Seize The Dawn (33 page)

"Isobel, this is a pack of lies. Rumor," Alfred said angrily.

Isobel shook her head. "She didn't sleep with her husband. They kept separate rooms."

"The majority of the noble and wealthy in the known world keep separate rooms," Corbin said. "And separate beds."

"For years, my dear, we did the same," Corbin informed her. "Were that a crime, we'd have both lost our heads long ago.

Isobel was not satisfied. "He was—incapable." "Oh?" Corbin inquired, pouring himself a large draft of ale from a pitcher on the great wood table centered in the room. "Did you discuss this with the count?" "A woman knows."

He threw up his hands. "My cousin would not kill the knight she chose to marry because he was ... incapable." "He would find out about the child." ' 'Isobel, what makes you so certain she is expecting a child?'' Isobel was silent a moment, then smiled slyly and repeated, "A woman knows."

"I will ride with my cousin, Isobel, and that is that," Corbin said firmly. "She must have a voice to speak for her."

"As you will. But you will have your brother destroyed if you do."

Alfred had sunk into the chair at the head of the table. He pressed his head between his palms. "We will take that chance, Isobel," he said. He shook his head. "God, but this has made me ill as well!"

For a moment, he contemplated the idea of pretending he had not heard her—and continuing on quickly out. But he did not want to arouse suspicion, and so he halted.

Brendan hesitated, wondering if the man's desire to uphold his cousin's innocence—and her life—was sincere. He did not want her family on this supposed journey to London. Eleanor didn't want bloodshed on her behalf, but it was likely to occur. She would protest the slaying of her kin, he was certain.

"The evidence stands against her," Alfred said wearily from the table. "Father, may we offer you wine, ale?" he added, as if remembering the hospitality of the castle.

Alfred did not look well. Brendan was tempted to test his role, but then decided against eating or drinking anything in this house. He also felt an inner fire; a startling anger against the very woman he had come to save.
Was any of this true? Not the poisoning; he refused to believe Eleanor a murderer. But as to a babe, and her relations with Alain . . .

"No, sir, there was not. If you will excuse me I will leave, and I will pray for you." He gravely made the sign of the cross above Isobel's head. "The Lord watch over you, madam."

"Amen," she murmured.

"And keep you from his place of Purgatory for women, where the sinners who have spoken too much, and too quickly, where the wicked iron of a scold's bridle to silence their wagging tongues until the dawn of eternity has long gone on."

He left before Isobel could respond.

He returned to the rectory where his men had dared to cast off the heavy armor, and enjoy the round Father Gillean's fine supply of food.

Father Gillean had warned them that he must be left muddied, dirtied, apparently beaten, and tied like a hog for slaughter, along with the fellow churchman, the sheriff's far more aggressive priest, before they departed in the morning.

But apparently, though he had been frightened, and determined to be trussed when they first arrived, he was now at a small table in the rear of the room, playing chess with Hagar, who had an uncanny talent for the game. He was drinking wine, and softly swearing here and there.

Thomas de Longueville had done the cooking, with Gregory, who had first approached the church, and given him the idea of entering the castle as the lady's confessor. Now, de Longueville served the meal, and was telling them all they were a group of unkempt wild men, living on berries and raw butchered meat so long that they knew not of the finer gifts of the earth God had granted to flavor their food.

Brendan didn't know what the surprisingly versatile Frenchman had found with which to cook, but the bowl of stew he sat down to was hot and appealing and he all but wolfed it down before he realized that Eric was staring at him, ready to hear what had occurred.

"So it appeared—yet when I insisted she'd break her fool neck, she claimed to have a change of heart. She claims now that she wants to face her accusers, and that she will find justice."

Brendan hesitated. "It is a matter between the lady, and myself," he said. Then he called across the room. "Father Gillean!"

"Aye, son, stubborn as a mule, loyal to a fault. She did not kill her count, and for that reason alone, I've given you what aid I can. I remain an Englishman, you know. And if you come around these parts again ..."

Gillean hesitated. "Aye. Yet you would be here with or without my agreement. The night is better spent upon a chair, than laid out like carnage upon a cold stone floor. And in my vocation, sir, a man must answer first to God—and then his king. But thank the Lord, the two have always agreed before now. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to that great lumbering heathen fellow of yours—and my game."

Clad in their armor, visors covering their faces, Brendan and his men sat their horses, waiting. Miles Fitzgerald, as sheriff, served his duty, escorting Eleanor from the house. She was dressed in a warm, fur-trimmed cloak, a garment that seemed to state her position in life—but was also warm and fit enough to sustain a long journey. She walked with her head high, hair knotted in a braid, a simple band and veil covering it. She left the inner wall ahead of Fitzgerald. Brendan shook his head to see that Corbin had indeed meant to follow and defend his kinswoman.

She reached Fitzgerald's contingent, a group of twelve men mounted and armed, but not clad in armor. A group of villagers had gathered at the castle.

A tomato was thrown. It hit Fitzgerald in the face. He swore angrily, instantly reaching for his sword. His men followed suit.

Eric, at Brendan's side, cursed softly in Gaelic.

Eleanor placed a hand upon Fitzgerald's arm. "Please!" she said loudly, calling to the crowd. "Don't fear for me—I will find justice. These men but do their duty. I beg of you, for me, cause no trouble."

They watched from their small distance as Fitzgerald led Eleanor to a waiting horse. She didn't mount. She started a low conversation with him.

"She could be a witness in my defense," Eleanor said irritably. "And I am to receive a fair trial, am I not?"

"She could be dangerous," Fitzgerald muttered.

"She is skin and bones!" Eleanor protested. She stood very still, the wind just moving the soft fabric of her veil. "I will not leave without her."

Brendan looked at Fitzgerald. "Sir, there are battles to be fought in Scotland," he said gravely. 'We can waste no more time over a lady's maid. I beg you; bring the woman. I will be responsible for her."

Fitzgerald stared up at him. "As you wish."

Brendan rode back to his armored men. Again, they waited. Bridie was brought out, her eyes wild with fear, Eleanor assuring her.

Eleanor declined Fitzgerald's offer of assistance, and mounted on her own.

The crowd was murmuring. Brendan rode back to Fitzgerald. "Sir, the time to ride is now."

"Aye!" He started forward, leading the party. Men surrounded Eleanor. Corbin, clad in a coat of mail, his tunic proudly bearing the colors of Clarin, rode behind her.

Brendan and his men flanked the others. They headed out the gates, and still the people followed them, rushing the soldiers' horses, trying to reach Eleanor.

"God bless you, and aye, keep me in your prayers!" Eleanor said. "I have put myself in God's hands, and I know He will prevail!"

The people fell back. Brendan had a brief glance at the torment in her face. Then he looked forward, riding ahead, flanking the other riders to take care with the men and women hounding them, human beings who appeared fragile next to the great size and weight of the chargers.

At last they cleared the fortifications at Clarin; Fitzgerald determined to gain a greater distance, and the horses broke into a lope.

Soon, the last gleaming of a stone turret was behind them, and they slowed the gait. The way to London was long. There would have to be stops overnight. But every hour of their ride brought them deeper into country held in the strong grip of the king of England.

As they had arranged, they did their best to maintain the rear. Brendan judged their distance; while they rode west- southwest, he didn't fear the distance they traveled. They had determined they would break when they reached the stream they must ford to reach the fork to the south, and London.

De Longueville seemed to delight in trying to draw the sheriff' s men into conversation. However, his mockery of Hagar's accent had kept the great fellow maintaining his own level of talk—a grunt here or there when he was addressed by one of the others.