by Tarah Scott
Aye, the lass walked a path fraught with danger, but he’d see that she was never placed in such a position again.
“I will wait for Orazio,” a man’s voice rose above the others in the room. “This matter is a puzzling affair, and I would not make so hasty a judgment. I will hear the truth from a man I trust.”
There were protests, among them demands for blood justice.
Julian drew himself up and turned to Orazio. “Let’s get this done, aye?”
Setting his lips into an uncompromising line, Orazio nodded.
Silence blanketed the chamber the moment they entered, and all eyes focused on Julian as he boldly strode to Liselle’s side.
She looked exhausted. Long, sweeping strands of her hair spilled from under her hood, hair so dark with rain that it almost looked black. A streak of grime trailed down her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes announced the decided lack of sleep, but the expression of relief and joy upon her face made his heart sing.
“This will be over soon, lass,” he promised, lowering his head to place a kiss on the delicate slope of her nose.
“True enough!” a harsh voice sounded from beside him.
Julian turned as a fist connected with his jaw, and he reeled back a step from the unexpected impact. Wiping the salty taste of blood from his lips, he peered down at the thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay in surprise.
The man was covered in mud, apparently he had just arrived.
Several men leapt forward to pull the man back as voices erupted in outrage and accusation, with Orazio’s among the loudest.
And then a tall man stepped forward. Julian could see the outline of his aquiline nose, but the rest of his face remained shrouded in the shadows of his hood.
“Let Orazio speak,” the man ordered in a voice of authority.
As Julian extended the Saluzzi belt, Orazio snatched it from his hand and held it up for all to see.
“This belt reveals treachery!” he announced without preamble. “Treachery of some of your brethren, treachery in the hope of breaking the truce between our families!”
The tall man drew back sharply. “Such accusations are dangerous, Orazio di Franco! But if they are true, I will shed the blood of these traitors myself!”
“Then let us read aloud the words upon this belt!” Pascal demanded, pushing himself away from the wall. “The Vindictam have danced for the Saluzzi like puppets on a string long enough!”
A chorus of Vindictam voices agreed with him even as the Saluzzi objected.
“You do not dance for us!” The tall man’s voice was riddled with disdain. Holding up his hand for silence, he drew back his hood and revealed a distinguished face framed with gray hair. “I am Antonio Saluzzo. Who are you to speak for the Vindictam?”
The hatred in Pascal’s eyes burned hot, but Orazio stepped in front of him before he could reply.
“Pray do not let my young cousin distract us from the matter at hand,” Orazio said, skillfully taking control in the obvious attempt to protect the identity of the Electus and Quattuor Gladiis. “I am the Magno Duce here. And I will speak for the Vindictam.”
The look Antonio sent Pascal was a chilling one. “Be wary, arrogant youth,” he warned harshly. And then snatching the belt from Orazio’s grasp, he began to loop it around the sheath of his sword.
As the others crowded close to read the words, Julian saw the thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay inch towards the stairs leading into the darkness. And as the message on the belt became clear, the outrage of both the Vindictam and the Saluzzi ignited, and the man bolted.
Leaping over the table, Julian was after him in a moment. Aye, he’d not let the man escape justice!
The stairs wound in a tight circle, spiraling to the ground above. Taking the steps two at a time, Julian dashed upwards, but as he neared the top, the stones grew slick, causing him to slip.
Stumbling out of the catacombs, he saw the Saluzzo sprinting for the Carmelite friary a short distance away and quickly set off after him.
The man was short and no match for Julian’s stride, thus by the time he’d neared the chapel, Julian had almost closed the distance between them.
Glancing over his shoulder, the man’s face registered desperation. Abruptly changing course, the Saluzzo ran down the cloister walk, dashed inside a small tower at the corner of the friary, and barred the door shut just as Julian arrived.
Pausing to catch his breath, Julian eyed the tower.
There was no place the man could go. He was trapped. And the tower was a small one that could be easily scaled.
