Seize The Dawn (2 page)

Aye, to find her!—and for the love of his country. He would not die. Nay ... He would avenge the evil done today. And he and his country would both
live
—at peace, triumphant. And free.

Chapter 1

The Eve of the New Century 1301-1302

"She's an outlaw!" Captain Abram cried. "A pirate ship. Full sail! Hard with the wind! We must outrun these bloody bastards!" The white-bearded, leathered old sea captain was tense as he shouted the command. Lady Eleanor of Clarin, Yorkshire, England, had been standing at the bow, feeling the salt spray tease her flesh and the wind whip her hair and clothing about her. She frowned at the captain's shout, not at all certain of his deduction. Respite the lookout in the crow's nest she had been the first o see the oncoming vessel, the first to bring the ship to the captain's attention. It was a very fast ship—she now watched in amazement as it bore down on them, seeming to fly over the Irish Sea. "A pirate ship," she repeated. She wasn't sure she believed him. She'd heard of a few exploits, certain seamen ready to risk all to improve their fortunes, but they were few and far between. The days when the Vikings ruled the seas with their own brand of piracy had now faded, and though many a man living in Britain, Eire, and, aye, maybe even all of Europe, carried Viking blood, there were dire consequences for men captured in such acts. King Edward was merciless to pirates— they stole from his ships, his coffers, and he needed his money for the wars he was constantly waging.

"Pirates!" Captain Abram repeated, aggravated, his attention suddenly on her. ' 'And you, my lady, are to get below, to my cabin." "Captain Abram, if pirates seize this vessel, I will be no safer in your office than elsewhere," she told him. "Lady Eleanor, I intend to hold my ship!" "Captain, many men have
intended
many things." "I will fight—" he began, outraged. "I have no doubt!" He sighed, studying her, aware he was talking to a young woman who had seen too much. "Lady, you could be slain in the boarding of such outrageous fellows. Those who dare the seas know little of the conventions of the
civilized
world!" The
civilized
world. If she lived within a civil world whatsoever, she had yet to see it in effect. The
civil
had sent her on this trip, and the
civility
of her concerned male relations.

"Perhaps it is not pirates at all, but one of my cousins," she murmured. "Lady, I know the ship!" Abram insisted. "She belongs to the French rogue pirate Thomas de Longueville! My lady, would not have you die!"No, he would not, she thought sadly, though she wondered if the possibility of her death hadn't been a driving factor toward her presence now on the Irish Sea, heading for France She kept such counsel to herself, however, and reminded him, "Captain, I was present at my family home north of York when the savage Scotsman, Wallace, set fire to a barn imprisoning thirty men. I was the one, sir, to defy the remnants of the butcher's army, and open the doors."

Abram didn't look pleased. "Aye, the people think you a saint, touched by God, and men of York followed you into battle at Falkirk, lady, but we are asea here! My good young woman, you could die by the accidental touch of a grappling hook! By the fall of a mast. Call your maidservant, lady. Get below." "Captain, with all respect—" "Girl! Is there no one to whom you will listen!" he cried. The sound of his voice gave her the first real sense of alarm she had felt. She turned around. The ship was nearly upon them. The vessel she rode seemed a poor, creaking, groaning beast of burden now, hard put to come up with any speed. Sailors rushed about, commanded now by the captain's mate, and what she saw in their eyes was surely good warning.

She looked back to the ship coming upon them. Small, smooth, sleek, with excellent sails proudly riding the masts, she cut the water with the accuracy and precision of a knife. "Eleanor!" At the call of her name, she turned. "Are ye daft, child? Pirates are upon us!" Bridie, her maid, was standing at the top of the few steps that led to the captain's cabin, crossing herself over and over again. Despite the situation, Eleanor arched a delicate brow—Bridie never spoke to her in such a tone. Surely, she must believe that they were facing imminent death. "Bridie—" she began, but Bridie came flying across the deck, dodging seamen in their desperate attempts to build speed. Tall, slender, just three years older than Eleanor, she was a good and stalwart companion. Now, as she had been before. She threw her arms around Eleanor. "I was
there!
I was
there
as well that day, I
know
that you hated what you did, I know that they dragged you to the field of battle,
I know!
So don't go pretending you are as steely as any man, by the blood of the Virgin Mary, come with me, lady; come below. Would you view any more blood?"

Her courage, or determination, falted at Bridie's words.
God, yes! She had hated the bloodshed, hated the fear, hated the fighting, the watching as men died ...
Bridie was right. It had not been courage that had made her act as she had at Castle Clarin. It had been pure madness. Still, she had learned. Much about battle, and much about men. "Please!" Bridie whispered. "All right, we'll go below."

