“I'm glad to hear it!” her uncle smiled. “Our head gardener is growing them. He showed me one and it quite put me off, I must admit. I'm glad I'd not seen it before I tasted it. Like a parsnip, but bright in color.”
“Most unusual,” Leona observed. She was watching Conn and the count.
The count was doing his best to ignore the man beside him entirely. A little reluctance would have been forgivable, since there was no common tongue between them. However, this spilled over from nerves into being rude. He had not even looked at Conn. That was just unmannerly!
“Lord Count,” Leona said, surprising Uncle from his musings. “I think we have not formally introduced our visitors to each other.”
“Oh, yes! Terribly remiss of me,” her uncle said quickly. “My lord Comte, I present Lord McNeil, cousin to our own fair lady Leona. Lord McNeil, um...you don't understand a word of it, but this is his lordship, Guy Ferrand, the count of Cleremont.” He trailed off, hesitant.
Leona held her breath as the count of Cleremont looked at Conn. The two men glared at each other. Leona felt as if the air might crackle, the moment was so tense. No one was making any effort to conceal their dislike. She glanced at her uncle, who was hanging back with the polite smile on his face, looking nervously from the count to Conn. He might have been oblivious to Leona's affections for Conn, but he was alone in that.
“Lord McNeil,” the count said stiffly. He inclined his head a fraction toward Conn. His whole body had gone tight, face tense as if he had bitten something with a bad taste.
“My lord Comte,” Conn inclined his head. His voice was tight.
The Comte gave him a frosty glare, and then sat down beside him again.
He lifted his spoon and resumed eating, forgetting Conn.
Leona glanced at Conn, who raised a brow, making her want to smile. Then he sat and lifted his own spoon and continued sipping the soup as though nothing had happened.
“I'm sure Lord McNeil has much to tell,” Uncle Marc said lightly. “It is a pity he has not the words. Leona. If you could volunteer? Mayhap you can ask our guest about his journey.”
Leona let out a deep breath. She glanced at the Comte, who was glaring at her. She cleared her throat, giving Conn a brittle smile. “My lord? You had fair weather for the ride?”
“I did,” Conn said. He looked into her eyes and then it was impossible for Leona not to smile. He was giving her such a wicked grin. She bit her lip, blushing furiously. “It was a pleasant trip, though the welcome was more so.”
Leona gave him a glare, and then turned to her uncle. “He says the weather was pleasant, my lord, and that your manor house is lovely.”
The Comte sniffed dryly. Leona shot him a look. He gave her a blank glance.
“I thought he may have said something else,” the Comte said mildly. “It seemed a long speech for so small a comment.”
“My cousin is very verbose, sir,” Leona said smoothly.
Her uncle smiled. “Verbose, eh? A good word. Now, if I'm not mistaken, our cook should have prepared those capons for dinner. Quite wonderful. Ah!”
Ferriers appeared as if summoned by magic, and started to take away the soup dishes. Leona had not finished hers yet, and sipped it delicately, at once loving the fact that Conn was there and wishing they were elsewhere alone.
“Ah! Capital!” her uncle interrupted her thoughts, glancing behind her.
The soup dishes removed, a group of two servants brought in the capon, steaming and delicious. Leona was glad everyone's attention had diverted to the meal. Even the Comte seemed more interested in where the game had been hunted than in victimizing Conn. Leona relaxed.
At the end of the meal, as they sat relaxing over nuts and stewed fruit, Uncle Marc cleared his throat. “Apologies, my young guests; but I shall retire early. I have business with my steward tomorrow and wish to be alert. If you will excuse me?”
“I would accompany you, Lord Comte; I have a matter to discuss.” Lord Ferrand's eyes moved meaningfully to Conn and Leona tensed. She saw him stand and follow her uncle out.
Conn and Leona looked at each other over the table.
Leona felt a smile split her face. “Conn,” she murmured. “I am so glad you're here.”
