Helen’s groan of pain interrupted Evangeline’s troubled thoughts. The threadbare dress she had pulled over her head hung loosely on her slim frame. Her friend grimaced and rubbed her shoulder.
Evangeline had noticed Helen’s many bruises at the river. The result of her cruel husband’s continued abuse. She’d refrained from commenting then and did so again now. Her protest would be useless as long as her friend was determined to honor her wedding vows to God and the church. There was nothing she could do to free Helen short of running a sword through the wicked man. Helen insisted God had a plan that would make all things right, but her faith had always been stronger than Evangeline’s.
Evangeline traded her guise as the Fox with that of a nun’s habit. Anger burned through her veins. She was as helpless to fix Helen’s marriage as she’d been to fix her own.
Against all odds, she and Helen had grown up as close as sisters. Helen was a third-generation slave. Her grandmother had been captured as a child during a raid by the English into Scottish territory. She and many others were claimed as spoils and sold as property afterward. Evangeline’s grandfather bought the captives and put them to work constructing Brighton Castle, which had been built as a fortress to guard the border in a remote wilderness where English laborers were few.
Evangeline, the privileged only child and heir of the third Lord of Castle Brighton, could trace both sides of her lengthy ancestry to kings and noblemen. Yet, for her and Helen, loneliness crossed all man-imposed boundaries. Helen knew Evangeline better than anyone and loved her like a sister, in spite of the trouble Evangeline’s more adventurous nature had gotten them into during their youth.
After the death of her mother, Evangeline rebelled against her elderly aunt’s cruel determination to take her mother’s place and make her a lady, by learning how to use weapons instead of needlepoint. Because of his sympathy for her cause, the captain of the guard had reluctantly agreed to show both girls how to use a sword, daggers, bow and spear. As they advanced in proficiency, so did the intensity of their lessons. Evangeline loved the strategy of sparring, as much as the opportunity to escape the bitter, old woman’s domination.
With her peace-loving nature, Helen had been a more reluctant participant in learning the art of war, but she had remained a faithful friend, knowing that being caught would result in severe punishment for all involved.
This time was different.
“I recognize that look of determination.” A scowl on her face, Helen stood with arms again crossed, this time with impatience.
“It was a shock to see Henry in that carriage!” Evangeline’s once velvet voice, scorched by the smoke and flames that almost took her life, was now hoarse with emotion and barely audible. “You heard the child’s cry.” She finished dressing and kissed the large cross before slipping it around her neck. Memories of the events surrounding the birth of her child now flooded her thoughts. Those deepest hurts had been too grievous to share even with her best friend. She paced to the doorway of the ruins.
“Do ye think the child in the carriage is yours?” At Helen’s touch, Evangeline flinched.
“Yes. I felt it in here.” She wheeled around, her fists pressed against her chest. “Her cries tugged at my heart until I feared it would burst from me.” She hugged her empty arms around her midriff feeling the painful memories rise from the ashes of her past. “I don’t know. I was very weak from the long labor and difficult delivery.” She paused to swallow her misery. “It’s a blur of fragmented words of overheard conversations. My widowed sister-in-law, Millicent, kept my trusted servants from my bedside after the birth.” Evangeline’s breath caught. “She told me…” The anguish clawed at her throat. “She told me my baby had died and they were tending to her for burial.” The cross bit into her palm. “That woman taunted me for days afterward with dire predictions that I, like my mother, would never give my husband an heir. She said Henry hated…”
Evangeline’s hand shook as she positioned the thin veil that pock victims often used to hide their scarred faces. Her face had miraculously escaped being burned, but she needed the protection of the veil to avoid being recognized by many in the castle and region where she had grown up. The changes in her voice kept even her blind father from knowing her true identity.
“Your husband thought you dead. Might he have wed again and the child be of that union?” Helen’s voice was soft with reason.
Determination overrode the doubt that plagued Evangeline.
“Millicent lied about so many things.” Her gravelly tone deepened with intent. “I shall find out the truth, either through my guise as Sister Margaret Mary, or, if need be, with my sword as the Fox.”
Chapter 2
Henry Stanton cradled his daughter, Sarah, protectively against his chest as the carriage swerved and bumped its way over the badly rutted road. She smiled up at him with emerald eyes that were just like her mother’s. Her trust soothed his grieving heart but also stirred up the reminders of the many mistakes he’d made. If only…
A shout alerted him. He looked out of the carriage window, as his guard raced up to ride along side.
“Lord Stanton, I fear we are being chased by bandits. Arm yourself and prepare for battle.” The young guard, whose name slipped Henry’s mind, yelled up at the driver to flee. The carriage lurched forward and the guard held his mount back in ready to defend his charges.
Henry handed the baby to her nursemaid. They had passed the castle guards a mile back. The captain was berating a farmer as his men ransacked the poor man’s wagon. How had the bandits slipped by them?
“We’re all going to die!” the young woman screeched. Eyes wide with fright, she clutched the child to her chest. The carriage bounced and tipped dangerously to one side as it made a sharp bend in the road. The nursemaid’s whines escalated into screams of hysteria, which started the baby wailing. No amount of Henry’s reassurance calmed either. The confined space quickly became unbearable.
