
"She could be a witness in my defense," Eleanor said irritably. "And I am to receive a fair trial, am I not?"
"She could be dangerous," Fitzgerald muttered.
"She is skin and bones!" Eleanor protested. She stood very still, the wind just moving the soft fabric of her veil. "I will not leave without her."
Brendan looked at Fitzgerald. "Sir, there are battles to be fought in Scotland," he said gravely. 'We can waste no more time over a lady's maid. I beg you; bring the woman. I will be responsible for her."
Fitzgerald stared up at him. "As you wish."
Brendan rode back to his armored men. Again, they waited. Bridie was brought out, her eyes wild with fear, Eleanor assuring her.
Eleanor declined Fitzgerald's offer of assistance, and mounted on her own.
The crowd was murmuring. Brendan rode back to Fitzgerald. "Sir, the time to ride is now."
"Aye!" He started forward, leading the party. Men surrounded Eleanor. Corbin, clad in a coat of mail, his tunic proudly bearing the colors of Clarin, rode behind her.
Brendan and his men flanked the others. They headed out the gates, and still the people followed them, rushing the soldiers' horses, trying to reach Eleanor.
"God go with you, lady!" cried a woman with a babe at her hip.
"God knows the truth!" came the vow of an aproned smith.
"Out of the way!" Fitzgerald shouted to an elderly man. "Out of the way; you'll be trampled."
"God bless you, and aye, keep me in your prayers!" Eleanor said. "I have put myself in God's hands, and I know He will prevail!"
The people fell back. Brendan had a brief glance at the torment in her face. Then he looked forward, riding ahead, flanking the other riders to take care with the men and women hounding them, human beings who appeared fragile next to the great size and weight of the chargers.
At last they cleared the fortifications at Clarin; Fitzgerald determined to gain a greater distance, and the horses broke into a lope.
Soon, the last gleaming of a stone turret was behind them, and they slowed
the gait. The way to London was long. There would have to be stops overnight. But every hour of their ride brought them deeper into country held in the strong grip of the king of England.
As they had arranged, they did their best to maintain the rear. Brendan judged their distance; while they rode west- southwest, he didn't fear the distance they traveled. They had determined they would break when they reached the stream they must ford to reach the fork to the south, and London.
De Longueville seemed to delight in trying to draw the sheriff' s men into conversation. However, his mockery of Hagar's accent had kept the great fellow maintaining his own level of talk—a grunt here or there when he was addressed by one of the others.
Eleanor rode quietly, exchanging a word only now and then with her cousin. Only her eyes betrayed her tension.
At length, Fitzgerald turned back. "We'll stop at the stream!" he commanded.
The order fit in well with Brendan's plan.
They came to the stream. Fitzgerald called the halt.
His men began dismounting; Brendan's men did the same, positioning themselves for the assault.
Seize The Dawn Page 25
