The Mark of Salvation (20 page)

They parted. “I want to say good-bye here, tonight, in private.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. His eyes were bright, and she knew he was affected too. But he would not say so, because she was not his and never would be. She belonged at Radbourne, raising John's child. And Ceallach belonged . . . nowhere.

He lifted her chin. “Tell me those are the foolish tears of a breeding woman, and that you will not cry tomorrow.”

“That is exactly what they are. I am English, despite my grandmother's Scottish blood; I don't belong here and I must go home.”

“If things were different . . .” He shook his head and reached intothe folds of his plaid, withdrawing a small piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax. “Take this, but do not open it unless you have need of me.”

“Why would I—”

“You may need my help but would hesitate to ask. What is written here will assure you that I will come.”

She took it and tapped it with her finger. “You expect me to grow old and never open this after you arouse my curiosity so?”

“If you don't need me, don't open it. It's that simple. There is nothing there of any consequence unless you are in trouble and wonder if I will help.”

The tears started again. “Very well.” She tucked the missive under her belt. 'Twas time, but she couldn't let him go without one kiss, one taste of him to remember him by. He gazed at her and she moved back into his arms. He touched his lips to hers, and she yielded. For one, too-brief moment they were of one accord.

She broke away, missing his touch and knowing she would never feel it again. Brushing away her tears, she said, “Good-bye, Ceallach.”

He stared at her. Clearly the kiss had affected him, too. Why had she made their parting so much harder for him. For them both?

“Good-bye, Orelia,” he whispered. Then he slowly walked away.

ROBERT THE BRUCE HALTED HIS RETINUE on a wooded hillside overlooking the English border. Ceallach glanced at the position of the sun and determined that they were early for their rendezvous with the English. Bruce had been uncharacteristically silent during the ride. The king of Scotland and victor of the battle of Bannockburn had dismounted, and now paced back and forth like an anxious bridegroom.

But the king wasn't the only one whose nerves stretched thin. Ceallach fought his need to look at Orelia, to study her face so that he would not forget. But no one must suspect his feelings for the young widow. There could be no conjecture about the babe's paternity.

When the negotiations had become final and a date for the exchange set, Bryan had gone to Moy to fetch his wife, Kathryn. She would act as the queen's lady in waiting, providing feminine companionship. Bruce didn't know what condition Elizabeth would be in. She had not been subjected to living in an open cage like Bruce's other womenfolk, but had spent most of her imprisonment under house arrest at various manor homes.

But Elizabeth had spent the better part of the past year in Rochester prison, which could not have been kind to a gently bred woman. She might need a woman to confide in.

Elizabeth and Bruce's daughter Marjorie and the other Scottish prisoners had been transported to Berwick by ship. Berwick remained in English hands, which so angered Bruce that he refused to have the exchange there. The exchange would take place near Norham Castle, close to the English border.

Bryan motioned for the others to dismount and give the king room.

Ceallach got down from his horse and walked over to stand by Bryan. “Our king appears nervous,” he said softly.

“Aye, he was calmer before the battle.”

Ceallach wanted to tame his own nervous stomach and sought distraction in conversation. “They've been separated a long time.”

“Eight years, and after only four years of marriage.”

Ceallach wondered what kind of woman Elizabeth Bruce might be. How had she withstood prison and separation from her husband? “Did you know the queen?”

“I joined their household as a squire a year after their marriage. It seemed to be a union of great warmth and mutual respect.” Bryan paused, seeming lost momentarily in memories. “I remember when she was taken. He nearly resigned the crown.”

Further talk halted when the lookout announced the approach of riders. They remounted and rode slowly down the hillside. Ceallach could only imagine the king's emotions as he rode toward his wife and the daughter he hadn't seen in eight years.

Robert had received occasional letters, but eight years was a very long time. People change, most especially someone who has been a prisoner. How would he and Elizabeth ever put their life back together?