“Stop that caterwauling, Rebecca. You are frightening the child.” He smacked his sword loudly against the seat beside her. The shocked nursemaid’s wails stopped immediately, turning into tear-filled mews. The rocking back and forth of the carriage movement helped his daughter to calm.
“Get on the floor and cushion the baby with your body.” He leaned out the window and watched in horror as five armed bandits surrounded the lone guard, separating him from the carriage and bringing him to a halt.
Daniel. Henry remembered his name. The young man’s efforts were valiant, but he was badly outnumbered. Daniel fought off two others, but a bandit wearing a black patch over his right eye rode up from behind and, without hesitation, ran him through with his sword. His anguished cry pierced the air, followed by shouts of triumph from the brigands.
Henry’s gut soured with regret. He would reward the young man’s family generously for his bravery, unless… What if they didn’t make it to the safety of the castle? The thought turned his blood cold.
A glance down at his precious daughter ignited the fire of fight through his veins.
How much farther to Brighton Castle?
The carriage again tipped as the driver whipped the horses around another curve, but it righted and kept going.
Was the attack merely to rob, or was there a more sinister plot at hand? There was one way to find out. He pulled out a small bag of gold coins from his pocket. The bulk of the gold he’d brought was intended to help his father-in-law and was hidden in a secret compartment beneath the floor. Inside this one leather pouch was enough gold to pay five men’s wages for a year. A cheap price if it secured his daughter’s safety.
He opened the bag and grabbed several coins. Without hesitation, he flung them out the carriage window onto the road behind them, then more coins and again until the pouch was empty. Angry shouts drew closer, but the brigands didn’t stop to pick up the gold.
He had his answer. This was not a robbery but a kidnapping at best or an assassination at worst. He flexed his fi
ngers before tightening on his sword’s hilt. He would fight them all, if necessary, to protect his only child.
“Stop the carriage!” The one-eyed bandit raced up alongside and pointed his sword at the driver.
“Alfred, keep going!” Henry yelled. He turned to the nursemaid cowering on the floor and handed her his dagger.
“Protect my daughter with your life.” He frowned at the pale, whimpering woman. Despite the nod, her efforts would be futile, unlike his beautiful Evangeline, who could have fought beside him as his equal to defeat an army of brigands. Regret burned deep in his gut. He would never again let anything happen to those he loved, not as long as he had breath.
The carriage rocked to one side as if being boarded. Alfred’s yell of protest was followed by the man’s scream in pain. The carriage lurched to the right and stopped. Henry leapt out, sword readied.
“So, Lord Stanton, do you think you can kill us all before we take what we want?” One-eye laughed and rode up to meet him. The loudmouthed leader had a nasty scar from the patch down the side of his dirty, pockmarked face. The man didn’t dismount nor come within striking distance of Henry’s blade.
“I can and shall dispatch the lot of you.” He swung his sword to limber his journey-weary body and prepared for battle. “Go now and live. Or stay and prepare to die.” He glanced from man to man, counting only three. Hadn’t there been five?
The carriage bounced and brushed against Henry’s back with the weight of someone moving on top. Alfred’s body landed on the road beside him. Henry leapt back. His driver was dead, his tunic covered in blood.
A sword swung down from above. The smooth, flat side struck Henry on his left shoulder slamming him into the carriage door. The pain burned down his side. Stunned, he fought the darkness clouding his vision. Angry determination kept him standing, his back to the carriage.
“Griswold, don’t kill the bugger!” One-eye yelled at the man leaning off the top of the carriage.
Still dazed, instinctively, Henry struck out at the attacker above him, striking the hand of the distracted scarred-faced minion. The bandit called Griswold, yelped and dropped his sword. Blood poured from the wound where two fingers had once been.
“Parker, stop!” One-eye ordered, as a third man, wearing a green coat, rode up to the carriage as if to intervene.
Henry struck the newcomer, slicing deep into the rider’s leg. The heavy steel hit with a crunch of splintered bone. The surprised Parker jerked his reins, causing his frightened mount to rear, throwing the bleeding rider to the ground. The riderless horse galloped off into the woods.
The nursemaid’s scream of alarm jerked Henry’s attention from dispatching the screeching green-coat brigand, writhing at his feet, to rescuing his daughter.
The nursemaid barred the entrance to the carriage. Her eyes were wide with horror. As the dark-haired brigand reached for her, she screamed and stabbed him in the shoulder.
“Fisher, get in there and shut her up!” One-eye ordered from the safety of his horse.
The brigand cursed, punched the screaming girl in the face knocking her unconscious onto the floor and climbed inside.
“Surrender, Stanton and no one else need be hurt.” One-eye yelled, then cursed the man on the ground. “Parker, get up and fight.”
One glance at Parker and Henry knew he was no threat. One-eyed remained out of range of Henry’s sword. The man on top of the carriage still cursed and moaned over his injury making him no longer a threat, yet there remained a rider that held back, as if reluctant to get into the fight. That left Henry’s greatest concern. His daughter remained inside the carriage with the unconscious nursemaid and a wounded, but ruthless brigand.
