Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  She almost collapsed when he withdrew his arms from around her, but a sudden gust of evening breeze cooled her face and her ardor. She opened her eyes. The breeze traveled along her arms and she shivered, awareness returning.

  Connor may have decided to remove their lovemaking to a more private and comfortable spot in order to protect his own safety. A servant caught making love to the lady of the castle could easily be executed. However, she had the feeling that if his decision to return had been deliberate, it was not done out of fear, but rather to give her time to consider her actions. If she had a grain of sense, she’d flee back to the castle, as fast as she could, but her feet seemed rooted to the soft mud of the stable yard.

  “Art certain, Ellen?” His low voice came from behind her, making her jump.

  The sound of her name on his lips was sweeter than his earlier endearments. She turned and went into his arms. “Aye,” she said in a throaty whisper, then offered her lips.

  “I’ll take thee upstairs,” he said after claiming the kiss. “No one will disturb us, unless they’ll miss you at the castle?”

  She shook her head. “Sebastian knows not how I spend my days and cares less. He sups each night with his beloved ledger.”

  Connor nodded, evidently satisfied that their tryst could go undetected. He smiled at her, a smile so young and charming and heartbreaking that it made her gasp. “Shall I carry thee to my bower, princess?”

  Tears sprung to her eyes. This was a moment she’d thought of for years, but never in a thousand lifetimes had she pictured it thus, in a stable yard with a common horseman. Yet her heart was soaring and her body thrummed with anticipation.

  Tomorrow she’d deal with the consequences of this folly, but for tonight, she’d give herself up to this miracle, for miracle it was. That mysterious and miraculous force she’d heard sung in the ballads and had, indeed, sung of herself, had finally overtaken her. For the first time in her life, Ellen of Wakelin was in love.

  She returned his smile. “I’d not tire you, horse master,” she said, teasing, her breath high in her throat.

  He grinned and scooped her up as if she were no more than a sack of feathers. “I want you to tire me, sweet maid. I promise I’ll not beg for mercy.”

  He began walking toward the stable door, suddenly in a hurry. Ellen put her arms around his neck and clung to him. She could feel the pounding of his heart, even through the thick doublet he wore.

  “Master Brand!” a voice cried from just down the road to the village.

  Connor stopped briefly, then started walking again, faster. It took Ellen a moment to realize that the summons had been real, someone from the outside asking entry to this private world of theirs.

  “It’s someone calling you,” she said, her voice small.

  Connor swore, but finally stopped and set her down on the ground. He ran both hands back through his hair, frustration mirrored in his features.

  He narrowed his eyes, looking up the road in the dusk. “It’s all right,” he said. “I think ‘tis John Cooper.”

  Mayhap all was not lost. He could speak to the lad, then they could resume their plans, but somehow Ellen knew that the moment had been broken. Even if John’s mission was something trivial, it would be hard to regain the feeling she and Connor had established back on the hill.

  The two stood side by side, awaiting John’s approach. The boy was running. As he neared they could see that his narrow chest heaved with exertion. Light from the rising moon glinted off streaks of tears on his cheeks.

  “What is it, John?” Connor asked, with no sign of his anger at the interruption.

  John stumbled the last few steps and nearly fell at their feet. Connor reached out to hold him steady. “Has something happened?” he asked grimly.

  “Is it your mother?” Ellen added.

  John shook his head and opened his mouth, but all that came out were several gulping sobs. Ellen moved next to him and put a hand on his bony back, which was shaking with tears or with fear. She looked at Connor, who shook his head helplessly.

  After a moment, John’s crying subsided enough for him to make himself understood, but the words that emerged were more alarming than his tears. “I’ve killed him,” he said between gasps. “I’ve killed Sir William.”

  Chapter Nine

  At first they could scarcely credit the boy’s story. To begin with, John was a smallish lad, no match for a seasoned knight such as William Booth.

