Seize The Dawn

by Drake, Shannon

  Yet even as he began to dismount from his own horse, Fitzgerald stopped him.

  "There is no need, Sir Humphry, for your men to dismount."

  He held still. "My men, and horses, are thirsty as well," he said.

  "As you wish. But we will part company here."

  "Your pardon, sir?"

  "We are away from the rabble in the village. You are ready to continue the king's war against the savage forest rabble in Scotland. I am freeing you from this duty."

  "You have claimed that you ride with a dangerous woman."

  "We are away from those fools who would jump to her defense and be slaughtered."

  "We dare not leave you," Brendan said.

  "There is no more danger. If the lady flees, we will hunt her down, and she will forfeit her life on the spot."

  "She is to be taken to trial!" Corbin exclaimed angrily.

  "She will not flee," Fitzgerald said, still watching Brendan. "Sir Corbin of Clarin will be sliced to ribbons should she make such an attempt."

  "That is not the king's justice!" Eleanor cried.

  "Aye, lady, but it will keep you in your place."

  Brendan dismounted, as if to lead his horse to drink. Eleanor had not dismounted. He prayed she would not do so. He approached Fitzgerald, aware that everyone watched as he did so.

  "This is not the command I was given."

  "I am in command now, and I am telling you—you are no longer needed."

  He stared at Fitzgerald, buying time. "The way you speak, sir, I fear for the lady's chances of reaching London—and a trial to establish her innocence or guilt."

  "It is not your affair."

  "I say that it is."

  "We will part company here!" Fitzgerald swore furiously.

  "Aye, then," Brendan said. "As you wish; we will part company here."

  By that time, Eric had come behind Fitzgerald. He didn't draw a sword, he had a knife at Fitzgerald's throat. The blade brushed along the man's vein.

  The sheriff's men had gone for their weapons; however, they must have quickly seen their disadvantage. Only one made a move, and Fitzgerald was quick to shout out, "Hold, you fool! This fellow has my life in his hands!"

  "A wise assessment," Brendan advised. "Drop your swords."

  The sheriff's men stood hesitantly. Their eyes moved furtively to Fitzgerald's. There was something wrong with the entire situation, Brendan judged, but at the moment, he hadn't the time to ferret out the Englishman's motives.

  "You are interfering with the king's justice!" Fitzgerald raged, his eyes rolling from side to side as he tried to see the man who so threatened his existence.

  "Am I the one interfering?" Brendan inquired. "Or had you appointed yourself judge and jury, sir? Did you intend for the lady to reach London for trial?"

  "Don't be a fool! I am allowing you to follow the king's orders."

  "Well, you see, as it is, I don't follow the king's orders. Have your men drop their weapons. Now. Or you'll die before a fight can begin."

  Eric pressed the blade closer. A thin trickle of blood appeared at Fitzgerald's throat.

  "Drop your weapons!" Fitzgerald thundered.

  Swords were slowly dropped.

  "Ah, fellows! The knives as well," Brendan suggested.

  Eric had yet to release Fitzgerald.

  "Have your berserker lower the knife now, Humphry, or I swear, I'll see you hanging by the neck," Fitzgerald warned Brendan.

  But Brendan took his time, as Eric knew he would.

  "Hagar, have we a bit of rope for these fellows? Liam, they've some fine steel there, if you'd make a collection."

  "You've gone beyond, Humphry!" Fitzgerald warned. "This is treason. Treason against the king's sworn officer—"

  "I doubt the king is aware of any of this business, Fitzgerald," Brendan said. "But that is no matter. Collum, give a hand there, if you will—see that they are good strong knots in the rope—we don't want our friends leaving the peace and the serenity of the stream too soon. Gregory, seize up a few of the swords if you will."

  "For treason, sir," Fitzgerald grated, "they hang you first, rack you, wait until you're half dead, bring you back to life, castrate you, and rip your guts out, and then, only then, do they end the pain by axing off your head."

  "Aye, I'm aware of the method," Brendan said. "Perhaps you could tighten that knife, Eric, he seems to have too much room to wag his tongue."

  "Aye, tighten, eh? A pleasure," Eric responded amiably.

  Fitzgerald fell silent.

  His men, still bewildered, and under the bulging fury of his eyes, made no comment, still and silent as their hands were tied.

  "See here," Corbin protested at last. He had been seated on his mount, silent, and bewildered throughout the proceedings. "I believe in Eleanor's innocence, but Sir Humphry, you will face the king's wrath—"

  "What do we do with him?" Liam demanded.

  "Leave him," Collum suggested bluntly. "Sir, you'll dismount—"

  "No!" Eleanor cried suddenly. She didn't understand Fitzgerald's motives any more than he, but she seemed to realize that she wouldn't have made it to London in his care. "You can't leave Corbin with these men."

  "He's one of us!" Fitzgerald said fiercely. "Whomever you may—be." He squeaked the last as Eric once again put pressure on the knife.

  "You cannot leave him!" Eleanor repeated, her blue-gray eyes fiercely upon Brendan's.

  She was right.

