Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  Sylvianne, morose and silent as ever, had come to her room to help her pack. The maid’s only words were an expression of gratitude that she would be accompanying her mistress back to Normandy. “Finally I’ll be quit of this infernal place where even the garderobe smells of pigs,” she’d said with one of her incessant sniffs.

  Ellen’s head throbbed, and she considered a dozen courses of action without deciding upon any. She could run away again. Her father had posted guards at her door, but once she was on the road heading to the coast, she could make a break. Jocelyn could outrun any of her cousin’s horses, she was sure. But then what? Her father would only begin the search again, until they found both her and the fugitive Cooper family.

  She had a fleeting thought of somehow finding Connor. The two of them could run off together to a faraway land where it would no longer matter that he was a servant and she a lady, he a Saxon and she a Norman. But as soon as the fantasy entered her head, she dismissed it. Connor had made it plain that he would not run away and leave his people to what he considered the injustices of Norman rule.

  In the end she hadn’t come to any decision by dawn, when she and Sebastian set out, accompanied by a heavy guard.

  Ellen barely spoke to her father at the farewell, and the hurt expression on his dear, lined face stayed with her as they made their way along the road to the coast. For one of the few times in her life, Ellen felt ashamed of her behavior. It wasn’t her father’s fault, after all, that she’d come to England and changed her thinking on so many matters. It certainly wasn’t his fault that she’d fallen in love with a Saxon and that circumstances had conspired to make that same Saxon into an outlaw.

  “Don’t look so glum, Cousin,” Sebastian said, riding up beside her. “Soon you’ll be back to your parties and your suitors. You can forget all about this place.”

  She wanted to ignore him, but the guilt she felt over having spurned her father in the morning made her give him the courtesy of a reply.

  “I’ve no longing to return to a life of idleness, Sebastian, nor to the fawning suitors of Louis’s court.”

  “Perhaps you’ve developed a taste for rougher men. I’m not yet convinced that your head was not addled by the handsome looks of the crude Saxon who worked at our stables.”

  “I care not what you think, Cousin.”

  “To all appearances your close association with the villeins of Lyonsbridge has altered your manners. You scarcely spoke to your father this morn as we left.”

  She shrugged. “He knew my displeasure at his decision to send me home.”

  Sebastian was silent for a long moment, then he gave his cousin a sly glance out of the corner of his eye and said, “I trust my cousin won’t regret the insult should anything happen to Lord Wakelin.”

  Ellen sat up straighter in her saddle. “What do you mean by that?”

  Sebastian’s thin lips were clamped in a tight line, but she could see a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m merely pointing out that children should always respect their parents.”

  He spurred his horse ahead, leaving Ellen to ponder his words with a troubled expression. Her father had sent a heavy guard to escort her to Normandy, but he still had the majority of his men with him. In any event, she knew that Connor had every intention of solving the current problems without bloodshed. Her father should not be in any danger.

  Still, she realized, as she watched Sebastian ride off, if something were to happen to her father, it would be quite convenient for her cousin. With Ellen back in Normandy, that would leave dominion over Lyonsbridge to Sebastian alone, and, in fact, give him a base of power from which he might wrest from her the entire Wakelin inheritance.

  If she’d thought of Sebastian at all these past few years, she’d considered him weak. She’d certainly never suspected him capable of the kind of treachery that sometimes went on in noble families when great riches were at stake. But the past few days had taught her to be less carefree about her approach to life, and since arriving in England, her cousin had shown a side of himself she’d never before suspected.

  He was riding up ahead with two of his guards, telling them something that evidently amused him, since she could see his back shaking with laughter. Suddenly one of the guards glanced back at her sharply. It was DeGuerre, the man who had been guarding the prisoners. His eyes were troubled.

  The breeze had picked up, and Ellen felt the prickling on her skin like an omen.

