The Firebrand (23 page)

“As he took the charred wooden casket from my burned fingers, the only thing that I could think was that I could see!” Benedict met Catherine’s gaze. “I could see, and your father’s face was the first thing that I ever saw.”

****

Thundering past them, Wyntoun raced ahead along the stony spit of sand and sea grass. As he drew near the walls of the castle, he shouted for the iron-banded portcullis to be raised. Frowning fiercely, the Highlander turned to watch Adrianne approach, Gillie perched precariously in front of her. Wyntoun didn’t know which of the two he was more furious with.

The gate was open by the time Adrianne neared the castle, and as the two horses passed side by side beneath the low arch, Wyn could hear Gillie murmuring under his breath about protecting his mistress.

Leaping off his horse at the foot of the steps into the east entry to the keep, the knight reached up to take Gillie from her arms. The courtyard was empty but for a couple of half-asleep grooms trotting over from the stables to tend the horses.

Gillie’s head dropped back, revealing his sadly afflicted face, now pale and deathly looking in the moonlight. The lad must have left the castle on foot after seeing them ride out. In the middle of winter, on foot at night, dressed as poorly as the boy was and then crossing a half-frozen stream…he deserved a whipping to beat some sense into him.

By the devil, Wyn cursed himself, he never should have gone out riding with Adrianne. And he should have known that the lad would try to follow them. Gillie had barely taken his eyes off her from the time they left Barra.

He shot her a glare. Concern was evident in her face, but not a trace of guilt over her impulsiveness. Instead of staying out of the water and having a dry garment to wrap Gillie in, she’d simply wrapped her cloak around him as he’d crouched in the stream. And then she’d just ridden off before Wyntoun could take the lad back! Why, Gillie weighed nearly as much as Adrianne herself, and yet she’d gone off at a gallop across unfamiliar terrain in the middle of the night…without even a passing thought as to the possible consequences! ‘Twas only by some miracle that she’d been able to keep them both atop that horse.

Striding toward the keep, he ground his teeth together. He would deal with her later. She had to learn a lesson from this, but he didn’t quite trust himself to broach the subject now. Forcing his temper back, he told himself that first they needed to get Gillie situated. He would discuss Adrianne’s actions with her later. Aye, that was the better course of action.

“I’ll have a talk with Gillie after he awakens,” she said, running up the steps beside Wyntoun as he carried the boy into the building. “There is no reason why he should worry about me so much when I am here.”

“
If
he awakens!” he growled under his breath, glancing at the still form in his arms.

“Surely, he will awaken!” she cried out in alarm. “He must!”

“A wee bit late to show your concern.” Wyntoun shifted the boy in his arms and pounded his fist on the huge oak door. A bleary-eyed serving man yanked it open before the master could knock a second time. As he turned to edge through the doorway, Wyn glanced at Adrianne. From the look of pain and shock on her face, he realized he might as well have struck her, as spoken to her in such a way.

He pushed back a pang of regret for using such words on her.

Wyntoun turned to the servant and jerked his head toward the stairwell ahead. “Run up to the bedchamber above my chambers and see that a fire is started.”

“For him, master?” the man said in disbelief, hurrying along ahead of the knight.

“Aye, for him!” Wyntoun roared angrily, sending the man scrambling up the stone stairs.

As the Highlander followed, Adrianne was suddenly at his elbow. “I see, now. Well, you can unleash your temper all you want, but I know you’re only angry with me because I took charge by the stream and…”

“Responsibility, Adrianne! Is that a word that means anything to you, at all?” So much for holding back until later, he thought darkly.

“I am quite responsible when it comes to the welfare of others!”

“A pretty enough delusion, I’d say. But far from the truth.”

“If you are speaking of the lies you heard on Barra, then I will only say there were circumstances that would well justify my actions…if someone cared to hear my side of things.”

“I am speaking of here and now, Adrianne. I’m speaking about the half-frozen lad in my arms. Just consider the reckless path you’ve set this young one on, just since I’ve met you.”

“Reckless? I didn’t tell him…I didn’t even suggest that he should follow us tonight!”

They reached the top of the steps, Wyntoun watched the serving man run from the chamber.

