To Every Love, There is a Season

by Marissa St. James

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The tower guard stepped carefully along the walk overlooking the courtyard, and shivered despite the heavy hauberk beneath his cloak. He turned quickly and leaned over the railing, holding out his torch to better see the area below. He searched for the sound he thought he had heard. One squire, muttering to himself, hurried along to the barracks, his footsteps crunching on the thin layer of snow. Seeing the boy, the guard relaxed as his breath turned into fog in the cold night air. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he continued his rounds.

  Three figures huddled deep within the shadows of the recessed wall. The fine powered snow had been trampled, hiding traces of their presence. Dark hooded cloaks kept them hidden from the guards on duty. The leader glanced upward and listened for the guard to continue his rounds. He kept his voice to a bare whisper. “Show us this room you spoke of,” he told one of his companions.

  The second man nodded and took the lead. Staying close to the outer wall, they continued moving in darkness until they reached a shadow stretching across the courtyard. One at a time, each figure kept low, and darted silently across the cobblestones, to a side entrance leading into the chapel. Their booted feet made sharp crunching sounds on the snow crust, as they slipped on the frozen ground. The leader used hand gestures to keep their voices from carrying back to the watch on the crisp night air. He entered first, and grabbed an unlit torch from its wall sconce. His companions quickly followed, their heads turning from side to side, being watchful of any unexpected passersby.

  "There is a room below the chapel no one knows about. We can stay there for a time, while we decide our next move."

  He used a candle from the corner devotional to light the torch, before going through a low doorway in the front part of the chapel. The three men carefully descended the steep, narrow staircase. The close walls exuded cold and damp, and a draft drifting between unmortared stones, teased at the flickering torch.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the leader hesitated and glanced from left to right, as if trying to decide which door to open. “That one,” he pointed to the left, “goes through the walls, and will take you most anywhere in the castle. This one...” He stopped speaking long enough to put his weight against the second door and push it open. Stiff leather hinges creaked with cold and disuse. He entered the tiny room, set the torch in the wall sconce and turned to his friends, as they crowded into the small space. Cobwebs, draped across the shadowed corners, shifted heavily when the door opened, like delicate cloth slowly fluttering in a breeze. They coughed on the stagnant air and raised dust clouds when they entered.

  The second man dropped a sack, waited for the dust to settle, then knelt on the cold floor. Using his dagger, he sliced up the bread and cheese, and divided the bits of venison into three portions. They were grateful to have found a pretty serving girl, more than willing to smuggle the extra food to them. It would have to suffice until they completed their mission. One man took his share then hunkered down with his back against the far wall, where it was a little warmer.

  "You are sure she is here?” More than once he had asked the same question. It was hard to believe he would be with her soon. He rubbed at his graying head, tired from the long journey.

  The third man refused the offering held out to him and drew back his hood. “Save it for me until I return. There is something I must do.” He pulled his cloak tighter around him, warding off the cold.

  "Yes. She has been her for years.” Pulling back his hood, the blond speaker sighed. How many times had that question been asked, and yet he couldn't blame his uncle. After what they all had been through, it was hard to believe they were finally back. “It is good to be within these walls again. There was a time I did not think we would ever see them again.” He turned to his brother-in-law and grinned. “There is that look in your eyes again. You are going to Ellen."

  "I will know the truth before I continue with our plan. Get some rest while you can. We have unfinished business to attend to shortly.” David left Gordon and Will in the small chamber and ventured out to the opposite door. Years before, Gordon had shown David a few passages riddling the castle walls. The one David entered now was unfamiliar to him, but led to the upper levels and connected to several chambers above the great hall. Ellen's chamber was one of them. Gordon had laughed as he recalled being tempted to use the passage, but had resisted, knowing the consequences would have been severe if he had been caught. And he would have been caught sooner or later, for Hugh's guards missed nothing.

  David blindly made his way along the second passage, bracing his hands on the walls as he moved slowly. The pitch blackness was disorienting, but as long as he felt the cold stones beneath his hands, he knew he could find his way. He slid his feet along the floor until he came up against the bottom step of another staircase. He tread the steps carefully, making his way up through the darkness, determined to find Ellen, and discover if his claim was still valid. He was not sure what he would do if she no longer loved him. Granted, she believed her husband had been dead these last months. How would she react when she discovered he lived?

  Jane stood slowly, her joints protesting their stiffness from sitting too long on the low stool in the chilled room. She was satisfied Ellen remained in a deep sleep. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have made a strong enough potion to keep Ellen asleep throughout the next day, missing the wedding. Jane would do almost anything to spare her sweet lady from a miserable future. Good sense told her there was nothing to be done. If only David and Gordon had survived the attack that day, there would be no reason for tomorrow's farce of a marriage.

  The middle aged woman glanced about the room, her senses prickling. Had she heard something, like shuffling footsteps? She could not be sure and shook her head, as if to shake off an ill feeling. She was, undoubtedly, imagining treachery where there was none. Tomorrow's events had the duke's entire household on edge. The entertainment in the great hall had long since died down. Perhaps it was just the last of the guests finding their drunken way to their beds—those fortunate enough to have a bed to fall on to. Most of the knights and men-at-arms made pallets on the floor of the great hall, rolling up in blankets to ward off the chill. The hearth fire would have been replenished and would be burning brightly. Jane left the room and made her way slowly to her own bed. The hour was late and there was much to be done in the morning, before the noon wedding.