  But the lad continued to sob out his account, in bits and pieces. “’Twas Sarah’s screaming brought me there,” he explained. “Sir William had ‘er against a tree, with her skirt pushed up and her bodice torn right down her front.”

  Ellen clasped her hands to her chest, her face widening in horror.

  Connor put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What happened then, John?”

  “When I yelled at him, he just laughed and said, ‘Get away, boy, my business is with your sister.’ So I jumped on his back, but then he smashed his arm across my face and flung me backward like a bothersome fly.”

  For the first time Ellen saw that a rivulet of blood trailed from the side of John’s mouth. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  John shook his head impatiently, unconcerned with his own injuries. Now that the tale was half-told, he appeared eager to finish the telling. “While he was throwing me off, Sarah tried to run, but he caught her and slammed her back against the tree. His arm was pressing into her throat and I saw her go limp. There was a knife on the ground. ‘Twas ours, I think, that had been broken. Sarah must have fetched it from the ironsmith.”

  Ellen felt as if she were about to be sick. Connor reached out an arm to steady her, then turned back to John. “What happened then? Tell me exactly, John. ‘Tis important.”

  “I shouted ‘let her go!’ Sir William laughed again, and his eyes looked wild, darting around, black and beadylike. So I picked up the knife and held it out toward him.” The boy’s eyes were glazed as he seemed to be reliving the fatal moment.

  Connor nodded, calmly. “Did you lunge at him?”

  John shook his head. “He took his arm from Sarah’s neck and she slumped down the tree. I was afeared that he’d killed her. Then he drew a hunting knife from his belt and said, ‘I’ll deal with you first, annoying toad.’“

  “He had his own weapon, and he drew it?”

  “Aye. He thrust it down toward my chest, but I jumped to one side, and as I did he fell forward.” He took a big gulp. The sobs had stopped. “The tip of my knife slid up under his chin as he fell, smooth as biting into a wheel of cheese.”

  Ellen shuddered, and Connor looked grim faced.

  John rubbed his eyes and spoke in bewildered tones. “He caved to one side, pulling the knife from my hands, and then he was dead. ‘Twas that simple. ‘Twas that quick.”

  Connor took in a deep breath. “Where’s the knife?”

  John looked confused. “The knife?”

  “Your knife, lad. Where is it?”

  “I know not. I…’tis still stuck in him, I suppose.”

  “And Sarah?”

  “She recovered herself just as it happened. I told her to run on home to tell Mother, and that I was coming to find you.”

  “’Twas self-defense,” Ellen said. “Or at the very least, ‘twas defense of his sister’s honor.”

  Connor spared her a brief glance. “That matters not, even if we could prove such a thing. If ‘tis discovered that John did this thing, he will hang.”

  She shook her head. “We need to tell his story—”

  Connor interrupted her with an impatient wave of his hand. “You may be a Norman, but you don’t know anything about Norman justice. At least not English Norman justice.” He turned to John. “We’ve little time. They’ll be looking for the culprit as soon as the body is discovered. We’ve got to try to retrieve that knife.”

  “I’ll go to my cousin and tell him the real story. He’d not let them harm the boy over such a thing.”
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  Connor looked at her, his expression calculating and cold. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with us for a spell.”

  She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. “Come with you?”

  “Aye. I’m afraid you know too much about this incident. Until John and his entire family are safely hidden away, I can’t risk the story being told.” She began to protest, but he cut her off. “I’ve not time to argue. You can come with me peaceably on your own mount or ride more uncomfortably with John and me on Thunder.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her color heightening with indignation. Her heart ached for John’s plight, but she felt a selfish stab of disappointment that the incident had spoiled what was about to happen between her and Connor. All traces of the lover who had moments ago lifted her in his arms was gone. Connor was looking at her as if she were his most bitter enemy.

  Connor ignored her and turned to John. “We’ll ride to your house, and I want you to get your family and take them into the woods, quickly. Take only what you can easily carry. We’ll try to collect more of your things later if we can. When I’ve left you there, I’ll go back for the knife. At least that should give us time before they discover that your sister had been to the ironsmith today.”