“I’ll fetch more peat, m’lord!” he murmured as he raced by them.

“Nay…that you did not. Just as you never suggested that Gillie leave Barra along with you, swimming in dangerous and icy waters to reach my ship.”

“That’s true! I never did!”

The tinder the serving man had set ablaze in the brazier lit up the chamber. Luckily, the heat from his own chambers below kept this room fairly warm anyway. Wyntoun gently placed the boy on the bed.

“And you believe that is where your responsibility ends? Just because you didn’t ask him, you think he wouldn’t follow?” He shook his head as they both worked to peel the wet clothes from the boy. Gillie was moaning now, and Wyntoun knew a fever would be coming on. His voice was low as he spoke to her. “The fact is, you
did
ask him.
You
have set the course, and Gillie followed.”

“I would never endanger Gillie’s life…or the life of anyone!”

He snorted. “Foolish words, coming from the mistress of dangerous acts! Climbing from a cage suspended from Kisimul Castle? Swimming out to a ship in a winter storm? Holding a knife to the throat of a warrior twice your size?” He paused. “Marrying a man you have no intention of remaining with? Nay, Adrianne, you’ve set an example for the lad. No thought before action, no consideration of consequences.”

“None that
you
might see. But I have reasons for everything I do.” Her eyes were stormy as she turned her gaze on him. “And I’ve survived, have I not?”

“Aye, you have. But will he?” Wyntoun watched her gaze falter, and then turn to the boy. “He adores you, Adrianne. Whether you will admit it or not, Gillie has come to worship the ground you walk on. The lad would follow you blindly and happily to the ends of the earth without a second thought.”

Together, the two tucked a heavy blanket around Gillie, who was shivering.

“Therein lies responsibility, Adrianne! Responsibility for others. It matters only a wee bit what you care to do or not do for yourself. When others are depending on you…devoted to you…following in your footsteps…you cannot jump off a cliff just to prove you can do it. Now you have to think of who might be jumping after you.” He straightened up from the bed and looked at her and at Gillie. “I cannot say it plainer than this. ‘Tis time, Adrianne, you stopped thinking only of yourself.”

****

The Knights of the Veil!

Nichola knew that blue cloth as well as she knew her own family’s crest. The same blue cloth with the gold fringe had been hanging in her husband’s private study to the day he had been taken away to London. She drew a deep breath, thinking of him, of the vision she had just seen in the burning tower room.

Sighing, she hesitantly crossed the chamber and reached up to touch the gold fringe of the cloth. It was of the same. It was the sign of the Knights of the Veil—the same secret order of warriors and priests that Edmund Percy had belonged to from the time he was a young man. She knew that, like his father before him, Edmund had taken vows to serve the Virgin Mary. Vows to protect the Treasure of Tiberius. From the time they were first married, Nichola had known that her husband would have forfeited his very life if he were called upon to do so.

She closed her eyes. Perhaps, in the end, he had done just that.

The sound of the door closing behind her jerked Nichola’s head around.

“Sir Henry!” Her feeling of relief at seeing the familiar face of her husband’s friend quickly dissipated as she gazed on the knight’s grave expression.

“M’lady.” Henry Exton—whom Nichola knew to be approaching fifty years of age—stood straight as a Spanish lance by the closed door and bowed to her courteously. His deep, gravelly voice was hardly unfamiliar to her. “I am extremely relieved to see you were unharmed by the fire.”

“What’s the meaning of any of this, Sir Henry?” She started toward him, but stopped abruptly as the Englishman held up a hand suddenly. His piercing blue eyes gazed commandingly at her, and she felt suddenly a sense of helplessness before the tall knight. Henry Exton had been a friend to her husband—a protégé, even, at one time—but the answer to her question was plainly visible in his expression. Do you have to ask, m’lady? Do you think we do not know what you have done?

Nichola tried to hide the blush of embarrassment that was burning her cheeks, but there was no relief.

“The fire has been extinguished. In a few moments your chamber will once again be ready for you to occupy.”

“My chamber!?” Her embarrassment turned to fury in an instant. “You cannot think of returning me to that prison?”

“You must remain our…my guest, Lady Nichola…for the time being.”