Standing back to eye the jagged stones, Julian glanced up to see the Saluzzo glaring down at him from atop the tower, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm.
“Be gone!” the man shouted from above. “Do not even step upon my shadow if you wish to live!”
Julian snorted at the empty threat, but at the sound of approaching feet from behind, he cocked a brow and turned to see Pascal, Orazio, and the gray-haired Antonio arriving at a run.
Exchanging silent looks, Orazio and Antonio skirted the tower as Pascal joined Julian to address the treacherous Saluzzo above them.
“Prepare to die!” Pascal thundered.
Lifting an amused brow at the youth, Julian then looked up at the man and warned sharply, “Tread carefully lest ye find yourself beyond prayer! Come down at once. There is no place for ye to hide, ye daft fool!”
But the man’s attention had focused on Pascal, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable as he shouted in reply, “Have a care, Pascal da Vilardino! I will see your blood stain the ground, and I will extinguish the cousins of your cousins—”
Pascal’s chilling laugh cut him short. “Whoever dies this day, Saluzzo, you will certainly be amongst them,” retorted the youth.
The Saluzzo roared, “Ah sì?! You are naught but the walking dead!”
And then shouts were heard, and Orazio appeared at the top of the tower next to the man, and a struggle ensued.
“Ah, they must have gained entry from the other side! I must join them!” exclaimed Pascal, and he set off at a run
And then without warning, a knee slammed into Julian’s spine, and as he pitched forward, a blade whizzed past his ear.
Rolling to the ground, he drew his dirk in a fluid motion and twisted around to face his attacker.
It was the other Saluzzo he’d fought in Edinburgh.
Angling his dirk, Julian blocked the vicious blows of his attacker and sparks flew from the force of the clashing blades. They struggled for a time, neither able to gain the advantage.
And then, seeing his opportunity, Julian lunged, and it was over.
The man let out a cry like a wounded animal as Julian’s dirk struck home, and with a gasping gurgle, his assailant sank into the grass, dead.
Scanning the grounds for any more attackers, Julian held his dirk at the ready, but when no more appeared, he turned his attention to voices now shouting from the chapel.
The thick-browed Saluzzo had managed to escape the tower. Having eluded Orazio and Pascal, he’d taken up a stance near a section of wall surrounding the chapel. Armed now with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts, he’d taken Antonio as hostage.
“His blood will be upon your hands!” the Saluzzo threatened, aiming the crossbow mere inches from the man’s head.
Pascal laughed. “And why would I care if the Saluzzo should kill one of their own? It simply means one less problem for us is walking the earth!”
Even Orazio seemed nonchalant to the threat.
Suddenly, the Saluzzo hitched his shoulder and grinned. Shoving his hostage aside, he dove over the wall even as the stilettos of both Orazio and Pascal bounced harmlessly off the stones, missing him by a mere hair’s breadth.
And then with a maniacal laugh, the Saluzzo reappeared on the wall, standing with his feet braced wide apart, and a bolt notched on his crossbow.
But he was aiming over the heads of Orazio and Pascal.
>
In confusion, they turned to follow his aim, and as horror spread across their faces, Julian slowed his approach and turned himself to look.
And then his heart stopped.
It was Liselle.
The shaft was pointed straight at her.
Pascal roared and dove for the Saluzzo, but with a sickening realization, Julian knew the youth would be too late to stop the bolt on its flight.
There was only one way to ensure Liselle’s safety.
And the decision was a simple one.
In three large strides, Julian threw himself into the bolt’s path, spreading his arms wide. He heard it whistle, and he closed his eyes, praying that it would meet him.
A breath of wind kissed his cheek.
And then his prayers were answered.
The bolt struck him in the chest with such force that he was knocked backwards into the wet grass.
But he felt nothing. He only heard Liselle’s screams.
For a brief moment, he was horrified that the bolt had found her after all, but then his chest exploded with such burning agony that he could only smile, knowing that he had succeeded.
Liselle was safe.