Eleanor followed Bridie, feeling the pitch of the ship but balancing to it. She wasn't afraid of the wind or the water. A sure knowledge of their character gave an intelligent respect for the wrath of the pirates. But nothing, nothing in the world frightened her as much as the prospect of being
locked in.
Before they reached the door, a violent shuddering sent them both flying. It was as if the whole of the vessel let out a cry. Wounded, aye, she was wounded, rammed, run down. Sailors were abandoning their positions to draw their arms. The pirate ship had come upon them, skimmed them, taken them. Grappling hooks flew into the air like silver birds, then fell to the ship's planking like winged teeth of steel.

"My lady!" Bridie called. She catapulted into Eleanor; they both went sprawling. By then, sailors from the assaulting ship were dropping on them like flies upon meat. Men hung from the rigging, then slid to the deck, their swords bared. Fierce battle was engaged. Flat upon the deck, Eleanor stared into the eyes of a dying seaman, watching as they glazed over. His blood spilled upon the deck, and trickled toward them both. "Up!" she shrieked to Bridie, and they were both on their feet. Two men, their weapons lost, went crashing behind them, plowing into the cabin. It was one of the attackers who had their first mate by the throat. Eleanor charged after them, capturing the heavy, very costiy Bible from the captain's desk, and dashing it upon the head of the attacker. Dazed, he stumbled away. The grizzled first mate stared at Eleanor.

Bridie went for the Bible. She lifted it high. "The Lord is with us!" "Is he, now?" They both spun around. A tall man stood at the entry to the cabin, his hand upon the door frame as he looked in. "Alas, mademoiselle, I think not." He stepped down into the cabin, sweeping his hat from his head.' 'Allow me to introduce myself. Thomas de Longueville. And God is with me, and against you, for the moment." He wasn't an old man, but somewhat weathered bronze by his days at sea. His breeches were a dyed dark linen, his shirt, white, his doublet, a cranberry color, his boots tall, and his eyes, sharp, narrowed, and all-assessing. A small smile curled his lips. "Ah ... so it's true. Lady Eleanor of Castle Clarin, I do believe. You sail to France—to meet a rich man. To bring new money to coffers destroyed by the Scots—God bless their savage souls! Well, we shall see what this man is willing to pay to have you at his side."

The first mate, backed to the cabin wall, suddenly came to life, springing forward. "You brigand! You'll not touch the lady—" As he surged forward, the pirate drew a knife. Eleanor quickly stepped between the two men. The impetus of the mate sent her crashing into the pirate. An unnerving little fire took flight within his eyes. She pushed away from him, still between him and the mate. "There's been enough death!" she said firmly. Thomas de Longueville arched a brow, amused. "You will tell me when there has been enough death?" "Do you kill for the pleasure of it?" she demanded. "You have taken the ship. There is no reason to kill this man." "Aye, that's true. I have the ship. And as to this man ..." Silently, he thought a moment. "Jean!" he called, and quickly a second man came running to the cabin doorway. "Throw this fellow overboard. Don't kill him, though. Whatever you do, make him hit that water alive and well!"

"Whatever you do, make sure you set him in a small boat!" Eleanor exploded, as another pirate arrived, and her would-be defender was dragged out. "Nervy little wench, eh? But then, you are the defender of Castle Clarin.
Santa Lenora,
eh?" "She is a lady, born and bred, a gentle maiden, mild- mannered and well-behaved!" Bridie lied, coming to put an arm around her. "And if you ... and if you ..." Her words faltered. Her cheeks flushed. "She's trying to say that if you harm me in any way, I'll not be worth nearly so much to my prospective bridegroom," Eleanor said flatly. She wondered if any of it mattered. She had been born to a battered land, and from the day her father had died, her life had become a gamble, a charade, a travesty. "Ah, but what if it doesn't matter to me, just what kind of riches I make off you?" he inquired, eyes still alight with humor.

"What if nothing matters to me, and I throw myself into the sea?" she cross-queried. Anger, a flash of annoyance, touched his face, and he started to retort, but suddenly the man named Jean was back. "A ship!" he said tensely. "A ship?" "Aye, and flying at us!" Jean said. Thomas de Longueville took the time to bow to the women. "You will forgive me, I beg you. Adieu, for the time. Lady Eleanor, a pity, we were just beginning to know one another. I will finish off this new enemy as quickly as I might, and be back with you. I would not want you to miss your engagement with the sea!"