  Her cousin’s conversation with his men drifted back to her as indecipherable murmuring, but a sudden gust of wind brought DeGuerre’s words clearly. “You have our loyalty, my lord,” the soldier told Sebastian. “When’s it to be done?” Then the wind dropped and she could no longer hear.

  She shifted in the saddle. The words could mean nothing. She was probably giving them a sinister connotation that they did not deserve. But DeGuerre had distinctly called her cousin “my lord.” Of that she had no doubt.

  Was there a possibility that Sebastian might be plotting against her father? She remembered his sneering words earlier and became increasingly alarmed. Perhaps it was a mistake for her to go meekly back to Normandy.

  She strained to hear further snatches of her cousin’s conversation, but the wind had shifted and the words were inaudible. She sat up straight in her saddle and surveyed the countryside.

  With Jocelyn beneath her, she knew she could escape the escort if she chose, but she’d not known where she would head once she was free. With sudden determination, she knew with absolute certainty where she would go. To Connor.

  She waited until they’d almost reached the coast. The soldiers had relaxed their guard, and even Sebastian seemed to be paying his cousin little attention. Ellen knew that they must be near the large cave where she’d been taken the night of Booth’s death, but Connor had brought her there and taken her away in the dark. She didn’t recognize any landmarks.

  Nevertheless, the increasingly salty tang of the air told her that they’d soon be at the sea, and her opportunity might be gone, so she chose a moment when a sharp bend in the road had the soldiers paying attention to their mounts. When half the group had rounded the corner, temporarily out of sight, she made her move.

  Jocelyn was as fresh as when they’d left the stable, and, as usual, responded instantly to her mistress’s command. She turned her off the road and headed directly up a steep incline, slippery with loose rocks. The mare didn’t hesitate, charging up the hill as if the devil was behind her. Ellen hugged to the saddle closely and let the horse do her job.

  It was several moments before the men on the road even realized what had happened, but at a furious shout from Sebastian, they spurred their mounts to follow her. Several of the horses balked at the treacherous terrain, but three men on heavy warhorses managed to keep close to her pace.

  Ellen looked over her shoulder to see them pounding up behind her, and prayed that when she reached the top of the cliff, she’d find an even stretch where her lighter, faster horse could leave them behind.

  Jocelyn plunged up the final steps without slowing, and Ellen breathed a great sigh of relief as a grassy lea came into view, similar to the one she and Connor had raced across when she’d first come to Lyonsbridge, an eternity ago.

  She straightened in her saddle, loosened her hold on the reins and let Jocelyn race. The meadow stretched out for a couple of miles, then ended at a thick forest. If she could make the safety of the trees, she could probably elude her captors. If they caught her in the open stretch, there was no place for her to hide.

  Jocelyn galloped along, smoothly and evenly, but Ellen could hear the pounding of the three powerful horses behind her. She had half the meadow left to cross before reaching the forest refuge. What had Connor told her that day? An easy middle makes for a lightning finish.

  She put a hand on her horse’s neck as Connor had that day, said, “Easy, girl,” and felt Jocelyn slow almost imperceptibly, marshaling strength. They continued that way for a long
, agonizing minute as the hooves behind her became louder, then she once again leaned her body close to Jocelyn and whispered, “Now, girl. Fly with me.”

  Jocelyn leaped forward in a burst of speed such as Ellen had never before witnessed. Her hooves seemed in fact to be flying above the ground. In seconds they reached the trees, and Ellen pulled on the reins, turning sharply into the depths of the forest. The overcast sky provided little light among the thick trees. In the distance she heard the shouts of her three pursuers, who had halted their horses at the entrance to the forest. They seemed to be discussing their next move.

  Ellen let her mount continue to wind among the trees, quietly and carefully, as if following the steps of an elaborate court dance. Were the soldiers following? She could no longer hear their shouts, nor did she hear horses moving through the woods.

  She stopped Jocelyn for a moment to listen. All was quiet. Perhaps the soldiers had turned back to report to Sebastian that his cousin had eluded them. She smiled briefly at an image of apoplectic rage on his face.