For a brief moment, he opened his eyes to see Pascal running towards him, horror etched upon his face as he shouted, “Have you lost your power of reason, Julian?”
Behind him, Julian was dimly aware of Antonio with a drawn sword, towering over the body of the thick-browed Saluzzo, now lying still on the ground.
And then Liselle’s warm arms were about him, and her face filled his failing vision.
“I love you,” she cried, her hazel eyes bright with tears.
Julian drew his breath sharply as agonizing pain surged through his body. With every ounce of his strength, he managed to wheeze, “Aye, and I love ye, lass.”
And then consciousness slipped from his grasp, and darkness swallowed him.
19
we are revenge
Consciousness came to Julian in momentary flashes.
His chest throbbed in pain. It was difficult to breathe.
There was the soft intonation of a man’s voice giving him the last rites, and then blissful nothingness swept him into its embrace once again.
He woke once more to voices shouting around him. Someone pressed hard upon his chest. The resulting wave of pain caused him to faint.
The moments of lucidity were rare after that. He was distantly aware of someone forcing a bitter liquid between his lips. Repeatedly.
He only knew that it was too hard to breathe. Each breath taxed his strength to the point that he only wished for his agony to end, but it did not. His lungs felt as if they were made of lead.
Time passed.
A woman’s voice that he did not know whispered through his mind, a low voice, speaking as if from a great distance. She spoke words of comfort, words that brought peace.
During the worst of it, he distinctly heard Pascal’s arrogant tones ordering, “You belong to the Vindictam. You cannot die. I will not allow it.”
And then everything became dreamlike and peaceful, seeming to stretch into eternity, until gradually, he became aware of the warmth of the sun upon his face.
Too tired to lift his lashes, Julian lay as he was, enjoying the heat on his skin as he listened to the song of the birds before drifting off to sleep.
When he woke next, he finally succeeded in opening his eyes. He saw first the blue sky framed by a narrow arched window. In the distance he could see Linlithgow Palace, so he realized he must be in the Carmelite friary. Puzzled, he turned his tired gaze upon his bed. He lay under a fox-fur coverlet with his head resting upon the soft luster of a satin pillow.
Moving as if to rise, he gasped at the sudden pain ripping through his chest and collapsed back, overwhelmed by a bout of dizziness.
A soft rustle of skirts hurried to his side, and he opened his eyes long enough to see an ageless woman with raven hair threaded with silver. Her bright blue eyes were kind and intelligent as she placed a cool hand over his forehead.
“Rest, caro.” She sent him a comforting smile. “You will grow strong now. Love has brought you back from death’s door. I knew love would not fail!”
He was too weak to ask who she was or what she meant. His eyes were already closing, and then the peace of sleep carried him away again.
After that, there were several brief flashes of a cowled monk clad in coarse woolen robes, but the thought of love gave him comfort, and he slept for a very long time.
* * *
Julian woke to the soft light of morning.
The heavy weight in his chest was gone, and for several long minutes, he savored the simple joy of breathing.
The ageless raven-haired woman stood at a small table a short distance away. For a time, he watched her select flowers from a basket to grind the petals and stems before she sensed his eyes upon her.
“Good morning, Lord Gray,” she greeted him warmly as she wiped her hands upon an apron covering her skirts. Tucking a silver-threaded lock of hair behind her ear, she picked up an earthenware cup from the table and approached his bedside.
“Drink this, caro,” she ordered briskly, supporting his head with her hand, she pressed the cup to his lips.
Recognizing the bitter taste, he grimaced, but drank half the cup in one gulp.
“Much stronger! Yes, you are much stronger,” she announced, quite pleased. And then with a slight frown, she clucked and shook her head. “You stayed at death’s door far too long, caro.”
Julian frowned, attempting to recall the circumstances of his injury.
And then the events of the Saluzzi and Liselle returned with a rush.
