Prisoner of the Flames (Leisure Historical Romance) (32 page)

The babbling of running water caught his attention. It was coming from deeper within the wood, and he turned his mount toward the sound, motioning Aengus to follow. Was this the brook Montaigne had spoken of? Assuming it was, he followed the musical sound until he saw it, glistening in the fractured moonlight filtering through the boughs above. The thirsty horses led him to it, and he signaled Aengus to help Violette down, and dismounted himself.

How good the cold, clear water tasted. He cupped some in his hands and urged Violette to drink, then settled her on the mossy forest floor to sleep. It was the first time she’d let go of him since he seized her on Montaigne’s terrace. Aengus drank as well, and slumped breathless against a tall, gnarled pine trunk, his breath coming short.

“Are you all right, Uncle Aengus?” Robert asked him. The old cleric’s face was ghostly white in the semidarkness.

Aengus waved him off with a hand gesture, and shut his eyes.

“You aren’t, are you?” Robert said. “All this has come too soon after your ordeal in that prison. We will soon be…home.” But Scotland wasn’t Aengus’s home any longer. With so much happening, Robert had never broached the subject with him. “Will you miss the Mount, Uncle?” he probed.

“That is irrelevant,” said Aengus. “A priest of the Church goes where he’s sent…or where he’s banished, as I was to the Mount, without question, son. One gets accustomed to it. Once Scotland was my home…so long ago, it seems like another lifetime. I will not know it now, I fear. So much has…changed.”

“And the Mount?” said Robert.

Aengus shrugged. “I grew accustomed to it…to my brothers there.”

“Your brothers betrayed you—turned you over to the enemy,” Robert reminded him.

“They had little choice, Robert,” Aengus returned. “These are troubled times, and you now know firsthand how far-reaching the cardinal’s hand can be. I cannot fault them.”

“It nearly reached us this night—and would have done but for Montaigne,” he said. “There is a truly noble fellow. They could well have overtaken you and Doctor Nostradamus coming here. Did nothing untoward happen?”

“To be in that man’s presence is an ‘untoward’ happening,” said Aengus. “I will admit, he was not at all what I expected, given his rather dubious reputation. I was impressed in the depth of the man, and in his aptitude for kindness. He is quite devout, and would, I think, defend his faith to the death if needs must.”

“Did he have a message for me?”

“Not for you…directly. His words were meant for me, Robert.”

“Will you share them?”

Aengus hesitated, and Robert’s heart leapt at the look of him then.

“I’ve tried and tried, but I cannot fathom his meaning,” he replied at last. “He spoke of the flames that marked you…that will turn you toward your destiny again and again this life, and of a time when flames would rain down from the sky. He said, when such a thing occurred, it would turn us both, you and I. I told him that I did not understand his speech, but he said that I would when the time came. I thought he might have meant the fire at Montaigne’s vineyards, but no flames rained down upon us from above on that occasion.” He grunted. “Here I am, the unbeliever, putting stock in that odd fellow’s cryptic augur. I must be getting old, indeed.”

“If he said flames will rain down from heaven itself, I would believe it,” Robert said, “and you can trust that one day you will understand their meaning—at least that is how it has always been with me.”

Silence settled over them for an awkward space of time, before the old cleric spoke again. When he broke it, his voice was low, and strained.

“Do you still mean to marry the lass, Robert?” he said.

“Yes, Uncle…”

“Then we’d best have it done.”

“Now?”

“When dawn breaks,” said Aengus, “before we press on.”

“I thought to wait until we reached Scottish soil, and do it properly.”

“If you would marry, and have me say the blessing, we will do it here, beside this brook, at first light, Robert,” the old cleric said, and said no more.

D
awn broke soft with rain. It was his wedding day, but the
danger was far from over. He had no idea how long a journey it was to reach the quay, and then there was the long voyage home, facing autumn currents that spawned violent storms the length of the coast they must travel. He would not mention that to Violette just yet. She had been so brave in their travels for one without sight who had never left the Paris city limits before they met. But now
he
was at a disadvantage. He owed her honesty, and how could he reassure her, when he’d never experienced himself what they now faced?

