Exile’s Bane (18 page)

“If there is nothing else I have learned in my life,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “it is to never argue with an angry man. There are other ways to get one’s point across. Since the war began and we moved here, the earl has been constantly away, leaving me no choice but to oversee and run the place as best I knew how.”

“I believe you had some help, Aunt,” I said, resentment boring into what patience I had left for this woman.

“Why—” Her little eyes widened. “—yes, of course. But now, I cannot believe my cousin the prince meant to do this to me. I feel certain he will make amends.”

“This is why you choose to accuse the captain?”

“Of course. The prince rescued me once; he will do so again. But the earl is quite another matter and that I am most concerned about. When here, the earl is committed to this fortress, as though it were some precious thing. Tor House might as well be a mistress, one I cannot compete with.” She sniffed and took her seat again near the empty fireplace, her mouth drawn down into the folds of her face. “You see, I fear he may set me aside, especially should I fail to protect Tor House. I am lucky even now to have him in my bed on occasion.” Her pathetic gaze caught my eye. “Do you not see?” she whined. “What would become of me? I dare say he could desert me and leave me destitute in this war-torn land.”

“And what would you have me do to change this?” I asked warily.

“In some ways you are no better than my lord, with your devotion to this ancient pile of haunted rock.”

“What do you mean?” I cried, offended at her unfair comparison, though a vague concern rose within me as to what experience she might have had of Amilie.

“You fail to understand.” She waved me aside as though I were a pesky fly. “Before we came here, my lord loved me. But this place, this obsession with removing your claim has devoured him. He sees his manhood in the very stones of Tor House. In fact, that is undoubtedly the basis for what has happened to me this day. All for the house. I am expendable.” With calculating eyes, she looked at me straight on, her mouth prim and flat-lipped. “What you must do is to stop interfering in the business of this residence. Submit to your uncle’s wishes, marry Gorgon, and depart. For that accomplishment, my lord will love me.”

An incident from last year came to mind. While my uncle was on the Isle of Man rounding up an army to defend the island against a possible invasion by the Scots, I had built up a garrison of three hundred men to defend Tor House and carefully topped off its supplies. I later learned that Marie Louise took credit for what I had done. This travesty had upset me, but at the time it had not seemed in my best interests to pursue the credit I deserved, so long as the house survived. Now, I understood why she would do such a thing.

“You would win your husband’s affections at the expense of everyone and everything around you?” I finished my honey-hardened bread, took a last swallow of milk, and looked at her with pity. She had not made this situation, was instead an unwilling participant trying to regain her husband’s love. Yet she had shown me no mercy. I quietly put the tumbler on the table and turned back to her, latent anger simmering in my veins.

She did not answer my question, but strutted off through the east door, probably to her rooms, to scream, to cry, whatever the woman did when she did not get her way.

When I entered my miserably hot rooms, Peg sat perkily atop the padded seat before my dressing table. Her tortoise-shell brush slid through her shiny auburn hair again and again.

“Where have you been the last two nights?” I asked, coming up beside her, hand on hip, demanding enough, but hardly overbearing.

“Do not ye lambaste me,” she said. She rose quickly and walked away to the round table beside the door where she plopped into one of the gilt chairs.

“Oh, that was most graceful.”

She glared at me, her flushed face an agony of apprehension.

“You are not going to put me off by acting insulted.” Slowly, I walked over to the table, sat to her left, and studied her pink cheekbones. A limp breeze from the open windows cooled my moist face. “I am the one who should be offended. You have not slept in these rooms for two nights. How was I to know you had not been murdered in some dark corner of the house? By the way, we will have a guest in our rooms. Duncan’s cousin, Annie.”

She shot me a startled look. “Where will she sleep?”

“On the trundle bed. Rosemunde will have to sleep in the servants quarters.”

“Oh.” She relaxed somewhat and studied me with interest. “This Annie is now thy friend?”