  * * * *

  One edge of the tapestry shifted away from the wall and David slipped out from behind it, leaving the hidden door slightly ajar. He moved deeper into the room, then stopped, when he saw Ellen moving restlessly in her sleep. Her long hair lay loose about her shoulders, caught up in the edge of the cloak she kept wrapped snuggly about her. Light from the thick bedside candle created hollowed shadows in her pale features. He could not see her hand as it slowly slipped beneath her pillow, carefully sliding out a dagger, which she kept hidden there. He never thought to prepare himself against an attack from her.

  David had no way of knowing Ellen kept the weapon close at all times because she never trusted Nicholas not to sneak into her bedchamber some night. He could not see how she held the weapon in a tight grip as she continued to feign sleep, and waited for him to move closer. He could not hear her heart pounding. He knew nothing of the skills Stephen had taught her, or that those same skills were about to be tested on him. How could he know she was preparing to show Nicholas he was about to take on more than he bargained for? David was unaware of the changes in Ellen, of her determination to prove she was not the weak woman others believed her to be. How could he know, that at this moment, she steeled her mind to drive the dagger home and end her agony once and forever. Did she hate the man she was to wed on the morrow? Had he known what she was up to, he would have supported her right to defend herself against any intruder into her private chambers. As he moved across the room, barely disturbing the rushes, he would have been surprised if he could have read her thoughts. Come forth you s
on of a troll, come get what you well deserve! David was not as prepared to confront his wife as he believed.

  The dark shadow stopped beside the table and looked at the untouched tray. He picked up a fruit pastry and bit into it, then picked up the goblet and sniffed the faint scent of herbs. He glanced at the sleeping form as he replaced the full cup. The figure on the bed moved restlessly. He finished the pastry, then leaned over the lightly sleeping form.

  In the next moment, David found himself lying on the cold stone floor among the rushes, a stunned look on his shadowed face. A weight settled on his middle, while a dagger point dug menacingly at his throat. He lay still a moment longer. His hands flew up and grabbed at Ellen's hands. A tight grip on the small wrist forced the dagger to fall to the floor, as well as pull strands of long dark hair. David winced as Ellen screeched with the unexpected pain, then quickly flipped her over onto her back. He tried desperately to still the flailing arms and legs, and silence the curses before someone arrived to rescue her. “Stop,” he warned sharply as he held both her wrists above her head, and straddled her hips. When the wriggling figure finally slowed and stopped, David gently brushed bedraggled hair from the thin face. “You defend yourself well, my lady,” he acknowledged hoarsely. He lowered his head closer to hers, but his face remained in shadow, while the eyepatch continued to conceal his identity.

  The slight figure beneath his weight stopped squirming when he spoke. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes as she stared into the hidden features. “What do you want here? I could call out to the guard and have you imprisoned."

  "And think of the adventure you would miss, my lady. Perhaps a quick tumble before your wedding day?” The gypsy sneered at her.

  She worked one hand free, and swung, slapping him hard. Her own hand stung from the contact, but the satisfaction was well worth it. She felt him recoil in surprise at the blow, as his hand came up quickly and again ensnared her hands in his tight grip. She watched as the silhouette of one hand went to his face and rubbed the heated handprint he must have. “Take what you want from my chambers, but leave me be. It is enough I must be married tomorrow. For months I clung to the hope my husband was alive and would return, but now I know it was a foolish hope. Do what you will and be gone. I hope you are caught by the guards and swiftly hung."

  .David removed the dagger from her hand and placed it gently out of reach, but not before examining the hilt. “This might fetch a good price. But perhaps I will keep it for myself.” He stuck the weapon in his belt. “Where did you learn to wield a knife and defend yourself? Never mind. It might be better I do not know."

  "My father's best friend has been teaching me over the years, since I was twelve,” she sniffed indignantly.

  He stared at her. “Stephen Hunter? And your father approved?"

  "Well, he's never raised any objections. None I have heard, at least."

  David hid his surprise at this information. Did Hugh know about it? He must know, for Ellen could never hide anything from her father for long. Did she wonder at his mention of Stephen's name? Perhaps it was not so strange. Stephen was well known throughout the borderlands for his service to her father. Ellen bucked against him, trying to dislodge his weight. He shifted his body as he sat on the cold floor and rested against the side of the bed.

  "Had my husband not been killed,” she added, “tomorrow would not be about to happen."

  David's warm smile disappeared, as he stared at feminine features in the dim candlelight. Shadows cast across half her face gave her features a hollow, eerie appearance. “Do you wish this marriage on the morrow, my lady?"

  "Did I not just say as much? Not that it is any of your affair,” she replied vehemently. “The king has commanded it; I have no choice but to obey. Even Bishop Renfrew will officiate to be sure I obey the king. Nicholas may force this marriage, but he will never have my heart."

