Seize The Dawn (46 page)

He wanted Corbin as well, she thought. To what end?

"Corbin?
Cowering,
sir? I think you seriously underestimate my cousin."

She rued her defensive words the instant they left her lips; it would have been best to make him believe that there were others with him.

She looked back to the house. Empty. They had rushed to the sound of danger. If only ...

Ah, if only there were a dozen Scotsmen in there, men who had learned to fight from the shadows, with their wits as well as their prowess! She realized suddenly that she was staring at the house with such longing, imagining the scene of men streaming from the entrance, that she must have given Fitzgerald the belief that her dreams could be true.

Despite the way he spoke, she thought that he hesitated. She forced a smile. "You don't know, do you? You can't be sure. Perhaps they are waiting, watching you now, and when your defenses are lowered ..."

"If you're certain ..." she said, forcing her words to be a subtle taunt he could not ignore. His movements would have to entertain such a possibility.

"I've another proposition for you," she added quietly.

"My lady, you are in no position to offer propositions."

"Really?" she said. "I'm not certain that we don't have a position of power here. If Hagar moves, sir, with your numbers, you will likely bring him down. But not until more of your men are dead, and you will be the man he will first kill. Hagar wants you dead. There will be no sending your men in first. And you value your life, don't you?''

Fitzgerald's face took on a mottled hue; she realized that she had struck a blow. He might be willing to fight—but not until his men had cleared the way for him to do so with an assurance of winning.

"Ah, Sir Miles! You're taking a grave chance. First, of there being reinforcements still beyond your vision. Second ... that Hagar will break your neck before your men are able to kill him."

"They'll be no one leaving you, my lady—" Collum cried out, but she turned on him, giving him a warning look.

"There's no one in that house!" Fitzgerald raged suddenly.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. One way or the other, Sir Miles, Hagar does stand just feet away. He can kill you before a man could begin to aim an arrow ... which could wind up in your back."

"No!" Collum tried to protest again. But at that moment, Margot at last caused the arrow pinning him upward to snap. The pain caused even such a seasoned warrior to scream out and fall, grasping his chest. Then ... he was silent.

She looked at Fitzgerald. "Your men stay where they are. The others leave. Then you face me alone."

"Filthy Scots—" Fitzgerald began, but a look from Hagar stilled him. He stood furiously, thinking over his options.

"The women leave, and they take their injured. They'll die out here anyway," he said harshly. He pointed at Hagar. "And that one—he goes, too."

"Never—" Hagar said.

"Aye!" Eleanor snapped. She turned from Fitzgerald, her heart sinking. Hagar was all that stood between any of them and certain death now. But alone, he couldn't kill all the Englishmen. If they didn't pay her heed, they would all die.

But they would never willingly leave her.

"If you go," she whispered, touching his massive chest again, "there may be ... God knows, maybe there will be help on the road. Other rebels, men moving north, heading home from the borders ... perhaps, perhaps there will at least be a chance. Please, Hagar, don't make Margot and Bridie die because of me, I beg you; seize this last bit of hope, there could be someone out there."

She didn't believe it for a minute. But perhaps Hagar did believe that he could double back, and die with her. He could see that the other two men were sorely wounded. They might well die. If they stayed, they would be slaughtered.

And Margot and Bridie would be helpless. Hagar was a big fellow with tremendous power, and a poor French accent. But he was an intelligent man as well.

"Aye, then, I'll go with the wounded and the women," he whispered harshly. Then he made a pretense of shrugging, as if it had suddenly become no great matter to him—not a matter worth dying for. He stared at Fitzgerald and spoke loudly. "Aye, then, you'll let us go, and I'll leave as well. This is not a Scottish battle, as it is. Though ..." He spat on the ground. "Filthy English. I wouldn't mind dying to bring them down!"

"Hagar, go."

He turned around. Collum was no longer conscious. Lars, even with Bridie's help, could barely stand. Eleanor watched the proceedings, still but furious, as Hagar lifted Collum as if the muscled warrior were a babe, and set him over one of the horses.

Margot stood in a moment of terrible indecision, then walked away, biting her hp against tears. She helped Bridie drag Lars to a horse.