“I was mistaken about her.”

“And ye be wrong about me,” she announced, warring emotions rampant in her piercing gaze. “I have done nothing amiss.” Yet where she had been, at least the night before the prince departed, spoke like a litany in her beaming face.

“I did not say you had. But spending the night in Prince Rupert’s room is hardly ladylike conduct.” I wiped my face on the hand towel left on the table for that purpose, the warmth in the room overbearing. “I find it hard to believe that you came out still a virgin.”

“Ye will have to try harder, then, to believe,” she said, strikingly serious.

“Peg, please,” I said. Her attitude alarmed me.

“Please what, aye? The prince and I share the same desires for that between us. We would have sincerity. And besides, we get on famously. We spent the night in his rooms for privacy, yes, but I be still a virgin. Would ye like Mrs. Lowry to confirm this?”

“No, no.” I had to smile, having had a need for that kind of privacy myself very recently. “That is not necessary.” I waved a hand, feeling like a soldier waving a flag of truce. “I believe you.”

“Oh. Ye do? Well. Good.” She looked around and seemed to gather her bearings.

“What did you think I would do? I do not wish to see you hurt. A bastard growing in your stomach would be a disaster you would never overcome.”

“And where were ye that same night?” she asked, arched eyebrows raised.

“That is not your business.”

“See? I should hate to see a bastard growing in thy belly, as well.” She watched me covertly for some time, then apparently felt vindicated, for she patted my arm. “Have ye dreamed? I should ha’ been here for thee, I know. What have ye done in here that it smells so strong of roses?”

“The rouge melted and I spilled it.” I rose from the table and went to stand beside my bed before the open window. But the damp turgid air had ceased. The normally fluid curtains now hung taut and unyielding. I rubbed the nap of my heavy bed drapes between my fingers, considered climbing behind them into my bed to sulk, to consider, to think in dark comfort.

“Yes, I have dreamed,” I said, with considerable melancholy. “Two visions.” I returned to the table and told her my vision of sailing away and of my seizure by Gorgon. “He tried to take me by force. Though I never admitted to having dreams, he knows. Oh, Peg, he wants to harvest my dreams for his own gain.”

Her mouth opened in dismay. She clasped my hands tightly between hers to comfort me.

“I have the same dream, night after night.”

“The one of the great battle?”

“Yes. It keeps changing.

“So, ye think ye see the future, though it does not stay the same?” Her face blanked in incomprehension.

“Yes,” I said, hardly able to sum it up any better. “I think it may be the possible future.”

“Yet what is to come is what ye see, yea?” The skin around her dark eyes wrinkled in hard consideration.

“I think so. Every time I dream, I see more and more of this horrendous landscape, sometimes differently, as though the fine details are not yet set, the fabric of this battle unfinished. Like an artist would improve a painting until it met with the vision in his mind.”

The light at the open window wavered and dimmed. A blessed breeze swept through the room, flapping the curtains, the smell of rain behind it.

“Oh, I have known. I have known it.” Peg stood up, her face pale. Her gleaming hair flowed in the draft of air. She paced around the room and returned to me. “Ye have the sight.” She stood above me, a heavy hand on my shoulder and stared at my face, my eyes. “And ye scare me, Elena. For thyself, ye scare me.”

Her scrutiny pierced my sense of comfort. I returned her frantic stare, suddenly uncertain of her continuing loyalty. The cloying taste of roses hung at the back of my throat. The blood left my face, and I gulped noisily.

“So, with the prince gone, where were you last night?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Following Thomas.” She patted my hand and sat down as though nothing had changed between us and gave me a look of utmost civility.

“Why?”

“I took Bertram.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. Thomas be slick as an eel when he wishes to be, ye know.”

“You rode all day and half the night to find him innocent of whatever it was you suspected him of?”

“I think he met with a big, crop-haired Puritan and his Roundhead escort. I saw them. But I could not catch them together.”

