Her expression was anxious. “But what if he makes you stay?”
“He will not make me stay if I do not want to. Lord Protector is an honored position, not a prison sentence. He will understand why I cannot accept it. The man is married to a woman he adores, by all reports, so he must understand my position.”
Brighton accepted that. She very much wanted to have faith that everything would turn out just as he said it would. “And when you return, then what?” she asked. “You have spoken of your anger at Richard Gordon. Will you punish him?”
Patrick’s hand moved from her hair to her nose, pinching it gently. “That is for me to decide,” he said, not wanting to frighten her with just how badly he wanted to punish the man. “And that is not something I wish to discuss right now. You know what has happened and you know why your mother prioress betrayed you. I will thank God every night until the day I die that I did not return you to Coldingham when I had the chance. Fortunately, I listened to my instincts. I knew that you were not to return to the priory but I did not know that it was for a far worse reason than I could have ever suspected. Suffice it to say, that you are to remain here as my wife. I will go to London and return as quickly as I can. Then Richard Gordon will know his fate. His scheme against you will not go unpunished.”
Brighton knew this was his general plan because, prior to her being informed about anything, she had heard her husband and his men in the great hall in an intense and loud conversation. It was such a lively discussion that it drew the woman simply from the volume of it. She had heard something said about a bastard paying for his sins, but she’d had no idea why until Patrick had taken her up to their chamber to inform her of a Scots visitor who had spoken of the corruption of Coldingham.
Then, and only then, did Brighton come to realize just how horrible the situation had been and how much her life had been in jeopardy. Just the thought of it made her grow frightened again and she threw her arms around his neck, holding him fast.
“Then it was truly God who sent you to save me that night,” she said, her face pressed into his neck. “Had you not come when you had, I would be a victim to a terrible plot. People I do not even know want to seek vengeance upon me for something I had nothing to do with. Even as you thank God for your reluctance to return me to Coldingham, I will thank Him for sending you as my savior.”
Patrick hugged her tightly, feeling her warmth and life against him, so incredibly grateful. She was healthy and safe, and that was all he cared about. Still, he hated to leave her. It was not something he was looking forward to.
“Then all is well, is it not?” he murmured, kissing the side of her head. “Everything is well, Bridey. You need not worry any longer. Now, we must speak of my journey to London. I have been speaking with my father and he wants to know if you would like to spend your time at Castle Questing while I am away.”
Brighton pulled her face from his neck, looking at him thoughtfully. “Why?”
“He thought you might feel better with my mother and Penelope for companionship.”
She smiled. “That is a kind offer, but I will stay here,” she said. “This is my home, after all. Our home. I have Katheryn and Evie for companionship and I will tend your fortress while you are away. Truly, there is no place I would rather be.”
He smiled, pleased at her words. They touched him deeply. “It is our home, isn’t it?” he said. “But we could live in a cave on the coast and I would still call it home if you were there. Wherever you are, that is my home.”
Brighton kissed him sweetly and hugged him tightly, feeling the pangs of separation already. Sweet Mary, she was going to miss him. Her heart hurt in ways she’d never known it could.
“When will you leave?” she asked.
“The sooner I leave, the sooner I return.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I was thinking on it. I was due to leave in a few days, anyway.”
She groaned softly. “As much as I hate to hear it, I know it is for the best.”
“I believe it is.”
Releasing him from her arms, Brighton crawled from the bed and stood up, going to a dressing table that she’d had the servants drag down from the storage room on the top floor. It was very old, having been some fine lady’s table years ago, perhaps another wife of a commander of Berwick. It was heavy, made of oak, and had faded painted flowers on it. Katheryn had covered it with a white damask cloth, one with lace on the edges, and now the cloth was covered with all of the dressing items that Patrick had purchased for Brighton on their trip to Wooler.
There were combs, ribbons, oils, pins, and even a tiny dagger with a yellow jewel in the hilt. It was a lady’s dagger, very pretty, and Brighton picked it up. Patrick caught the glint of the steel in her hand but before he could say a word, she took the dagger and sliced it through several strands of her hair, cutting it off. Patrick then sat up to watch what she was doing, curiously, and he could see her fussing with it on the dressing table.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked.
Brighton didn’t reply right away. When she eventually turned around, she was holding up the locks of hair all tied up with a small piece of blue ribbon. She went over to the bed, extending it to him.
“Even if I cannot go with you, you can take something of me,” she said, almost shyly. “I have heard that women sometimes do this so their lovers may have a keepsake of their hair. Will you take it with you?”
Patrick looked at the six-inch section of hair, reaching out to take it from her as if she were delivering pure gold into his hands. He held it up to his nostrils, smelling her in the silken strands. It was enough to melt his heart; a gesture that touched him more than words could express.
“I am deeply honored, my lady,” he murmured, kissing the hair. “I could ask for no finer keepsake.”
Brighton smiled, happy that he should be so touched. “Mayhap you will think of me when you touch it, just a little.”
He reached out, pulling her against him, and planted a fairly delicious kiss on her lips. “I do not need a lock of your hair to think of you,” he told her. “I will think of you endlessly while I am away, dreaming of the day I shall return to your arms.”