“I, too, Leona. I can think of nothing nicer than being here,” he said fervently.
Leona smiled. “With better company, mayhap?”
“Not even that spoils things. Leona...” His voice raw with longing, he stood and moved around the table, then took a seat beside her.
Their hands reached for each other and she leaned forward even as Conn moved to her. They kissed.
Leona felt a wild excitement as they kissed in what was, more or less, the full public. Her uncle or the count could return at any moment! The servants might, or Father Reynard. It didn't matter.
“Leona...” Conn's voice was rough as he stroked her hair, slowly smoothing it off her brow.
“Conn.” She gripped his strong-muscled fingers, holding tightly.
Someone moved in the hallway and the two of them guiltily moved apart. Ferriers appeared, two servants with him, trays ready, clearing the table.
“We should go,” Leona murmured.
“Yes.”
Neither moved for a moment.
“Leona,” Conn whispered as they stood.
“Yes?”
In the hallway, they met and embraced, then drew hastily apart at the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Tomorrow,” Conn whispered. “We should leave.”
“Yes,” Leona whispered back.
They looked around, and then tiptoed to an antechamber.
“Leona,” Conn said, facing her. “That man knows. I feel it.”
“I know,” Leona nodded. He was right.
“We have to go soon.”
“I know,” Leona agreed. “I have been planning an escape for days. Before you arrived, even.”
“You did?” Conn stared, amazed. “Well, thank Heaven you didn't! I might have missed you.”
Leona giggled. “Oh, Conn.” She flushed, realizing how much he must have wanted to see her.
“What were you going to do?”
Leona told him. When she was done, he looked at her with such admiration she felt herself grow red with blushing.
“That's brilliant!” Conn replied. “We could use that. We must do as you planned, only together. And we'll ride, taking horses from the stables.”
“Yes,” Leona agreed. She could not quite believe that she had planned it alone. It would be impossibly risky without someone armed and able-bodied with her.
“Well, then,” Conn grinned. “My brilliant, brilliant woman! Show me this secret door.”
“I cannot risk it now,” Leona said, feeling scared. “We should go tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” Conn agreed. “We can spend the day preparing – we need provisions, horses, and we should dress carefully – we can take only what we wear.”
“Yes. And we will need silver,” Leona reminded him. “For accommodations, meals, and passage.”
Conn grinned, her heart dancing to see the familiar quirked line of it. “My brilliant woman,” he said again.
Leona flushed. “Whist,” she said, flapping a hand at him as her cheeks flamed hotly. “I'm no more brilliant than you are.”
“Yes you are,” he said, his face soft. “Yes, you are.”
He leaned over and his lips found hers, hungry and warm. Leona felt her body melt under the touch of them, her pulse throbbing as he drew her into his arms.
“When will we go? Seven of the clock? Tomorrow dusk?” Conn asked.
“Yes,” Leona agreed. “Seven of the clock.” They had planned to leave in the evening, just when the day darkened a little. That way, it was still bright enough to see by, but dark enough to blend into shadow.
They faced each other in the darkness of the chamber. Leona's heart was pounding with apprehension and excitement. She looked into his bright eyes and felt her whole being overflow with it
.
“We are going to do this, my love,” he whispered, echoing her thought.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes we shall. We'll be gone by seven, on the road to our future.”
“Yes. Our future.”
They clasped hands. Conn's fingers were warm on hers as he stroked them, the tenderness in every line of his face. “Leona,” he whispered raggedly.
“Conn.”
He kissed her and she leaned against him, feeling her lips devour his with a wild urgency. Her heart thumped in her chest and she held him tight, reveling in the feel of his hard body against hers.
“We should go,” she whispered as they stepped apart. “Our absence will be noted.”
“Yes,” Conn nodded. “Until tomorrow, my love.”
“Yes.”
As Leona slipped into the corridor behind Conn, she thought she caught sight of a shadow in the hallway. The slight swing of a cloak, as if someone stood in the darkened doorway of the solar. Whoever it was, they hardly moved. As if they strained to hear.