“Peg, you must leave Thomas be.” I shook my head in disgust. “He has enough to do just to keep his head on his shoulders these days.” Still, the thought of my childhood friend in the company of the enemy did little to ease my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Early the following Sunday, Thomas and I strode arm in arm down the central hallway toward the great hall. The soaring windows shone in the distance, floating dust motes visible in the wide stream of morning sunlight. He had been missing some days after the departures of Gorgon and the Royalist Army, but had returned just the day before. The countess had objected to his presence, but Thomas simply avoided her, knowing she was essentially powerless at the present time. She was in the chapel tower now, probably on the second floor, which she preferred because it was near her rooms. Quiet dominated, accentuating the tap of our measured footsteps along the wide, stone corridor.

Thomas had changed markedly. He now wore elegant clothes of current style and color, where I had previously only known him to wear worn, old-fashioned dress. Today, it was a flamboyant white satin shirt with full sleeves and turned-back cuffs under a black, partially buttoned jerkin, and matching pants. His blossoming attitudes, now rich and outlandish, had before been restricted, though ambitious and generally bitter as a necessity of his blighted existence.

“I have been here all along, you know,” he said, with a wink at me. “In his absence, I am my lord’s eyes and ears.”

“What do you tell him of me?” I studied him with carefully restrained concern.

“What I wish to tell him, which is not much.” He waved a postured hand, dismissing my apprehension, then leaned toward me. A smirk settled across his lips. “Though I am most appreciative of Lord Gorgon’s patronage, I want you for myself, you see.” He stopped, and I with him. Both of us admired the room before us, the echo of our footsteps fading away.

The graceful curve of the stair, redone in the previous decade, loomed beside us in the sultry air. There had been hopeful showers early, but the day had come up hot and heavy. Thomas studied the chairs sunning on the dais and my gaze picked out the one central, oversized chair, the earl’s throne, at the center. Faint boot-steps sounded in the distance down the hall behind us.

“Gorgon is not an English lord, Thomas,” I said, ignoring his banter, as I had learned to do throughout our childhood.

“He is my lord and wishes to be addressed as such.”

“Address him as you wish then. I have no interest in the man and hope to be relieved of my betrothal to him. If I can show the earl that I can tend my duties and remain out of sight, no threat to him or his stupid countess, perhaps he will allow me to stay.”

“Well . . .,” he hedged, then finally smiled, one of his slow, patronizing shows of teeth that never made it to his dark eyes. “I still love you, Elena, no matter what happens with Lord Gorgon or your uncle.” His hand came around behind my shoulders and settled, warm on my upper arm. He pulled me close. A teasing smile played at the corners of his mouth, which moved toward mine.

“I have told you over and over. . .” I pushed him away, my face undoubtedly cross with irritation. “You are my dear friend. Anything beyond that is out of the question. Besides, my heart lies elsewhere.”

Thomas squinted at me, suspicion rampant on his darkening face. “My guess would be with the good captain, yes?”

At that moment Duncan strolled up behind us. He jerked Thomas across the hall, slammed him against the stone wall, and twisted his lace neck-piece tight in his fist. Thomas gasped for breath. Held in nerveless shock, unable to move, I witnessed these events in absurd slow motion.

“I saw that,” Duncan growled, his arms extended in murderous rage. “From this moment, stay away from Lady Elena. Or you will answer to me . . . and Prince Rupert.”

“Wait,” I finally cried. I pulled at Duncan’s rock-solid arm. “Stop. Leave him alone. Thomas is my friend.”

Duncan dropped his hands to his sides, and Thomas collapsed against the wall, caressing his neck with both hands.

“He was taking liberties, misleading you,” Duncan said, his face still frozen in a sneer, dark eyes kindled with hatred. “I could see it in him.”

“That is my affair.” Affront spiraled through my veins. “If I require your help, Captain Comrie, I shall advise you. Leave him alone,” I said, stone serious.