Choking on the remainder of the liquid, he half sat up and gasped, “Liselle! Where is she? Is she harmed—”
“Hush, caro!” The woman laughed. Pushing him back gently, she placed a finger upon his lips and nodded to the other side of the bed. “Liselle is safe. You saved her life. And she has never left your side for many, many days. Not once.”
The effort of turning was a draining one, but worth it upon seeing Liselle’s honey-colored locks fanned out about her delicate face. Though still sitting half in her chair by the bed, she lay sound asleep, her head cradled upon one arm on the pillow next to him.
“She is exhausted,” the raven-haired woman said. Her skirts rustled as she moved to stand behind Liselle’s chair, and a soft expression crossed her face. And then bending down, she lightly kissed the top of her head. “Mia bèla. I had never thought to see her.”
Julian raised a quizzical brow.
Straightening, the woman noticed his curiosity and smiled, a soft dimple graced her cheek. “I am Lady Sutherland,” she said, answering the unspoken question.
Julian’s eyes lit in recognition. While he had only seen Lord Sutherland’s lady once before, he knew her husband quite well. The distinguished noble was one of the most honorable, upright men in Scotland. But Julian’s curiosity only deepened. Why would Lady Sutherland hope to see Liselle?
“My husband has always spoken highly of you,” Lady Sutherland said, moving away and patting his blanket as she headed towards the door. “We can speak more later, caro.”
Julian opened his mouth to call her back, but then a familiar alto voice whispered his name.
“Julian.”
With a one-sided smile creasing his cheek, he turned to see Liselle staring at him in surprise.
Reverently, he lifted his thumb to trace the tears falling down her cheek.
She held still, too overcome to speak for a time. But finally, she reached for a cup and asked, “You have been so feverish! How is your thirst?”
His eyes glinted at that. "Unquenchable,” he said, unable to resist a suggestive reply, but he was taken aback by the weakness in his own voice.
Liselle blinked but did not smile. Instead, she moved to lay her cheek lightly on his shoulder. “We thought you would die,” she said, her voice quivering.
With great effo
rt, Julian lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “The softness of your skin is powerful medicine, lass. I’ll mend quickly now,” he promised.
And then exhausted, he closed his eyes to let sleep carry him away.
After that, his strength returned rapidly, and on a damp gray afternoon several days later, a familiar voice sounded from the door of his chamber.
Glancing up, Julian grinned as Cameron stepped through the doorway. Folding his blue-velvet mantle over his arm, the Earl of Lennox drew his dark brows into a stern line.
“Ach, Julian,” his deep voice disapproved. “But ye fair scared us all, lad! There are less painful ways to lie in bed all day with your lady by your side.” His words were polite, but Julian caught the teasing twinkle in his expressive eyes.
Laughing, Julian cast a quick sidelong glance at Liselle, but she had merely risen to curtsey.
However, Lady Sutherland, sitting in the corner, rolled her eyes, but her words were warm as she said, “My dear earl, it is a pleasure to see you yet again and so soon.”
As Cameron bowed graciously to them both, Julian queried, “So soon?”
Cameron moved to tower over him. “I dinna care to witness a priest reading ye the last rites, lad.” His eyes were serious and filled with deep concern.
“Aye, well, clearly, ‘twas a misjudgment and a bit premature,” Julian replied lightly. Glancing at Liselle, he sent her a reassuring smile.
Following his gaze, Cameron’s carved lips crooked into a smile. “Aye, ‘tis time ye took up other important matters, lad. And I’ll have the king issue ye a decree if that is what it takes.”
Julian raised a questioning brow.
“I do believe Castle Huntly is in need of an heir,” the Earl of Lennox replied with a sly smile.
Julian chuckled, noting a slight shade of pink stealing over Liselle’s face as Lady Sutherland rolled her eyes once more.
“Shall we leave these boys to their discussion, cara?” she asked, looping her arm through Liselle’s to sweep her away.
As they left, Julian watched Liselle with a smile upon his lips. Aye, he could think of nothing more pleasant than to lock himself away with her in a castle. But she had scarcely gone before Cameron turned to tidings of the court.