  "Why did you choose tomorrow?” A wedding planned for the next day seemed the ultimate insult, and a shred of doubt assailed him.

  "I did not. Nicholas chooses it to mock me. He would not allow me my full year of mourning. He has such great hatred for my husband, he wants to destroy my memories of him and our short marriage. I swear to you, no matter what he does, he can never make me forget."

  We had so little time to love, Sprite, but you are mine for all eternity, as I am yours. David resisted the need to reach out and wrap his arms about Ellen's waist, drawing her down to his side. He wanted to hold her close for a moment, to feel again, her warmth and love for him. He wanted to kiss her and make up for all the months they had lost her. If only ... if only the last few months had never happened, he and Ellen would still be in Scotland, perhaps with a child now. He closed his eyes a moment, breathing in the unique scent of her, wanting to reach out and never let her go. He felt the pain behind her tears as they glistened on her cheeks in the dim candlelight. He dared stay for a moment longer.

  A feather light touch brushed across Ellen's cheek as he wiped away the tears. She would assume the worst right now, but there was no time to tell her his plan. It might be better to leave things as they were so she would give nothing away. Weep no more, my little sprite. I promise to take away your heartache, very soon.

  David moved away from his young wife and rose from the cold floor. How was it, it had not seemed cold the last few minutes, but now he felt the draught. He picked Ellen up and placed her on her bed, within the folds of the earlier discarded cloak. He wrapped her within the warm garment, then reached down to retrieve the dagger from the rushes and slipped it back under her pillow.

  "Take what you will and be gone,” Ellen resignedly told the intruding gypsy. “But you must leave quickly before I change my mind and call the guard. My betrothed would gladly take a sword to you."

  David sat beside her and dared to stroke her cheek, taking pleasure in the way she reluctantly closed her eyes and sighed at his touch. I will not be far, Sprite. I would stay with you now, if I could, but I do not want anyone to know I've returned. You have always been strong, and I need you to be strong a little while longer. David paused. “Tell no one I was here, or it will go badly for you,” he warned gruffly. The threat sounded foolish, even to him, and he berated himself for giving voice to it.

  Ellen opened her mouth as if to object. “You are right, Gypsy,” she mocked. “To call out now would only ensure your imprisonment and likely get you hanged."

  David leaned over his wife and kissed her forehead, reluctant to leave her. “You are as brave as a gypsy woman. Sleep now, my lady and dream sweet dreams of me,” he whispered in her ear, putting a hint of arrogance in his voice. Holding her close, he remained still, listening to her breathing as she drifted off to sleep.

  David took a step back from the bed and stood beside it, his fists clenched at his sides. Visions of Ellen were all that had kept him alive these past months, strengthening his determination to return to her. Now he was sure, Nicholas had been behind the attack on him and Gordon.

  Looking down at his wife, David found it hard to believe how pale and thin she had become. Shadows beneath her eyes made her look much older than her eighteen years. He used to wonder if she truly loved him, or if he were some image of an ideal. There were still niggling doubts in his mind. Even if she no longer wanted him, David intended to go through with his plan and put at end to the treachery at Ravencliff. If all went well, he would face Nicholas. Tomorrow, things would finally be put to rights.

  David went to the window and knelt before the old chest. He rummaged through the contents and stopped a moment when he heard Ellen shift position as she fell into an exhausted sleep. When she stilled, he returned to his search. He was not sure what he could find of use, or if he could find anything to make himself presentable. Moments later, he sat back on his heels, surprised at what lay near the bottom of the chest. The clothing he had worn when he married Ellen, lay neatly folded. They would more than do for what he had in mind. He carefully bundled up the clothing, and prepared to leave the same
way he had entered the room.

  He had to look at Ellen one more time before he left her, and stepped to the side of the bed. David reached down and drew strands of her chestnut hair through his fingers. It had been too long since he had last touched the silken softness. Tucking the bundle of clothing under one arm, David picked up the lit candle and made his way to the hidden passage. He would have preferred to remain with his wife, but he could not afford to be found in her bedchamber. David pushed the tapestry aside and slipped into the black passage leading back to the room beneath the chapel. Today's journey had been long and he needed to sleep. Too soon he would be facing the man who presumed to claim his wife.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jane slipped into the still dark bedchamber and replaced the tray left the night before. One of the tarts was gone. Perhaps Ellen had awakened during the night, hungry enough to eat that little bit. She glanced about the room, but could not find the candle she had left at Ellen's bedside. Jane shook her head knowing that forgetfulness was not a problem. Mayhap one of the other maids had come in earlier and taken the candleholder away. Well, never mind. There were more important things to tend to than worry about a missing candle.

  Soft sobs disturbed the silence and Jane hurried to the bedside. “Oh, my lady, you have been weeping again. Your poor face is puffy.” The maid tsked, looked into Ellen's red rimmed eyes and saw a mix of emotions. Ellen was sitting up, the covers draped over her legs, her arms clasped about them. She rested her chin on her knees. When Ellen made no response, Jane knew only one thing could have brought tears to her dear lady's eyes. The young woman wet a square of cloth in the basin of water, hoping the cold would ease the puffiness.