The door slammed upon them. Eleanor let out a shriek of terror, flying toward the cabin door. It was bolted tight. "My lady—" Bridie cried, coming to her. She could not be locked in. Confined.

Yet, suddenly, she flew back, slamming against the captain's desk. The ship let out a long, terrible shudder. Wood. Groaning, cracking ... giving. And then ... The scent of fire. "Fire!" she turned on Bridie."We were told to stay here; the fire is beyond us—" "We'll not burn, I'd rather a swift sword through the heart!" "Eleanor—" "I refuse! I won't do it, I won't!" Eleanor cried, and she recklessly began searching through the cabin for a weapon, any weapon, to use against the door. At last, behind the tapestry that protected the captain's bed, she found an axe. An old battle- axe, perhaps a weapon of war, or maybe just a necessary tool. She didn't know which. She didn't care. She gripped the axe with determination.

"Eleanor, you mustn't," Bridie told her. "Listen. Pay heed to me! The captain said that we must stay here. We could be killed by accident." Eleanor stopped dead still and stared at her maid. "No, Bridie, pay attention to me. Don't you smell the fire? Shall we die like trapped rats?" "But, my lady—"

"I don't care how I die, Bridie,
as long as it is not by flame.
Bridie, listen—breathe! Fire, there is fire aboard!" Bridie took in a deep breath. Indeed, there was fire. How serious, Eleanor did not know.

But she would not be trapped. "Fire, Bridie, fire!" Bridie took in a breath again and seemed to come to life. "Fire!" she gripped Eleanor's shoulders, staring at her wildly. "Fire, Eleanor! Let me help you. What can I do?" "Stand back, Bridie. I wield such instruments well." To prove her point, she took several steps back, then hacked away with vigor and efficiency at the door.

"Can we take her?" Brendan demanded, looking through the captain's glass. "Aye, if you're willing!" Eric Graham, a kinsman, commanding the
Wasp,
told Brendan. "Oh, I am willing!" Brendan murmured. It was a strange sight at sea. The pirate ship had rammed an English vessel flying the colors of Edward I; they had come upon a battle scarcely completed.

Both ships had suffered damage in the scuffle. Both had surely lost men as well. The
Wasp
was of Norse design, built in the North Islands still under Norse rule. She was smooth and sleek and carried a handful of seamen with the blood of Vikings strong in their veins—and Scotsmen, too often defeated, and too honed to battle. "You know the pirate ship?" Eric inquired. He was a large man, Brendan's own height, but where Brendan's hair was dark as night, his kinsman sported a pate and beard the color of copper, and his eyes were a paler Nordic blue than the almost cobalt coloring of Brendan's own. They lit upon Brendan then with good humor. "Tell me, you do recognize the colors flying!"

"Cousin, I've spent most of my life fighting upon land," Brendan reminded him. Aye, he'd come to adulthood fighting. He barely remembered the time now when he had been a youth of good family, naturally learning the instruments of war, but spending nights with books as well, with language, mathematics, history, and music. "It's only of late that I've had these— opportunities?—to come to the sea." And his mind had been otherwise occupied when he had been asea, so he knew little about the flags being flown by different men.

He turned to Eric. "Eric, are you intending to share the information?" "The ship belongs to Thomas de Longueville." Even he knew the name. "The infamous Frenchman?" Brendan inquired.

"Aye, an intriguing fellow. Knows how to bargain when the time is right." "And he has taken an English ship? Let's have at them then!" "Will Wallace agree? We are on a matter of national diplomacy," Eric reminded him. "To taking a French pirate on our way to France—and capturing a vessel flying Edward's flag? Aye, he'll agree." He turned, training the glass aft of their ship. Wallace's vessel rode somewhat behind theirs. Before they had come upon the curious sight before them, they had been prepared for battle at sea.

They always sailed prepared for battle. Though Falkirk had been lost, William Wallace, the great defender of Scotland, had lived. And there were few men King Edward I wanted dead with a greater vengeance. Since Falkirk, Wallace had never faltered from his dream of freedom, or his ideals for Scotland. But he was an intelligent man; his only real power as a leader had lain with his success, simply because of the feudal structure of their society. Wallace wasn't a great lord or nobleman with hereditary rights over men. He did not have scores of tenants sworn to serve him in times of war. Since the Scottish loss at Falkirk, he had continued to tirelessly defend Scotland, harrying the English troops who had kept a foothold in southern Scotland, seizing supplies, fighting where speed and strategy could outweigh the forces of might and resources against him. He had traveled as well, to Norway, the Shetlands, and most important, perhaps, to France and Italy.