Probably the curtain twitching in the summer air.
She stood there, watching the shadows.
“What?” Conn asked.
“Wait,” Leona whispered.
When nothing moved for a full minute, she decided she was probably imagining it.
“What was it, my dear?”
“Nothing,” she dismissed it. Her heart was too full of excitement to pay it heed. “Goodnight.”
“Sleep soundly,” he whispered back.
They parted at the top of the stairs. She went to her bedchamber, he to his. However, she could not find rest. Allie helped her to disrobe and she sat in bed trying to sew in the half-light of the lamps and fires, hoping it would calm her nerves.
Tomorrow I could be gone from here. We could be together. Heading home.
She had never felt so excited or so scared about anything before. It was risky. It was dangerous. Nevertheless, they had to do it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DANGER IN THE WOODS
DANGER IN THE WOODS
The dusk lay heavy on the fields. A warm and gauzy blanket, it stilled sound and blurred the forest into drowsy shadows. A cricket sang in the long grass and somewhere a nightingale called. Conn, clad in a warm cloak and his riding clothes, paced beside the stables, craning his eyes to see the main body of the house.
“Come on, Leona.”
Conn whispered it into the cool evening, stamping in place to keep his feet warm.
I hope she can escape undetected.
Conn sighed. He trusted Leona more than he trusted himself. The secret door, the silver, the stables...all had been part of her plan! He was always far less able to make plans than she was. When they were little, even his schemes for stealing jam tarts always went wrong.
Of course she will make it.
All the same, it felt like she was late. He couldn't help a shiver, feeling a sort of eerie foreboding. Conn paced anxiously, wishing he could see the sundial from here. He was sure she was too late.
Fat lot of help it'd be, Conn! There's no sun.
He shook his head at himself. It showed how jumpy he was.
In his mind, he ran through the route, hoping they'd have time to do it all without pursuit. The plan was simple: They would ride from the manor to the wooded hills and hide there the night, following the road to the abbey, where they would rest in the morning. Conn knew the way, having ridden it two days before. He knew they would be able to pass virtually unseen.
“Come on, Leona.”
He breathed warm breath onto his fingertips, chafing them against the evening chill. She should be here by now. Where was she? He tiptoed forward and risked peering round the side of the stable, looking along the path from the arbor.
All is in place. We should go soon.
He walked to where he had left the horses tethered by the gate around the back.
Footsteps.
It was an unmistakable sound, the sigh of boots over grass, the trudging rhythm. He tensed, listening. Whoever this was, they were small, lightly-built. They were coming fast across the grass.
Leona!
Conn peeped out from round the stables, just in time to see her running toward him. She had a gray riding-cloak on, hood thrown back, her flame-colored hair loose.
“Conn!”
“Leona...”
That was when he saw the shadow. Tall, and menacing. It was someone lurking round the side of the barn. As he drew a breath the silhouette shot out and a hand grabbed Leona's arm. Whoever it was, they dragged her back, away from him.
Leona screamed-
“Leona! Hold on!”
Conn grabbed her hand, but whoever it was had wrapped their arms around her waist and jerked her backward from him, breaking his grasp. Conn swore. Grabbed a staff. He felt the prickling of rage and then lost all restraint and ran, roaring, at her assailant. “Hey!”
Conn cracked the staff against the head of the shadowy figure, who roared and, drawing Leona in front of him to act as a shield, paced back. The man was tall, with a thin, harsh face. He had been a boxer, perhaps; his nose was bent as if it had been broken; arms huge.
“Conn! Help...” Leona whispered it wordlessly.
He looked at her, helpless. He could do nothing! The fiend had positioned her in front of himself and any blow to him would hit Leona. Conn would not risk hitting her. He ran around behind the man, planning to head him off before he reached the copse of trees.
That was when something from high above him hit him very hard on the head. Conn staggered forward. He saw stars. Tasted blood and spat, then jerked upright. He was on his knees. “Leona! No!”