The Huguenots would have reached Bordeaux by now. Would they be more tenacious than the cardinal’s men and follow them into the forest? It would not do to linger and find out that both factions were bearing down upon them.

He still had some of the bread and cheese given him at the last church he’d stopped at along the way. He woke Violette and Aengus, and gave them portions. Once they’d eaten, while Violette refreshed herself beside the brook, Robert took Aengus aside.

“We are not yet out of this,” he said, low-voiced. “You must promise me that you will see Violette safely to Scotland if anything should…prevent me. She can no longer remain here in France. All factions seek her. Her death warrant would be sealed were she to remain here now.”

“Have you told her yet what is to be?”

“That we shall wed here? No. I will do that now.”

“Then you had best be at it. The sun will soon rise, and we should be on our way.”

“You have not promised, Uncle.”

“If God wills that I reach Scottish shores, she will be beside me, I vow,” Aengus responded.

Something cryptic in the tone of the old monk’s voice made Robert’s blood run cold. Aengus Haddock was tired. Praying that was all that prompted such a speech, Robert gripped his arm and went in search of Violette. He found her on her knees picking wildflowers at the edge of the brook, and though he didn’t speak, she answered his step.

“I followed their scent,” she said, exhibiting her find. “How strong it is, carried on the dawn breeze. See? Clover and pink, snowdrop and gillyflower…and these I’ve just plucked are harebell, wet with the morning dew.”

Squatting on his haunches, Robert cupped her hands in his. “I see with both eyes very well,” he said, enchanted, “yet I cannot name a one.”

“Smell,” she said, raising them up. His hands went with them, gripping hers tighter.

“They are your wedding posies,” he said, brushing her forehead with his lips. It was soft and white and cool as marble, without blemish after the plague. “Uncle Aengus means to marry us before we press on, Violette. That is…if you are still willing.”

“He does not think we will escape,” she said dully. Her hands fell away, though she kept the flowers. “It is a token he offers us.”

“I do not think it that at all,” said Robert, giving it honest thought. He hesitated. Pondering it through the night, he had struggled to see with his spirit, as Nostradamus had counseled, and come to a conclusion, one that he was almost afraid to speak aloud. “He is unwell, Violette,” he said. “He is not a young man. The maltreatment he suffered in
that jail has brought him low. He wants to give the blessing, and I think he fears that if we wait…”

“I will make ready,” she said.

“It is just to please him,” Robert said, studying her downcast expression. “Once we reach my keep, we shall have a proper ceremony, the sort that all young lasses dream of, in a fine cathedral, with merriment and feasting after.”

“This is all I need,” she said, “—no merriment, no feasting. We have this beautiful place, where flowers scent the air, and running water trills and sings, and a holy man to say the words over us. God sees it, and we know it. What else matters?”

“Be quick then, making ready,” Robert urged, embracing her. “We leave the minute the blessing is spoken.”

They said their vows beside the brook, where the trees thinned farther west, and the bank was carpeted with the striking gold and russet wildflowers of autumn. Violette wound the blossoms she’d picked earlier into a wreath for her hair. The sight of her took Robert’s breath away. He had never seen any living creature as beautiful.

After the blessing was spoken, they made their way back to the forest path, and followed it westward. The rain slackened to a misty drizzle by noon. As Montaigne told him, the brook became a stream, and by what he assumed to be mid-afternoon, for there was no sun to go by, and the docks were visible through the thinning trees. Keeping well hidden among the pines, they waited, monitoring the activity along the wharf for some sign that heralded danger.

“We cannot ride out together—blind lass, monk, and me as I am,” Robert said, assessing the situation. “Such a lot would surely be remembered. Who knows but that word of us has already reached this quarter?”

“We will need tribute to book passage,” Aengus said. “I don’t suppose—”

“I still have most of my coins,” Robert interrupted, “—enough to buy us passage on one of those rickety galleys.”

“Give it me,” said Aengus, holding out his hand. “I am the least likely to raise suspicion, a humble monk on sojourn.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until dark?”

“To leave, yes, but not to arrange it. Would a fugitive venture forth in broad daylight on such a mission? I think not. Neither of you is suited to the task. We waste time. Give it here.”