  She let Jocelyn continue to pick her way through the trees. The thick forest had served to befuddle her captors, but she feared that by now she was equally disoriented. She had no idea which direction would take her toward the coast. In fact, she didn’t even know how to leave the woods. For all she knew, she might be traveling around and around in circles.

  She sighed and said to her horse, “What do you think, girl? You’ve gotten me this far.”

  “She probably thinks her mistress is a foolhardy young woman, and she’d be right,” said a voice practically in her ear.

  She whirled around in the saddle to face Connor, mounted on Thunder, directly behind her.

  “How. How did you get here?” she sputtered. “I heard nothing.”

  “Thunder can move like a forest cat when I bid him,” he said with a grin. “But let me be the one to question. What in the name of St. Jude are you doing here? Is there some odd potion you take that makes you continue to put yourself at risk?”

  She sat in her saddle and stared, her gaze taking in his handsome face; his lips, which had sent trails of magic down her neck; his strong hands, which had turned her easily to his will. She’d thought never to see him again.

  “Milady?” he asked, when she continued without speaking.

  She gave herself a little shake. “Two nights ago you did call me Ellen,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  His smile died. “Two nights ago we were kidnapped by the faeries of the forest, remember? They left us helpless and at the mercy of their magic.”

  “Aye, ‘twas magical,” she replied, stiffening.

  He nodded. “Would that the real world were so as well. Now tell me, Lady Ellen, what are you doing here, lost in the forest?”

  “Mayhap I came looking for those faeries.” She gave him a sad smile, and he returned one in kind. “Nay, I was on my way home, sent by my father. It seems he thinks England too dangerous a place for his only daughter.”

  “I don’t blame him for wanting to keep safe something so precious.”

  She blushed, but told herself that now was not the moment to let herself be once again carried away by Connor Brand’s easy charm. “I ran away from Sebastian and his men,” she explained.

  “To what purpose?” Connor asked in surprise.

  She took a deep breath. Now that the deed was done, she wasn’t sure she could even explain to herself. Sebastian hadn’t said anything definite. She couldn’t accuse her cousin because of a sinister look, a few words carried on the breeze. And was Sebastian the only reason she had fled? Or had she run because she was not yet ready to leave this Saxon land and in particular the one Saxon in it who had captured her heart?

  “I’m not sure,” she said, but she knew that she would never admit to Connor that a desire to see him again had had anything to do with her decision. “But I’m worried that Sebastian is planning harm to my father.”

  “Have you knowledge of such a plan?”

  “Not specifically, but after I bade my father farewell this morning, my cousin implied that it would be the last time I would see him.”

  Connor frowned. Ellen hoped he would not think her a hysterical female, but he seemed to regard her words seriously as he asked, “What would happen to Lyonsbridge if your father died?”

  “My father intends to leave his estates to me, but since I am female, that inheritance may be challenged in the courts.”

  “By your cousin.”

  “Aye.”

  “Mayhap you should return to your father and tell him this. It would put him on his guard.”

  “He refuses to believe anything bad of my cousin, and I’m afraid Sebastian has convinced him that my wits have been addled since arriving in this country.” Her face colored, and Connor did not ask for details about the exact nature of her cousin’s charges.

  He sat for a moment, lost in thought. Finally he said, “The men who were following you turned back, but I warrant your cousin will be sending more in their place soon. The first thing we have to do is find a safe place for you.”

  “Your apartments again?” Ellen asked, a bit wistfully.

  He smiled. “With the wood faeries? Nay, eventually someone will get the thought to look there. This time I have in mind a more sanctified place.”

  The Abbey of St. John was much less imposing than the stone church it faced across the courtyard. A spartan wooden structure with pens for animals built on each end, it housed thirty monks of the Benedictine order, along with three kitchen helpers, all male. The abbey had never before housed a woman.