“Guest!” She drew herself up, letting him hear the anger in her voice. “Stealing me away, keeping me a prisoner for so long. Without human company. Without an explanation of any sort! Depriving me of even a breath of fresh air. Your standards of courtesy have declined, Sir Henry. Is this how you treat all of your guests?”

“Nay, m’lady. Your stay with me has required a few exceptions to the rules of courtesy. For that I apologize deeply.”

She fought back the sudden urge to fly at him, to strike him, to tear out those steady blue eyes.

“Will you at least answer a few questions?”

“I fear I cannot, m’lady.”

She glared at him, studying his solid, comfortable stance by the door. He had been a great fighter in his youth. His body, broad and muscular, still showed evidence of that physical prowess. If he were only to move, so she could go past him. She could run. Escape out the door. Fly down the stairs and disappear into the night.

Nay. She knew there was no hope of any of that coming about.

She decided on a different approach. “You were a trusted friend to my husband, Sir Henry. You were welcomed and entertained in my home. I was told by Edmund himself always to consider you an ally.”

“I am sorry that you did not see fit to heed his advice earlier. But I pray that you shall continue to think of me as an ally in the future.”

“But how can I? How could I possibly think of your actions in imprisoning me as anything but treacherous, when you have provided no explanation for the state of affairs in which I find myself? Is kidnapping now an act of friendship, Sir Henry? Is this how the Knights of the Veil now treat their allies?”

Before he could answer, a knock at the door drew his attention. She watched him open the door slightly, but Nichola had no idea with whom he spoke or what was said.

Suddenly, the reality of her situation struck her. She was no longer viewed as an ally! Nichola’s mind raced as she considered just how the Knights of the Veil must have viewed her actions in the aftermath of her husband’s death. She was a woman willing to risk the Treasure of Tiberius in exchange for the lives of her daughters. And that had been—for all practical purposes—exactly what she had done. Dividing the map into three sections. Sending them to the farthest reaches of Scotland, where she prayed her daughters would marry and settle. The maps had not been a dowry, but part of their past…part of their heritage…part of their father. Something to keep them tied together.

And that had not been the end of her ‘treachery.’ She had kept the truth from her daughters. She had not told them that the Treasure of Tiberius was not theirs to protect. She had not told them that it belonged to the Knights of the Veil, a group that—as far as Nichola knew—her daughters knew nothing about.

Her only salvation had lain in choosing Wyntoun MacLean for Adrianne. If her plans ever blossomed, if those two ever were to wed, then Nichola had the peace of mind that part of that map was back again in the hands of one of the Knights of the Veil.

But, in fact, none of this mattered now. No doubt these men saw her actions as treason against all her husband had lived for.

Sir Henry closed the door. Then, as the Englishman turned to gaze at her, she felt a tremble pass through her. Her face flushed with heat she hadn’t felt in years. She knew he could see it, as well. It was there in his eyes. His blue eyes showed no hate or distrust. Nay, the look she read in his eyes was far, far from any of that. Stunned, she stood stock still, her ability to breathe suddenly gone from her body. Without uttering a word, though, Sir Henry pulled his gaze away and swung the door open wide, motioning for her to pass through.

Nichola took a step forward, pausing for only a heartbeat before gliding into the gallery. The corridor was now empty. A scent of smoke was present in the air—coming from the stairs that she knew lay to her left.

Welcome back to your prison, it seemed to say. And whatever Sir Henry had been thinking a moment ago, in spite of anything she had glimpsed, he was still her keeper.

“M’lady, allow me to escort you. I do not wish for you to suffer unnecessarily.”

The knight’s voice drew Nichola out of her reverie and she turned to meet her host’s gaze.

“Will you say the same, Sir Henry, when you escort me to King Henry in London? That is your plan, is it not?”

“I cannot answer that, Lady Nichola.”

“Am I to remain your prisoner for long, then? Surely you can answer that.”

“I cannot, m’lady.”

“So you are not alone in this, are you, Sir Henry?”

In spite of his silence, Nichola already knew the answer. Henry had to be acting on behalf of the Knights of the Veil. Instead of helping her, he had come after her.