  “Aye, Master Brand,” John replied, his voice confident and trusting. Telling his story to the horse master seemed to have allowed him to regain his selfcontrol.

  Once again addressing Ellen, Connor said briskly, “Shall I help you mount, milady? Or do you ride with me?”

  “I’m not riding anywhere,” she said again, her own voice stiffening to match his tone. “You need not fear that I’ll reveal any of this. By the holy rood, I’d not cause Sarah or her family harm.”

  Connor seemed to hesitate, but finally said, “I’m sorry. ‘Twill be safer to have you with us.” He reached to take her arm and move her toward the horses. She pulled out of his grasp.

  “You have my word, horse master,” she said angrily. “I suggest you get started with your plans. Good luck, John,” she added to the boy in kinder tones. “Once you and your family are safely hidden, I’ll do what I can to get this matter resolved.”

  Then she turned and started toward the castle. Connor followed her with two long strides and lifted her in his arms. He’d done the same thing only minutes before, but the tension between them now was of an entirely different nature. “I’m sorry, milady,” he said again. Then he asked John, “Do you think you can ride Thunder?”

  John nodded and stepped toward the big stallion without hesitation. Connor continued, “Lady Ellen and I will ride her mount.”

  John cast a doubtful glance at the sidesaddle on Jocelyn. “I’ll take that one if you like.”

  Connor gave the boy a brief smile. “Thank you, lad, but I’ll manage. Thunder’s less skittish with a new rider than Lady Ellen’s mount.”

  Ellen had been struggling in his arms during the entire exchange over the horses, and he’d been ignoring her sputtering protests. Now he looked down at her and said, “If you’re not quiet, I’ll tie a rag around your mouth. There may be guardsmen within earshot, and I don’t want them unduly alarmed. We need all the time we can get.”

  “Let me go,” she gasped, fighting him in earnest. “You can’t take me with you. It’s outrageous.” She could have called out to raise an alarm, but though she was furious with Connor, she didn’t want to be the cause of John’s capture.

  “Will you mount peaceably?” he asked, loosening his grip slightly. She took advantage of the slack to wriggle out of his arms and once again dash toward the castle.

  With a grunt of exasperation, Connor hauled her back once more, then threw her up on Jocelyn’s back, face-down, and mounted behind her. She kicked at his legs in protest. “Hold still, princess,” he said, keeping her in place with a firm hand on her back. Then he nodded to John to begin to ride.

  For the sake of her pride, she continued squirming all the way out to the road, but she remained silent until they were well out of earshot of any Norman guards. The truth was that her indignation had faded the moment he’d called her princess. The incident might have reminded Connor of their differences, but she had the feeling that it would not be easy for him to forget what had almost happened between them.

  Ellen’s body was a mass of aches from being bounced along hanging upside down like a sack of onions. Her ribs were bruised and perhaps even broken, she decided, gingerly running her hands over them. They’d ridden for what seemed like hours, finally stopping in the middle of nowhere. Connor had unceremoniously dumped her from the horse and said curtly, “Wait here. Don’t move,” then had disappeared, horse and all, into the thick trees.

  She looked around the clearing and up at the sky, where the nearly full moon was now directly overhead. It was the middle of the night and the clear air had turned cold.

  She rubbed her arms, shivering. Surely the horse master hadn’t abandoned her out in the forest? Though at this point, she couldn’t be certain of anything. There’d been no repetition of the slip of the tongue when he’d called her princess. He’d treated her roughly, without mercy, eventually even carrying out his threat to tie a kerchief around her mouth until she’d begun coughing so badly that he’d relented, upon her promise of silence.

  He’d never once relaxed his vigilance long enough to give her a chance to escape, even as he talked with the Cooper family and several other villagers who’d volunteered to take the family and their belongings into the woods.