  "Ach, man! " Liam protested. "We're already riding with a woman—begging your pardon, Lady Eleanor—and her skinny maid—"

  "Why, you surly beast! I can ride better than many a man!" Bridie interrupted indignantly.

  But Liam ignored her. "Now we'd be riding with an Englishman as well?"

  "Scots!" Fitzgerald hissed suddenly.

  "Dear Lord! Blest be the saints!" Collum muttered. "The man's observant."

  "Aye, does that mean I can speak me ' French now?" Hagar asked.

  Brendan didn't reply. "Corbin of Clarin rides with us."

  "I do not ride with Scots!" Corbin hissed.

  "Aye, then, will you die to an English sword?" Brendan asked.

  "Corbin, these men will kill you, don't you see?" Eleanor told him. "They didn't intend for us to get to London!"

  "Why, 'tis all true then, isn't it?" Fitzgerald mocked. "The lady of Clarin, turned to the Scots, slays her husband for her forest dog of a lover!"

  "I never killed my husband, sir," Eleanor said coolly, "And I believe that you're aware of that fact."

  "Shall I slice his throat, my lady?" Eric asked politely.

  "No," she said, swallowing hard. "There's been enough blood."

  "Time to ride," Gregory suggested, collecting the last of the swords. The Englishmen stood by the water, unharmed other than the confiscation of the weapons, and each man with his hands tied at his back.

  "You'd leave us so?" asked one of them.

  "Someone will come upon you soon enough," Collum advised, mounting his horse. "We've left you with plenty of water," he said with a shrug.

  "This path is not so well traveled—" protested another.

  "Well enough," Brendan said.

  "Do we tie the Englishman?" Liam asked Brendan.

  Brendan shook his head, staring at Corbin. "He'll cause no trouble."

  "I do not ride with Scots—" Corbin protested again.

  "He'll cause no trouble," Brendan repeated, and the man fell silent. "That is nearly it, then." He strode by Liam's horse, collecting the last feet of rope with which to bind Fitzgerald's hand. "Sir? If you will be so kind."

  "I will see you hanged."

  "I thought you intended to see me disemboweled."

  "I will ask for the executioner's job myself," Fitzgerald said.

  "Hadn't you asked for it already?" Brendan suggested, his warning whisper at the man's nape. "You did intend to kill the Lady Eleanor."

  Fitzgerald didn't reply.

  "Your hands!" he repeated.

>   Again, Eric allowed the knife to bite.

  Fitzgerald offered his hands behind his back. Brendan tied his wrists together securely, and too tightly. Eric, at last, moved his knife, walked to his horse, and mounted.

  He stood in front of Fitzgerald. "You owe the lady," he said softly. "I know a treacherous snake when I see one, sir. I would have killed you."

  "Indeed. I think it's a mistake not to kill you, but ... she doesn't like bloodshed." Brendan stepped away, mounting his horse. "Eric, take the lead, please, and briskly, I think."

  Eric did so. Brendan waited until the others had turned and moved out, carefully shielding Eleanor and Corbin in their midst.

  "Coward!" Fitzgerald called out suddenly. "Scottish whelp. You don't even show your face, bastard!"

  Brendan moved his horse closer and closer so that Fitzgerald was forced backward—until he fell on his backside into the stream.

  "Your name isn't Humphry, bastard!" Fitzgerald hissed in fury, drenched, water falling into his eyes.' 'What is your name? I'd know it—for the day I gut you!"

  Brendan allowed his mount to splash more water at Fitzgerald, the great hooves churning up mud as well.

  "My name? Today, interestingly enough, it might as well be 'justice'."

  He turned the great destrier, spurred him, and raced to catch up with the others.

  Chapter 17

  Brendan set a rapid pace. It was doubtful that the Englishmen would be found for some time, but if they were, there would be no place else the Scots were heading except north, and so it was necessary to get as far as possible as quickly as possible without killing the horses.

  Corbin caused no trouble, but rode in a grim silence.

  Despite the distance—and the fact that the English did have a strong hold on the lowlands—crossing the border sent them back into the terrain they knew so well, and where they were able to disappear from the road, melting into the trees like spring snow.

  They stopped only once more to water the horses and they slowed the gait, but kept moving, until late in the night. Brendan was determined to reach the ruins of an old Roman fortification, rebuilt by Scots, abandoned, rebuilt again by the English, then abandoned in the days after Falkirk when the English had been so proud of their victory—and so unaware that the fight was still going on.

  The walls hid horses and men from the road. There was cover from the elements, and even some old comforts left behind, blankets, rickety chairs, uneven tables, and even a keg or two of ale. They had carried food, taken along on one of the sheriff's descriers, a warhorse turned pack animal for the journey.

  When they dismounted, it was agreed that they would take the night in two shifts, and leave again to travel further north by first light. Eric had suggested that they ride until they reach the fortification they had taken from the Englishman Hebert; it was under the control of their own men now, and manned and able to withstand a long assault or siege.

  For that night, they would sleep in the ruin of stones in the woods.

  "I'll head first shift," Eric told him.

  "Aye."

  The horses were first secured with their treasure of arms and weapons, then Eric chose Liam and de Longueville to take the first shift with him.