Bruce halted, and Ceallach could see him moisten his lips and fiddle with the reins. His features were tense, and Ceallach was amazed to discover that he understood. Here was no king, just a man, a husband who feared what he might discover when he next beheld his wife. Had Elizabeth become bitter in her prison? Could she forgive him for his inability to rescue her?

Ceallach had no trouble imagining the horrors of imprisonment. While Elizabeth would have been spared the depravity Ceallach had known, the loss of freedom gnawed at a person's soul.

As they approached the English riders and their Scottish prisoners, he noted Elizabeth's bright blond hair and the straightness of her posture as she sat upon her horse. Bryan motioned for his men to bring forward the prisoners who would be exchanged for the queen.

Ceallach was afraid to look at Orelia, afraid his feelings were written on his face for everyone to see.

Orelia urged her horse forward then looked at Ceallach for the last time. She smiled bravely. He nodded, desperate not to show his feelings. Not the love, not the fear, not the grief. He managed to smile back.

The two groups faced each other. The men accompanying Elizabeth held back while she allowed her horse to advance. Robert dismounted and everyone followed suit. Then the king walked to his wife's horse. Neither moved but searched each other's faces. Then with a cry Elizabeth dismounted and threw herself into Robert's waiting arms.

Though they were a good twenty feet away from the couple, Ceallach turned around to give them privacy. Seeing his movement, Bryan stationed his horse nose to tail with Ceallach's, providing a screen of sorts.

“I feared how this would go,” Bryan admitted.

“So did I. This is a good beginning, don't you think?”

They glanced over the horse's backs at the still embracing couple. Bryan grinned. “Aye, most encouraging.” His grin disappeared. “He never stopped loving her, Ceallach. Not all this time and despite . . .”

Ceallach recognized Bryan's struggle, as if he didn't want to tarnish the reputation of this man he so obviously admired.

Softly, he said, “I've heard the rumors, Bryan.”

“It's not as if he chased after women.” Bryan defended his father. “Rather they were drawn to him, his power and position.” He paused. “I cannot judge him. I don't know if I would have done any different in his circumstances.”

Seeking to reassure him, Ceallach laid a hand on his arm. “I do not accuse him. Only Elizabeth has that right.”

Bryan signaled to Kathryn and she walked forward. Ceallach glanced up to see the royal couple walking toward them. Elizabeth seemed apprehensive, and he saw Robert strengthen his hold on his wife's arm.

Bryan knelt and took his queen's hand to kiss it.

Elizabeth's voice shook as she said, “Rise, Sir Bryan.” He did as she said, and, in a most unqueenly fashion, she hugged Bryan tight. Ceallach studied Robert, whose eyes appeared over bright.

When the queen released him, Bryan gently drew Kathryn to his side. “Your Majesty, may I present my wife, Lady Kathryn.”

Elizabeth grasped Kathryn's hand and squeezed it. “How kind of you to welcome me. I am pleased to see Bryan well married. We will talk more later.”

Bruce introduced Ceallach. “My lady, this is Ceallach, my foster brother.” He leaned close and whispered something in her ear. She drew back, her expression quizzical. But she simply extended her hand. “I'm pleased to meet you, Ceallach.”

Ceallach bowed over her hand. “And I you, my queen.”

The queen turned to Robert. “We are on Scottish soil, are we not?”

“Aye, my love, that we are.”

“Then let's not waste another minute.” She looked at Robert as if no one else stood near. “Take me home, Husband,” she whispered.

TWELVE

No brother may leave the field of battle while the Order's standard is still flying.

—from the Rule of the Templar Knights

O
relia was right. Talking about Peter's death and my part in
it has brought me a sense of peace. Unburdening myself to her
healed me even more than writing it down. But in revealing
the torture, I fear I lost her admiration and respect. Still, what
difference does it make? She has gone back to England, to the
life waiting for her there. I remain what I have always been—
a warrior waiting for the next fight to begin.

ORELIA TURNED IN HER SADDLE, looking for Ceallach. He sat on his horse, there on the hill, and tears came to her eyes. He'd been a stalwart friend and she would miss him.