  Brother Augustine had not been pleased at the suggestion that Ellen take up residence in one of the inner cells, even when Father Martin had prevailed on him in the name of Christian charity. His agreement had come only after a gentle reminder that the land upon which the abbey stood belonged to Lord Wakelin, and that the lord would undoubtedly not look kindly on the monks turning away his daughter when she was seeking refuge.

  From the moment they’d arrived at St. John’s, Connor had taken pains to keep her at a safe distance from him, determined not to allow the sparks that had flared between them in the forest to ignite.

  As Father Martin and Brother Augustine discussed arrangements, he tried not to notice how the tendrils of her hair had escaped from her headdress somewhere during her breakneck ride. The black curls blew gently in the wind, caressing the white skin of her cheeks. He tried not to focus on how she ran her delicate tongue over her full lips, chapped red from the wind.

  “Connor!” his brother said sharply. “I asked for your opinion.”

  For all he knew the priest and the monk had been discussing the price of pepper berries at the market fair. “Sorry, brother,” he said.

  Father Martin looked from Connor over to where Ellen stood next to her horse. “Brother Augustine thinks we should inform her father that the lady Ellen is here seeking a spiritual retreat and that we intend to allow her to stay with us for some days.”

  Connor considered the idea. It would avoid having her father send soldiers out combing the countryside for her, but they ran the risk that Sebastian would disregard the sanctity of the abbey and come to take her back by force. “Not just yet,” he answered finally. “First we need to see if ‘tis true that Sebastian has plans against her father. Ellen’s running away might force his hand.”

  His brother lifted an eyebrow at Connor’s use of her Christian name, but Brother Augustine appeared not to notice.

  The two clerics stood discussing the details of the arrangements for several more minutes, and Connor finally grew impatient. “We could wait until this thundercloud opens up and gives us all a good soaking to see if that would help matters,” he snapped, pointing at the ominous sky.

  Brother Augustine waggled his head nervously, but finally stood aside and let Connor lead Ellen into the darkened interior of the abbey. One of the monks was already busy clearing a room for her. She thanked the man with a gracious smile that made him
blanch, then quickly duck his head and disappear into the corridor.

  “Will you be all right here?” Connor asked, looking around the barren room.

  “No wood faeries have visited this place, I trow,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “Nor have these walls heard ballads of love,” he agreed.

  They stood watching each other for a moment.

  “Then ‘tis just the place for me at the moment,” she said airily.

  Connor laughed, but grew serious as he told her, “Nay, milady. You don’t belong in such a setting. Your beauty was made for love, and you shall have it again someday soon.”

  “Will you not call me Ellen?” she asked again.

  He took a step closer and bent close to her ear. “Ellen,” he whispered. “Ellen of my heart.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes, and he wiped at them with his thumb. “Weep not, fair Ellen. My heart is but a trophy for thy collection. I give it to thee freely.”

  Her lips trembled. He kissed them softly and tasted the salt there. Then he pulled away and forced himself to address her in a normal tone of voice. “Stay hidden here, milady. Do not venture out for anything unless my brother is with you.”

  She nodded her head, watching him with eyes luminous with silent pleading.

  Connor turned his back on them and walked briskly away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ellen spent the day restlessly in the tiny cell, reconsidering her decision to run from her cousin. Perhaps she should have confronted him with her suspicions on the spot. Perhaps it would have been better to return to the castle to warn her father. Here, tucked away like an egg in a chicken coop, she could do nothing. She felt powerless and unsure, both feelings foreign to her nature.

  Father Martin brought her a simple mear pie for supper, but she saw no one else throughout the day. Finally the monotonous cadence of the monks’ evensong made her eyelids heavy, and she lay down on the cot to sleep.

  When she awoke it was pitch-black. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, but the scratch of the monk’s rough blanket beneath her brought back the events of the day. She was still in her cell. The lone candle they’d left her had blown or sputtered out.