  Brendan entered what was once the great hall of the ruin, and saw that Gregory was unpacking loaves of bread, cheese, and dried meat. Bridie helped him.

  Eleanor was deep in conversation with Corbin.

  Her conversation broke off when he entered.

  Corbin saw him first, set his hands on Eleanor's shoulders, and passed her to stand before him. "It seems I must thank you first. It is difficult to believe, and I'm not sure that I do believe—a man of Fitzgerald's stature would have dared keep my cousin from the courts. He'd had to have slain me to do so, and explaining both of us dead would not be easy."

  Brendan didn't answer him at first; he walked to the table, taking a skin of ale, and drinking until the road dust seemed at last to settle in his throat. He set down the skin, addressing Corbin.

  "There would have been no difficulty. He would have said that Eleanor tried to run. In his story, he would have said that she garbled out some confession. Naturally, you, being her kin, would have come to her defense. They would have been deeply sorry, but you would have died as well."

  "Did you know he meant to do this? Why?" Corbin demanded.

  "I don't know," Brendan said. "Have you any idea?"

  "None whatsoever."

  "Did he know Alain?"

  "No," Corbin said. "I have met him before, serving on the field, and in London. He never came to Clarin. A messenger arrived shortly before the funeral, telling us that word had reached York regarding the death of the new French count of Clarin, and that the duke's representative would be arriving to question the circumstances."

  "Then he is not overcome with grief at the death," Brendan said wryly.

  "No."

  "But he was never at Clarin, so he did not do the deed himself," Brendan continued.

  "No," Corbin said.

  "Then it is curious indeed."

  "That he would have dared my life is dubious as well. There is nothing to be gained by my death."

  "No?"

  "I don't inherit. My brother, good and trustworthy and hardworking, gains the property ... if Eleanor does not leave a male heir. My death leaves nothing to anyone."

  "I'm afraid you were just in the way. Indeed, I tried to dissuade you from riding last night; I was afraid of your reaction, while still assuming I rode with honest English soldiers, when we parted company."

  "I would have fought you, naturally."

  "And I would have tried hard not to kill you," Brendan said softly.

  Eleanor, standing still and silent, watching them, seemed to pale. She was more than pale. She appeared drawn, he realized, almost fragile. Somewhere in the ride, she had lost the simple headdress. Even in the dim light of the few torches they had lit, her hair seemed to burn deeper than gold. It trailed down her back. She looked like a waif, delicately beautiful, ethereal.

  Naturally, she'd be worn, and weary. Her husband had died, she'd been accused of murder, and now, had made an escape.

  To the enemy.

  And if Isobel wasn't a complete schemer and liar, she was expecting a child. His.

  "Though grateful, sir, in the extreme," Corbin said, "I am not one of your number. Am I to remain a prisoner?"

  Brendan helped himself to a portion of bread and cheese, walking on, found a place by the wall, and sank down against it. He studied Corbin while wolfing down a bite of the bread. "We desire your company, sir, until we reach a stronghold," he said at last. "But if I were you, I'd take extreme care going back to England."

  "And why is that?" Corbin asked, frowning.

  "Well, we didn't kill Fitzgerald and his men, so they'll surely stand against you. You heard his conversation; you know that he tried to part from us when he still believed us to be his own countrymen. You might accuse him of attempting murder, or, at the least, tampering with the king's justice. Naturally, he'll be prepared for such a lie, assuring any who offer such an accusation that you, like your deadly cousin, were in league with the Scots."

  "But it's not true!"

  "Nor are the accusations against Eleanor, as we both know. But that wouldn't have saved her from the headsman's axe— of Fitzgerald's sword." He finished with the bread and cheese, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall.

  "This is all preposterous. I must return to England; Alfred will know that I am no turncoat, or traitor to my king."

  "After we are secure, sir, you may do as you choose," Brendan told him. "I'll not hold you against your will." He closed his eyes, making it plain he wanted to rest.

  "We must both return," Eleanor said suddenly. "The truth must be discovered—"

  Brendan's eyes flew open. "You, madam, will not be returning anywhere."

  "But there is law in England," she began to protest again. "And something is very wrong. Fit
zgerald claimed to have authority all along; perhaps he did not. Perhaps there was a reason, and he was even responsible himself somehow for Alain's death. If we return, we will speak together. It will not be one voice against Fitzgerald, but both voices—"

  "I'll speak with you tomorrow, my lady."

  "Brendan, you must see—"

  "I repeat, my lady, I'll speak with you tomorrow." He closed his eyes again.

  "Brendan—"

  "My lady!" he flared angrily. "Both voices. What good will your voice be? Your husband is dead. Poisoned. At the threat of removal to London, trial, and possible execution, you were saved by your—you were saved by the Scots. I don't think your word will mean much in support of your cousin's, madam."

  "All Englishmen are not evil—"

  "I did not suggest that they were,'' Brendan said impatiently.

  "If you don't want to talk 10 me—" she began.

  "Oh, indeed. I intend to talk to you. Not now. Tomorrow. I know you are familiar with the word."

  Once again, he closed his eyes.

  He knew that she stood there, staring at him. He knew, as well, when at last she walked away, surely longing to wake him with the bash of a wine skin over his head.