  Connor had resaddled the mare when they arrived at the village, and holding her firmly had allowed Ellen to sit awkwardly in front of him. They rode toward the spot where the killing had taken place, but before they reached it, they could hear horsemen and shouts. Sir William’s body had obviously already been discovered. It had been then that Connor had tied the kerchief over her mouth, before he’d wheeled Jocelyn around and headed in the opposite direction.

  Ellen had no idea where they had ridden. All she could see was the circle of dark trees and the sky overhead. She had a feeling that they’d ridden toward the coast. Indeed, there was a tang of salt in the air. But from where she was, she could see nothing but forest If Connor had left her here, she’d have no choice but to find a place to curl up and try to keep warm until morning.

  She walked toward the nearest tree, slowly feeling the numbness drain from her legs. She was angry with the horse master, of course, but she was worried, too. She’d seen Sarah when they’d stopped in the village, and the girl’s anguished eyes haunted her. If young John Cooper was executed for saving his sister from that dirty toad of a man, Ellen, too, would never again trust Norman justice.

  The ground was mossy and soft. It would not make a bad bed for the night, if not for the cold. She knelt down next to the big tree trunk, feeling around with her hands for any jagged rocks. There was a crunching of branches behind her, someone walking toward her.

  “Lady Ellen!” It was Connor’s voice. She let out a sigh of relief, then felt a renewed surge of irritation at her horse master. He’d frightened and abused her enough for one evening, and it was time she told him so. She stood and put her hands on her hips, waiting for him.

  “There you are.”

  He came from the opposite direction of the-sounds. She whirled around to face him. “I demand that you take me back to Lyonsbridge. It has been a tragic night, I’ll warrant, and I’ll not hold your deeds against you, but this has gone far enough. Take me back now, or my cousin shall hear of this treatment. ‘Twill but compound the problems.”

  Connor walked up to her, with a semblance of his old, mocking smile. “’Tis late, milady. Best let me show you to your chambers. We’ll talk things over in the morning.”

  Ellen looked around, confused. “My chambers? We must be miles from the castle by now.”

  “Aye. But our friends here have kindly offered us shelter for the night.” He stopped and stepped aside so she could see that in the dark shadows of the trees were oth
ers, watching her. “The Coopers are already installed in their quarters. I daresay they’re exhausted, poor souls.”

  “How is Sarah?” Ellen asked, concerned in spite of her anger.

  Connor’s smile turned sweeter. “The girl’s fine. It appears that.” He hesitated. “The knave was interrupted in time,” he finished simply.

  “Blessed St. Mary be thanked,” Ellen breathed

  “And blessed John Cooper,” Connor added dryly.

  Ellen nodded. “Aye. ‘Twas good fortune.”

  “A good fortune that will alter the lad’s life forever,” Connor pointed out, his voice grim. “He’ll be hunted from this day forth.”

  “There must be something we can do.”

  Connor shook his head. “The thinking will keep until morning. Come.”

  He took her hand and she went with him willingly, not seeing any other immediate option. None of the people who had come with him to the grove spoke. They appeared to be peasants, poorly dressed and thin. Had they. come upon a band of gypsies? she wondered.

  “What is this place?”

  “Our home, for this night, at least. Have no fear, milady. No one will harm you here.”

  They emerged from the trees at what appeared to be the top of a cliff. With the moon now behind the clouds, the night was too dark to see beyond the rock in front of them, but the sea air was now unmistakable, and she could hear the crashing of the surf in the distance. One by one, the men who had accompanied Connor disappeared over the edge of the rock.

  “Can you climb?” Connor asked her, a smile in his voice.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He ignored her question, saying, “Follow me.” Then he pulled on her hand and led her over the lip of the cliff. The path down was not as steep as it had appeared, and she had little trouble keeping up with him, though her slippers slid a couple of times on loose rocks.

  When they reached the bottom, she looked around. All she could see were trees in front of her and the rock face behind her. But the men who had descended before them had disappeared.