He had to save Sarah.
“Leave my daughter alone.” Henry grabbed the doorframe to pull himself up through the opening.
A blow struck his already injured left arm causing him to release his hold. The pain sucked the air from his lungs. The ground heaved beneath him, and he stumbled backward. He turned and struck out wildly grazing something unseen. A blow to the back of his head dropped him to his knees. Stars swarmed his vision.
“Griswold get that carriage moving!” One-eye yelled at the man on top.
Cursing followed by the sound of reins slapping the team sent the carriage lunging forward barely missing Henry who remained slumped on the ground.
“No! Don’t take my daughter!” Blurry-eyed and head pounding, with no strength to get to his feet, Henry watched helpless as the carriage drove away. Then he turned his attention to the brigand responsible, ready to offer him anything to get his daughter back..
“Get up, Parker.” One-eye rode up to the green-coat bandit lying on the ground, writhing in pain, and cursed him. With an angry mumble of disgust, the leader did a quick, cold assessment, then leaned down, swung his sword, and slit the man’s throat in one swift movement. His gaze darted to the remaining mounted cohort who was also bleeding, but from a lesser wound to his leg that Henry inflicted only moments ago. “How about you, Buttons?”
“I’m fine.” The wounded man cursed in French and grabbed the reins of the two riderless mounts belonging to the two brigands now in control of the carriage. Then he rode in haste to follow it.
One-eye glared at Henry.
“I was paid well to let you live.” He pointed his sword at Henry’s face. “If not for that, I would slit you top to bottom for the trouble you’ve caused me.”
Henry gritted his teeth and glared at his adversary, refusing to cower. He struggled to stand.
“Don’t try and follow if you want the child to live.” One-eye reined his horse harshly and fled after the carriage.
As if a giant fist squeezed his chest, Henry couldn’t catch his breath. He watched helplessly as his carriage and all he held dear disappeared from sight.
“God, you have failed me again!” Bitterness and every vile thought that had festered in his soul since the death of his beloved Evangeline spewed out.
His fury spent, his pain spiked, sending him to his knees. He bowed his head in shame and defeat.
“Oh, God, I’m not worthy, but please save my daughter.” His plea sounded pathetic and weak compared to his previous angry rant. Why would God give heed to him?
The sun glinted through the trees onto the ground beside him, highlighting the hoof prints of the runaway horse that had bolted into the forest. Hope ignited like an ember being fanned into a flame. If he could find that horse, he still had a chance to reach the kidnappers before they escaped with his child and her nursemaid. As he staggered to his feet, nausea swirled around his gut. Holding onto a sturdy oak, he waited until the ground steadied beneath him.
The excruciating pain in his wounded shoulder rendered his left arm useless. His head pounded with the intensity of a battle-ax banging against a warship’s hull, but his life wasn’t worth living if he couldn’t save his little girl.
With the rough condition of the road and the threat of bandits, it was unlikely another traveler would show up this late in the day to help him. That runaway horse was his only hope. With a steadying breath, he pushed away from the tree and kept his eyes on the tracks in a determined pursuit.
The heat and injuries produced a mammoth thirst, which he tried to ignore, thinking of what could happen to his daughter if he didn’t hurry. Why would hired murderers want a helpless child and her nursemaid?
As ransom from my father-in-law for his only grandchild?
The nearly blind, bedridden old man had no means of raising such funds. Besides, the thugs had ignored the coins thrown from the carriage. No. These brigands were hired to kidnap his daughter and her nursemaid, and leave him alive, but why? Surely the person responsible knew that he would not stop hunting for his child.
The attack made no sense.
His pounding head warred against clarity of thought. It took all of his concentration to put one foot in front of another.
The ground became rocky and uneven. Exhaustion and thirst took its toll
as the rapidly fading sunlight muddled the ground until the hoof prints disappeared, along with any fledgling hope. He should have never made this journey to Brighton, no matter how desperate his father-in-law’s request had been. What could he do for the lord of Brighton Castle now? The money hidden in a secret compartment deep within the carriage would be safe unless they took apart the conveyance piece by piece. Even if the gold remained hidden, it was still as good as gone unless the carriage was recovered.
Henry swiped blood and sweat out of his burning eyes. He would be no help to anyone in his present condition.
Leaning against a sturdy tree, he closed his eyes.
A portion of a scripture that Evangeline loved to recite flitted through his mind.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God, in Him will I trust.
“No!” He’d begged God for a second chance to prove his love, but He had not saved Evangeline from that fire, and now their child was in peril.
Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord.
“Not if I reach them first.” He’d personally see to it that any who survived that encounter would hang for what they had done.
The tinkling sound of a brook teased his consciousness. He pushed away from the tree and stumbled around a large outcropping. Was it a mirage? Dropping to his knees, he stretched out onto his stomach at the water’s edge and ducked his face into the brook, drinking his fill. After quenching his thirst, he sat up and cleaned his head wound as best he could. It had stopped bleeding, but now the water washed away the crusty scab, allowing the blood to drip down his neck once more. He tore a large piece from his tattered tunic and tied the silk fabric around his head to cover the wound.
The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline Page 2