She would never see him again. Her home was at Radbourne, raising John's child to one day take on his inheritance. Ceallach certainly could not come to England, not with a price on his head.

She touched her stomach. Surely the child would be a boy. God had been kind enough to grant her fervent wish and given her John's child. Was she asking too much that the babe be a boy?

She attempted a smile—determined not to show her sadness— and waved at the warrior before facing forward for the ride south. A part of her would always remain in Scotland with the brave knight whose friendship she'd grown to cherish. She wiped away tears, unsure if they were tears of joy or pain. Her condition made every emotion sharper and she didn't trust her heart just now.

The journey was blessedly uneventful and although the men complained about the slow pace and the need to find shelter at night, they were kind enough and watched out for her. Orelia took care to eat well and get as much sleep as possible. Nothing could be allowed to harm Radbourne's heir. Though she was grateful for the gentle palfrey that carried her, by the final day of the journey she was more than ready to get off the horse and stay off.

But she worried about her welcome at Radbourne Hall. Alice had certainly made her dislike of Orelia clear, so clear that Orelia had followed John to Scotland. How would Alice react to the news that Orelia carried John's heir?

Wearily she dismounted at last in the courtyard of Radbourne Hall.

“Welcome home, Orelia,” Richard said as he helped her dismount. For one brief moment, looking at the brother who favored John so closely, Orelia nearly threw herself into Richard's arms. But since they had never been particularly warm toward each other, she merely nodded in greeting.

Composing her emotions, she responded with the dignity befitting a widow. She suspected she would need to draw heavily upon decorum and faith in the days to come. “Thank you, Richard. I am glad to be here.”

Alice stepped forward and gave her a light peck on the cheek. “Welcome, Orelia. You look tired.”

Orelia nodded. “More tired than I've ever been.”

“We'll not fatigue you more by insisting on visiting with us right now.” Richard held out his hand. “Come, Alice will take you to your room. When you are rested, you may tell us everything you know about . . . John's death. And your imprisonment.”

Richard seemed sincerely grief stricken at his brother's death, but Orelia sensed a lack of sincerity in Alice. She gave herself a mental shake. Such foolishness. She was allowing her feelings toward the woman to overshadow all else and cloud her mind.

Gratefully she settled into her room. Alice and Richard now occupied the master chamber and Orelia was glad to be spared from sleeping there with nothing but her memories. Just seeing the house and grounds had been painful enough reminders of her loss.

For two days she stayed in her room, taking meals there, resting and restoring her strength. Not only physically, but also preparing to tell Richard and Alice about John's death and then, the news that would change everyone's future.

THE FIRST THING ORELIA NOTICED when she left her room and came down the stairs into Radbourne's main hall was the smell of beeswax candles. There were few windows in the hall, and candles or torches were necessary even in daylight. But Orelia had always burned tallow candles, leaving the more expensive beeswax for special occasions and guests.

As she made her way to a table to break her fast she noted the new tablecloths of Irish linen. Again, such costly items were not unheard of at Radbourne but were not used every day. Perhaps Alice had ordered them used to celebrate Orelia's return. She would thank the woman for such thoughtfulness.

Richard sat down beside her. “Good morning, Orelia. It is good to see that you are feeling rested enough to come down this day.”

“I'm glad to be home.”

“As we are to have you. I thought the Scottish pretender would never let you leave. I traveled to London twice to encourage Edward to have you released quickly, to no avail.”

She was grateful for such efforts on her behalf. “Thank you, Richard.”

Orelia had learned from Ceallach that it had been Edward who stalled the negotiations, but she chose not to point that out to her brother-in-law. Thinking of Ceallach made her feel almost homesick, and she stifled a smile at her fanciful thought. She was home here, at Radbourne.

Discreetly she laid her hand on her gently swelling stomach. So far, her clothing concealed her condition. Without John to protect them, she felt especially protective of his heir. She needed to be fully prepared for battle before she disclosed her news. When they had finished the meal, Richard said, “Come. Alice will meet us in the solar so you can speak of John in private.”