Brighton quickly succumbed to his kiss, ending up on the bed beside him. He kissed her forehead, each eye, her nose, and finally her lips again. He was about to deliver a far more lusty kiss when there was a knock on the chamber door.
Making a face at Brighton to suggest he was quite perturbed with the interruption, he pushed himself off the bed, listening to her giggles, as he made his way to the door. He yanked it open.
“This had better be good!”
He ended up yelling those words into his father’s face. William’s head actually snapped back a bit at the force of the shout. Sitting on the bed, Brighton burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hands as Patrick appeared sheepish.
“Sorry, Da,” he said. “I thought it might be… oh, hell, it does not matter. How may I be of service?”
William cocked an eyebrow. “I am not quite over you yelling at me.”
Patrick fought off a grin. “Do try,” he said. “How can I help you?”
William could hear Brighton giggling and he peered into the room, smirking when he made eye contact with her. He refocused on his son, crooking a finger and pulling the man out into the hall. Patrick dutifully followed, shutting the door behind him.
“Are you going to beat me now?” he asked warily.
William turned to him. “I am not, although I should.”
Patrick grinned, his mood good. It was always good when he spent time with Brighton. “Then I thank you for your mercy,” he said, no longer wary of why his father called him into the corridor. “How can I help you?”
William looked at his son, seeing such joy in the man’s face. The Patrick he’d known since birth had been a serious and somewhat intense individual, a man who was solely dedicated to the knighthood. But this Patrick was different… joyful, humoro
us, as if he found utter delight in life itself. William couldn’t have been more thrilled to see the change; it did his heart good to finally see his shining star happy.
“Tommy Orry wants to leave,” he said. “He seems to think that the longer he remains here, the more chance there is of it being discovered that he came. I have already given the man a few silver coins but I did not know if you intended to reward him as well.”
Patrick shook his head. “If you have already paid him, then I do not see the need for me to pay him as well,” he said, “but I will see him before he leaves. Where is he?”
“At the gatehouse.”
“Then I will go and see him. I owe the man a debt of gratitude.”
William waited while Patrick stuck his head back into his chamber to tell Brighton that he would return soon. He then followed his father down to the entry level and out into the bailey beyond, which was not particularly busy at this time of day. It was a very warm day and the flies were out in force, buzzing over people and animals, as William and Patrick made their way to the Douglas Tower.
On the way there, they caught sight of Alec upon the battlements, and Hector and Colm near the armory. Patrick didn’t see Anson or Damien but he knew the men were busy, somewhere, seeing to their tasks. He took a moment to drink it all in, this empire he commanded, appreciating it as he’d never appreciated it before. There was such a wonderful, vast world here that he couldn’t imagine being Henry’s Lord Protector would be any greater or make him any happier. Nay, he quite enjoyed his life here at Berwick and his reputation as Nighthawk. The addition of Brighton only made him realize how very special it all was to him and how grateful he was.
Aye, it was a fine and good day.
The cool innards of the guard’s room beckoned and he entered after his father. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He saw Damien in the chamber near Tommy Orry, who was standing near the hearth with a bundle in his hand. When Damien saw William and Patrick enter, he went to the pair.
“The Scot is ready to depart,” he said. “I have provided him with enough provisions to get him back to his home and his horse has been readied.”
Patrick’s gaze lingered on Tommy. The man was still a dozen feet or so away from him. “Did he tell you anything more?” he asked Damien, his voice low.
Damien shook his head, turning away from Tommy as he spoke. “He told you everything,” he said. “I am fairly certain of that. But he did stress how volatile Richard Gordon is. He fears that man a great deal even though he seems to call him a friend.”
“Oh?”
“And there is something else – he told me that he and the mother prioress were fond of each other as children. They were not betrothed, but they were evidently lovers when they were young. That was before she was raped by someone from Clan Haye. That ended everything.”
That information confirmed to Patrick why the mother prioress would be so willing to see harm come to a bastard of the Haye Clan. But it didn’t explain why Tommy, who was supposedly in love with the mother prioress as a child, had betrayed her. But he supposed it didn’t really matter in the end. Putting a hand on Damien to silently thank him for the information, he took a few steps in Tommy Orry’s direction.
Tommy, who had been watching the English knights warily as they whispered to each other, straightened when the big knight came close.
“I’ve given ye all of the information I can,” he said to Patrick. “I must be a-leavin’ lest it be discovered that I came here. That wouldna bode well for me.”
Patrick could see that the man seemed nervous about it. “How would they even know?”
Tommy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Ye dunna know Richie,” he said. “He has gangs of men who do nothin’ but track others and spy upon them. I canna say for sure that I was followed, but ’tis possible. So I must leave.”
Patrick didn’t want to cause the man trouble since he had provided a very valuable piece of information for them, so he simply nodded his head.
“Then go,” he said. “Your horse is prepared. Know that we are grateful for your information.”
Tommy simply nodded, heading quickly from the guard’s chamber and out to his pony. The horse was waiting for him outside.