“Captain Comrie, is it now?” Duncan pivoted toward me, ruddy hair swinging around wide shoulders. His face brilliant with anger, he strode away forward through the great hall and out the entry doors.

I turned to find Thomas well down the hallway. He marched away toward the back of the house, his manner jerky, his face red. I was just as happy to see him go.

The smell of hot bread and venison wafted down from the gallery, breakfast awaiting the countess. My mouth watered, but I did not want to encounter my aunt.

So I returned to my rooms where Peg flayed a finger at a frustrated Annie, who was learning the basics of etiquette at meals. I sat down at my disturbed dressing table, every pot, brush, and container askew. Perhaps Annie had never had things like these. I shrugged, not really caring at the moment, and ran my fingers over the dressing table’s fine oiled surface.

Duncan had overreacted, and I could not blame him. How had I reacted at first sight of Annie hanging off his arm? Annie, who sat demurely across the room from me now, moving a tin knife and spoon around a wooden trencher. Yet it was too late for these thoughts. I had already alienated him.

Under Peg’s suspicious eye, I paced around our quarters, unsure what to do next. Consideration of my hope to break my betrothal, deliberation as to how to mend the rift I had created between Duncan and myself, and how to leave Thomas in peace at the same time heckled me. These issues required my undivided attention—in solitude. But I could not resort to my bed and the escape of sleep, though it seemed a convenient excuse. Dreams lingered there. Night after night, the colossal Royalist defeat waited to sweep me away yet again.

That vivid reality that I had experienced of a ship slamming across a windy sea had not returned. Hopefully that possibility had ended with my escape from Gorgon’s clutches.

In the end, I took one of my stiff, gilded chairs and sat down at the table, Peg and Annie by then intent at a game of draughts. They were well matched. Next game, I would play the winner. It was a diversion, until I could figure out what to do.

Duncan was nowhere to be found. When I inquired, Lieutenant Penrod, Wallace’s best officer, stood at precise attention, his protruding gray eyes alight and advised me that Captains Comrie and Wallace had gone for a long reconnaissance and should return soon.

Though I was dressed to ride, I found my own lengthy respite . . . in Amilie’s tower. No one was about when I stepped into the stable yard, and so I followed my inkling and entered the tower, which I had never before done in daylight. In the rose-scented air, the vague ghost quested around me in a sprightly manner. The hesitations and sudden touches put me in mind of a younger sister wanting to know where my lover had gone.

“He remains,” I announced to the dim, somehow organic room. “He is not about just now.”

Fingers slid across my cheeks, seeming to search for tears. Could she somehow sense my discomfiture? With a light pressure at my back and a gentle breeze, she led me to the roof stair, and let me through.

The roof was littered, just as it had always been. On closer examination, the leaf, dirt and rock debris appeared deeper though, forming wide shelving piles along the parapet wall. Did Amilie’s presence somehow attract this clutter? I wiped the grit off the bench and sat, feeling stiff and alone. My last moments in this place came to me, and I wished fervently for Duncan.

Finally alone with my thoughts, the truth of the situation with Thomas came full upon me. Because, by his own admission, he
was
Gorgon’s creature, I should avoid him, no matter my old feelings of trust and support which were left over from a childhood admittedly long gone. Of all people, I knew Thomas’ manipulative, greedy ways. He would survive without my friendship; it was his nature, but I dared no longer trust him. I vowed to approach Duncan as soon as I saw him and apologize.

Careful to emerge unseen, I left Amilie’s tower and made my way to the stable. I saddled my great bay, mounted and rode out only to find Wallace before me, waving me aside. He and Duncan must have returned. My stomach went suddenly hollow with anticipation.

“Where is Duncan?”

“At the gate towers, my lady. A force approaches. You must remain with me. Come.” He raised a commanding hand to help me dismount.