With Collum thrown over his mount with as much tenderness as Hagar could manage, he moved to help the women get Lars mounted. Margot managed on her own; Bridie, shaking, did not do so well. Hagar had to help her before looking at Eleanor with deep reproach, and mounting his own horse.

"You will let them ride away," Eleanor told Fitzgerald firmly. "Else, Hagar will turn ... and we will all die, but you with us."

"I am standing here, my lady, without movement," he said politely.' 'What do I care if these rebels die today at my hand— or tomorrow, still fighting King Edward?" He lifted a hand, indicating that the rebels should go.

They were all silent as the party of Scots moved out. Eleanor held still as long as she could, listening for the sounds of hoofbeats to die away.

In time, they did so.

' 'There is truly no one in that hovel, is there, Lady Eleanor?''

She looked at the deserted, thatched dwelling, taking as long as she dared with her reply. "What do you think, Sir Miles?"

"If they'll not take her," said another man, stepping around from the rear. "I will do so!" He wore a patch over one eye. His face was twisted in a knot of hatred ... and anticipation, she thought. She felt weak. He was a man to enjoy the task of killing.

She felt the flutter of life in her stomach again, and the world seemed to pitch and weave precariously. She had never wanted to survive more in all her days. If she died, her child died with her. It seemed an unbearable injustice.

And yet so many had died ...

At war. Even cruelly at war. The English; the Scots. The fight had become vicious, brutal, and inhuman, surely ever so before the eyes of God.

But this was not due to a war. Or freedom, or ideals, or even the passion of one arrogant king who felt he had the right to rule from coast to coast, sea to sea.

This was some strange intent on .. . murder. Cold-blooded murder.

The strange ugly man with the patch on his eye came toward her. "I don't mind taking on the task, aye, not at all. Cutting such a pretty piece to ribbons, a lady, and all, will be a pleasure. Like taking hold of that fellow in the woods, aye, the good Scotsman who betrayed you. Took some time for the fellow to do so, I'll grant you that. Could you suffer so long for another, Lady, I wonder? Turned out he was a treacherous rat, trained for the likes of Sir Modes, there. We broke four of his fingers and ripped out most of his nails before he began to give ... beat him to death for the details, aye, that we did."

Her heart pitched. She thought that she would be ill all over the man before either of them could raise a blade.

Gregory. Gregory had been tortured to death—over her.

Some insanity swept through her that not even the prospect of her coming child could curb. She had always been taught
not
to lose her temper, never to lose control, always to remember her weaknesses.

But the ugly fellow was too close. She lifted her sword with uncanny speed and precision, bringing it down on the man's shoulders with a fury and strength that seemed nearly superhuman. She had the sheer pleasure of seeing the amazement on his face before he staggered back and fell.

Fitzgerald stepped forward, staring at her, then at the man bleeding into the earth. He nudged the man with his boot. There was a groan.

Fitzgerald looked from his prone and bleeding servant to her. "Dirk was a good man, aye, and served me well. Another sin you must pay for, my lady."

Fitzgerald shrugged. "Do you think that Englishmen are not aware they risk their lives in Scotland? We will be leaving here in some haste, madam."

"Indeed. He failed, and now, the battle
is
to you."

He watched her a moment longer, angry, but shaking his head in rueful admiration.

"It is a pity that you must die. And that we met too late. We might have wed, and you'd have no need to rid yourself of an old, decaying, husband."

"I'm not eager for death, but between you and the grave, worms do become all the more enticing."

The last infuriated him. And he did not underestimate her. He'd have preferred to have his men seize her ... so that he could slay her without danger of injury to himself.

But that couldn't be. He had lost his opportunity to avoid the fight with her. His men would brand him a coward, and he would lose respect in their eyes, and maybe even the authority to force them to allow his intended execution.

"So, madam, you're eager for a taste of eternity, and the crawl of worms about your flesh. Then it is time. My lady, it's time to meet your maker."

"As you wish. We'll see then, if you can repeat the prowess you exercised on Dirk there. It is time to be finished here."

Chapter
22

Fitzgerald had known exactly where the little party of Scots was headed. Gregory had been tortured into telling all he knew. But Brendan knew the ground better than Fitzgerald, and would not have to search for any trails.