Without a hind glance at the Sassenachs, Tommy fled the gatehouse. He lost himself in the streets of Berwick, heading for the town gate that would purge him from the city and into the great north beyond.
Home.
‡
It was a very fine day for travel as far as Tommy was concerned. He was barely an hour out of Berwick but he’d made excellent time on his sturdy pony under clear skies and light winds. The land was warm and green, with brooks bubbling deep in their carved-out trenches. His pony had chased a few rabbits out of their dens and birds soared overhead, happy in the sunshine.
In all, it was a lovely day and he was feeling content with himself. Days of battling with his conscience before he decided to ride to Berwick because it was a known de Wolfe property had ended well enough. He’d cleared his conscience and gained a few coins in the process. Although his loyalty should have been to Richard, he simply couldn’t support the man’s idea of crucifying an innocent woman.
Somehow, that kind of brutality pulled them all down into the mud of inhumaneness, and Tommy wasn’t that kind of a man. He had a soul and a heart, and he had compassion. Probably too much at times.
But he feared Richard; most of the men in the clan did. Richard’s father had been only slightly more benevolent but from somewhere in the family lines, Richard inherited an evil streak. Ysabella was simply a pawn in his game.
In a sense, Tommy felt as if he’d scored a victory against Richard by telling the Sassenach of Richard’s plan for the Coldingham lass. Although he never asked where the lass was, something told him she had been at Berwick from the way the knights were reacting to his information. Something told him that there was more to the lass’ presence there than met the eye.
Something personal.
His thoughts were lingering on the mysterious lass that seemed to be so important to not only Richard and Ysabella, but also to the English, too. A postulate that would now need to find a new priory where she could serve. But those were Tommy’s last peaceful thoughts as the foliage in front of him suddenly came alive with red grouse, all of them bursting out of the bushes and flying up to the sky. His pony startled a bit, as did Tommy, so he pulled the horse to a stop and watched the grouse fly off, wishing he had something to kill them with. They would have made a fine supper. But what came shooting out of the foliage next was not so fine.
Men were running out at him and someone knocked him on the back of the head. When Tommy came to, he was lying on his back staring up at Gordon men, men he recognized. But the face he recognized the most was that of Richard Gordon.
Dear God, it canna be!
His heart sank.
“Richie?” he said in disbelief. A hand went to the knot on the top of his head. “What’s happened?”
Richard, swathed in filthy woolens that were dark in color, the type of woolens they wore when he was hunting or had a need for stealth, glared down at Tommy.
“I woulda never believed it had I not seen it with me own eyes,” Richard said with disgust. “Not me Tommy, I would say. He wouldna betray me.”
Tommy’s heart began to pound against his ribs. He didn’t try to sit up, fearful that Richard might take that as a challenge.
“And I wouldna,” Tommy said, trying to sound firm and not frightened. “Why would ye say such things?”
Richard crouched down beside him. He wasn’t wearing braies, simply his woolens, and his dirty, hairy balls were visible as he crouched. Tommy didn’t like having the man so close to him, hairy balls and all.
“I will ask ye this and ye willna lie tae me,” Richard said. “Why did ye go tae Berwick?”
Terror was swelling in Tommy’s chest. “Who told ye I did?”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “I saw ye!” he snapped. “I was
told ye left our village yesterday and ye said nothin’ to me about leavin’, so we followed ye. I couldna imagine where ye might go but we saw ye go intae Berwick. What business did ye have there?”
Tommy wasn’t sure if they actually saw him go into Berwick Castle or simply into the city. The situation might yet be salvageable and he grasped at the hope that all was not lost. But there was a small problem; he never actually thought what to tell Richard or his men if they asked for an explanation. He struggled not to panic as he thought up a reasonable excuse, saying the first thing that came to mind.
“Can a man not go tae town for women he canna find in his own village?” he demanded, trying to make it sound as if he were doing something completely normal. “I went tae seek the comfort of a woman, if ye must know. Dunna tell me mother for she’ll accuse me of lyin’ in filth.”
Richard was unmoved by his speech. In fact, he seemed to grow even more intense. “Men saw ye goin’ tae the castle, Tommy,” he said. “Were there whores in the castle a-waitin’ for ye?”
So now Tommy knew what, exactly, they’d seen and he’d just perjured himself by stating he’d only gone whoring. Before he could open his mouth, a pair of Richard’s men flipped him onto his belly, right on the rocky road, and bent his arms up behind his back. Tommy began to scream.
“Oooch!” he cried as someone pushed his face into the dirt. “Richie! Why, Richie, why?”
Richard stood over Tommy as his men bent his arms back, causing the man to scream in pain. But there was no remorse in Richard’s heart, not in the least.
“Why did ye go tae the castle, Tommy?” he asked calmly.
Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t answer while Richard’s men bent his left arm back so far that they dislocated the elbow. As Tommy’s screams of agony could be heard, the men then flipped him onto his back and extended the dislocated arm as far as it would go. Someone put a foot on Tommy’s wrist, stomping down on it and breaking it when Tommy wouldn’t clearly answer any of Richard’s questions.
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 54