He scrambled up in time to see the tall man lift Leona. He was standing just across from Conn and had her on his shoulder. He passed her up to a man on horseback; a man armed with a staff, who had just hit Conn. A man who smiled at Conn in that familiar way that froze his blood.
“Greetings,” he shouted to Conn in Gaelic.
Conn felt his heart fall through the floor. “You bastard!” he shouted at the Comte. He ran to his horse, but the Comte was galloping away, Leona slung across his saddle, bright hair loose, hanging down.
Conn reached his horse and mounted fast, riding to catch up with the count and his tall, silent assistant, who had mounted too, and was speeding after him.
“Yah!” Conn shouted. He leaned forward and drew in a breath, urging his horse alongside the Comte He could see Leona, hanging over the front of the saddle, bright hair swaying with every jolt of the ride.
Just as he closed the gap, the tall man with the broken nose wheeled round, drawing a sword. Conn drew his. The blades ran across each other, striking sparks. Conn grunted, feeling the blow jar his arm. He wrenched his blade around, raising it for another strike, but the man had spurred away.
“Hey!” Conn screamed. He rode down the path that led to the gates of the estate, racing, trying to catch the two men. The Comte had a head start, but he was carrying two people on his horse and it was quite possible Conn could catch him.
As he closed the gap, the man was there before him again.
Conn shouted at him, raising the sword, but the man raised his too, horse rearing to allow his rider a better aim. As the blade sliced into Conn's arm he shouted in alarm. He felt no pain, not really – just a dull blow. The man wrenched the blade back and then he was riding off.
Conn saw him go, feeling dazed. Then the pain seared into him. He cried out and his arm let go of the reins, his fingers suddenly weak. He reached his other hand to his shoulder, letting the sword drop. His fingers came away red with blood.
“Oh, no,” Conn said in a small voice. “Bastard!”
He could not reach them now. There was no way. He was wounded – badly – and he was all alone in a foreign land. He had made an enemy of Leona's uncle and lost her for good.
“I am such a fool,” he said. He shook his head at himself, bitter and despairing. “I am a fool.”
He turned his horse, guiding them back toward the manor. He had nowhere else to go. If his shoulder was not bandaged soon, he might collapse from loss of blood. And that would be fatal in the woods at night.
I need to get to Cleremont. He will take Leona there. I'll find her.
He gritted his teeth. His shoulder was searing agony, a burning, aching pain as if knives cut it as he rode. He slipped from the saddle and walked, leading his horse with his right hand, trying to ignore the agonizing pain in his left arm.
“Not too long now...not too long.”
He made it a litany, repeating over and over as he walked to the manor. The last thing he remembered was the light at the doorway and someone stepping out as it opened to his knocks and shouts.
“My lord McNeil!” the voice said.
Conn tried to focus on the tall, brown-clad figure, but he could not make his eyes do as he bid them. He closed them and let himself sink, slowly, into dark. Everything went black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ON THE WAY
ON THE WAY
The wind streamed past Leona's face. The ride jolted her every bone. She was hanging down over the saddle, her hands heavy and cold, her head loose and thudding against the side of the horse, the scent of dust in her nose.
“Help!”
Her every vein coursed with terror, her whole body stiff with it. She knew who it was who rode the horse over which she was slung. The count of Cleremont.
He found out about Conn and me. He couldn't risk my escape.
The listener in the other room had been him. It was clear. She would have cried aloud with her rage, had her throat not been tense with fear. Where was he taking her? And why?
“Master?”
“Yes, Rogier?”
“I stopped him. None follow us.”
“Good.”
Leona felt her blood turn to ice. They had hurt Conn. What if he was dead? What did they do? “Conn..?”
The cry escaped her lips unasked. Above her, someone laughed harshly.
“You think he will rescue you, eh? I think not. Rogier has taken care of that...eventuality.”
The Highlander’s Dilemma (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 13