Robert did as his uncle bade him, watching with breath suspended as Aengus left the forest behind and set out toward the docks. His hand worked the hilt of the
sgian dubh
wedged in his boot. The Scottish blade was a fearsome weapon, but he would have felt more secure with a sword at his side.

“We go by water?” said Violette.

He lurched at the sound of her voice so close in his ear. Intent upon the activity along the docks, he didn’t hear her creep alongside. He hadn’t broached the subject of the voyage before, meaning to leave that news until last, considering her disdain for sea travel. Steeling himself for the worst, he gripped her hand.

“Yes,” he said. “There is no other way to reach my homeland from here but by sea. Uncle Aengus arranges our passage. Please God, we sail on the evening tide.”

“Is it a…long journey?” she said, her voice thin and faltering.

“I’ll not lie to you, lass, it will take many days—even with fair winds, but you will be safe, I swear it, and once we reach the borderlands, none here will ever harm you. We go to Paxton Keep, my home, a fine, strong castle protected by my legions. My mother lives there…and her consort. You will be welcomed as nobility—cared for and loved—never to struggle for your livelihood again. You are my wife now, Violette. There, we will begin our life together.”

“Are there flowers in Scotland?”

“Oh yes, lass, heather carpets the hills and there are more wildflowers than I can name…if I knew their names. The land is rife with them.”

“I am not fond of sea travel,” she said, “but I would brave a thousand seas as long as you are with me. My greatest fear this whole while was that one day you would…leave me.”

“Never, lass, until death part us,” Robert assured her. “We are one, Violette. Soon now, I will show you what that means.”

“I know what it means,” she returned. “I told you once that just because—”

“I know,” he cut in, “you are a worldly lass despite your blindness, and your innocence, yes, but there are some things that must be experienced, pleasures that can not be known elsewise, because they must be tasted for true understanding. You will see.”

He took her in his arms, and she melted against him. Finding her lips, he took them. They were like petals, soft and yielding, opening to him, blooming beneath his own. Their touch alone aroused him. It would be so easy to give in to his desire, but he needed his wits about him now, and he shifted his lips to her forehead instead.

“You must do just exactly as I say once we leave this wood,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “—without question, Violette. We are not safe until we ride the waves you fear so.”

He said no more. Relieved that he’d gotten off with less difficulty than he’d expected, he turned his gaze back on the docks, and it wasn’t long before he spied Aengus returning. The old cleric looked more haggard now than he had when he set out. Sliding off the horse’s back, he had to steady himself, and more than once Robert saw him stagger as he made his approach.

“We sail at dusk,” he said, sinking down on a tree stump.

“The tribute?”

“It was enough, with some left over,” said Aengus, handing him a few gold coins. “Tuck them away. You may need them before ‘tis done.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That passage for three was wanted to the Scottish borderlands on the first vessel departing. She sails with the tide. Do not let them know you have more gold. These are naught but freebooters—not to be trusted.”

“And the ship?”

“The
Toledo.
A seaworthy galley, small, but strongly built, and there is room for our mounts. They were only too glad of them for ballast. The captain’s name is Blount.”

“English?”

Aengus nodded. “Take ease, nephew, he’s an outcast—a pirate. He pledges allegiance to no country. Coin is his king. There are many like him on the high seas. He seems more trustworthy than most that I’ve encountered, but do not relax your guard. Keep your face covered beneath the hood, and lass,” he said to Violette, “tie up your hair, and do the same. Call no attention to yourself. See to it, Robert. The sight of her would tempt the dead!”

The laird had no quarrel with that assessment. Despite the urgent press of his circumstances, it was all he could do to honor the commitment he’d made himself to wait until he’d seen her to safety before consummating their marriage.

As soon as darkness fell, they set out for the docks. The young Scot kept a close eye on the surrounding land as they progressed. It wasn’t a long distance to the wharf from their vantage in the forest, but it offered too many places where ambushers could hide without being seen for his liking. Nothing met his eyes. That in itself warranted caution. His instincts had always served him well in the past, and they were vying for his attention now. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Cold sweat beaded on his
brow, and his hands were clammy-cold. These were not good signs.