My spurred heels jabbed my mount’s sides. “Apologies, Captain,” I called back to a frowning Wallace as I whipped past him on Kalimir at a full gallop. I drove my stallion along the stable road at the west side of the house, past the courtyard, and out the inner gate.

Duncan was mounted on an irritable Ajax, one pistol drawn. He obstructed the way through the open front gate. Anyone could simply walk around him in the wide gateway, but threat was apparently his intent.

Movement from above caught my eye. The massive towers that sided the gateway were crawling with armed men, marksmen with fowling pieces, who moved into place in the crenellations along the tall battlements on the roofs of the sun-drenched towers. Duncan had returned at an opportune time, though from Captain Wallace’s attitude I suspected they had seen the approach of this force and raced back to Tor House to confront them.

Was it Rigby again, that Parliamentary colonel who had kept us so long behind our walls? I settled Kalimir and waited anxiously. Our food stuffs were replenished and the house guard comfortably expanded from Duncan’s recruiting around the area. If it came to it, we could hold the house.

Framed by the open outer gate, a force of men in tunics appeared in the open meadow, still some distance away. A good look at the consistent, gray tunics brought home the bitter truth. Their broad, menacing leader urged his men into a gallop with a sweeping wave of his arm. This was no Roundhead threat. The distant sounds of hammering hooves, the chink of metal and the creak of leather, hurled toward us in the form of a hundred men or more. It was Gorgon, returned in strength.

Duncan turned back, his highly-colored face shiny with perspiration in the relentless heat, and brought his stallion up beside mine. Kalimir snorted and danced in objection.

“I will keep him out if I can.”

“Why do you not use our defenses?” I blared back at him, anger heating my face. “Close the gate. Close the portcullis. Pull up the drawbridge.” Though it was too late for that. “Keep him out, for God’s sake.” I glared at him, my chest heaving in fury.

“I cannot.” He set his jaw. “I am empowered to preserve this house against Parliamentary attack, not against potential allies. I understand your situation and will attempt to defray him. I can give you time if you wish to flee. But you need to go now.” His look softened, though Ajax chose that moment to shift under him. “I apologize for the other day. You are my heart.”

“As you are mine.” Every injustice melted away in the heat of sudden arousal. “It is I who was wrong. Forgive me. I will stay.”

“Though you are endangered?” he asked with grim hopefulness.

“I stand with you.”

We clasped sweaty hands across our blowing horses. Welcome strength flowed from his grip into my fearful, flagging spirit. He reined Ajax around, and I followed him as he resumed his position under the open gate’s substantial archway, where we at least had some relief from the sun’s pounding rays.

The approaching force slowed as it neared the other end of the drawbridge and finally came to a stop there. Heavy dust blew up my nose and I sneezed. Gorgon’s bulky girth was magnificently arrayed for war in gleaming breast plate and plumed helmet. Alone, he clattered across the bridge atop a black great horse with hairy white fetlocks. His steed clopped into the gate’s shadow where Gorgon reined him in beside Duncan, the great horse overshadowing even Duncan’s substantial Ajax.

“Well, well. Captain Comrie,” Gorgon said in a carrying whine. From under his helmet, trickles of sweat ran into his beard and brows. “Why this stance? What do you fear?” A sly smile compressed his mouth, demonstrating the scar in his beard. With a lustful stare, he then looked me over as he would a prize brood mare.

“You are not welcome here, Steward Gorgon. We would that you return from wherever you came,” Duncan challenged in a deep, spirited voice, pulling Gorgon’s gaze back to him.

“Oh?” Gorgon’s face vacillated between red and purple. With a great effort, he controlled himself. “Does not your prince desire recruits for his attempt on York?” He twisted in his saddle and held out a demonstrative hand toward his rough-looking men waiting at the other end of the drawbridge. “These are experienced fighters, worth three times their number in raw recruits. But before going to war, I am here to claim my bride and her house. Move aside.”