The Mark of Salvation (27 page)

Ceallach had been asking himself the same question and finally came to a decision. “I think we must go in. Make it look like a raid— if Orelia is being held against her will we can take her with us and make it look as if she was forced to leave with us.”

Fergus nodded. “That will make her appear innocent of conspiracy but may make them more likely to chase us.”

“ 'Tis a chance I'm willing to take. Are you?” Ceallach asked.

Morrigan grinned and eyed Fergus. “I feel the need to go a-raiding!”

A SILVER HALF-MOON illuminated Radbourne Hall, providing a clear view of its steep walls. A swiftly flowing creek lay between the small force of Scotsmen and the south wall.

“How are you going to get inside?” Bruce asked.

Ceallach grinned. “Do you remember that summer at Lochmaben?”

Bruce laughed out loud. “Well, at least this time you're in no danger of my father's belt. You mean to cross the creek and scale the walls?”

“Just as you and I did then. Fergus and I and a half-dozen men will ford the creek. Morrigan and six others will wait for us to open the front gate and let them in.”

Bruce said, “Much as I hate to miss this, I think it best that I take the rest of our men to Bolton Abbey and obtain their ransom. No use passing it up when we're so close. Meet us there and we'll head north yet tonight.”

Bruce left and Morrigan and her men took up their position while Fergus and Ceallach made their way to the streambed. Although they were far enough from the castle not to be heard, Fergus kept his voice low. “I am uneasy about ye going into the keep. Ye should go with Morrigan and the reinforcements—”

“Can I assume from this that Morrigan has told you what she knows of me?”

“Not exactly. She let it slip and I hounded her until she told me all.”

Ceallach nodded, not sure how he felt about Fergus knowing of his past. But he had more important worries. “I could just as easily get caught outside the walls as in. I will enter the castle and see Orelia for myself.” Only then could he be assured of her well-being. Besides, there was no one here who could recognize him from Bannockburn—he'd worn a hood. The real danger—for all of them—lay in being captured as one of Bruce's raiders.

Turning to the other men who would accompany them he said, “Make sure you've sufficiently covered yourselves in soot. We must blend in with the night if we're to be successful.”

After a quick inspection, Ceallach ordered everyone to retrieve their weapons, which were wrapped in sacks to prevent the moonlight from finding the polished surfaces. The cloth would also dampen any noise from metal rubbing metal. Stealth and surprise were their only hope of breaching the wall.

Ceallach ensured that ropes were tied securely around each man's waist, the weapons attached to their backs. He grinned at Fergus, smeared from head to toe in charcoal. The others matched or exceeded Fergus in height, though none equaled Ceallach's stature. They'd been chosen for their ability to swim and for being tall enough to withstand the stream's current at its deepest point. The rest of the troop awaited them near the entrance to the castle with Morrigan in command.

Clothing would hinder their ability to maneuver and might even drag them into the swift waters. They wore only tight trews of darkened material. Ceallach shivered in anticipation.

Satisfied all preparations were complete, Ceallach gestured for them to move out. They quietly made their way to the stream's bank. Goose flesh raised on bare skin, not from fear—for these were seasoned warriors—but from contact with the frigid water.

Fergus had entered the water first and the others had followed at prescribed intervals. They must not all arrive on the other side at once, or some might be forced to wait in the stream, where their strength would be sapped from the chill.

The cold water crept up his legs, then rose to chest level, slowly washing away the soot. By the time he reached the narrow strip of land at the base of the wall, Fergus and James were using a long pole to lift a knotted rope to the top. A hook attached to the rope would hold it fast and enable them to climb.

The hook held, and again Fergus went first. When Ceallach's turn came, he silently cursed his own imagination for concocting such a scheme, as first his knee and then his chest scraped the wall. Somehow this had been easier when he was seven.

After crawling over the top, and scraping tender parts not usually exposed to such abuse, he quickly hid in the shadows with the others, for now only their faces and shoulders remained blackened. Looking at his fellows, Ceallach allowed a grin to crease his face, thinking what a fright they would give the inhabitants. Just so long as Orelia recognized him.

Black-faced and barely covered—true highland warriors.

The time had come. At Ceallach's nod, the others moved to prearranged locations. The castle seemed unnaturally quiet and Ceallach felt goose flesh rise again on his arms.

Soon. Soon he would know if Orelia was safe or not.

A dog barked. Again, with more force this time.

“Blast.” He prayed the men were in position; they must make the final move now, before the guards heeded the dog's alarm.

He gave the signal, racing across the bailey, praying all the while that Orelia was asleep in her bed and not up and about somewhere. He didn't want to waste time searching for her. As Fergus's group raced toward the gate, Ceallach systematically barged into the sleeping chambers, surprising the occupants and securing one after another with rope.

Hurrying to the next room, he heard a shout of triumph as Fergus and the others reached the portcullis and began to lower the drawbridge to their waiting companions.

Success. Now all that remained was to secure Orelia and escape and the battle would be over. Swiftly, quietly, and with no loss of life.

Kicking in the door, aware that the occupants might have been forewarned of danger by Fergus's shout, Ceallach proceeded into the next darkened room, slowing his steps and drawing his sword.

Ceallach stopped his advance, looking all around. What foul play was this?

On the bed lay the body of a man.

SIXTEEN

Brothers will fast on Fridays "Brothers will refrain from boasting of past prowess or brave deeds."

—from the Rule of the Templar Knights

T
he
danger of being captured and imprisoned is never far
from my mind. Even though it's unlikely that I would be
singled out, still we are deep into English territory and run the
risk of being discovered. I don't think my reason would survive
captivity again, especially if I were tortured. All it would take
to break me this time is a simple candle flame. Yet I brave it
all for Orelia's sake. She didn't ask me to come, it's true, but I
must make sure she is well—I may never venture this far south
again.

And if the God I pray to is a just God, he will deliver me
from my enemies.

GEORGE'S WARNING SPURRED ORELIA to action. Although he hadn't been specific, Orelia feared that Alice might try to poison them all. Or maybe she planned to starve them—lock the door to their room and refuse them food and water.

Orelia tried not to let her imagination become overwrought. But she would not just sit here and wait for whatever came. “I must leave tonight, Mary.” Orelia began packing the few things she would be able to take with her. Iain was barely well enough to travel, but Orelia wasn't about to stay here and find out what Alice's daft mind planned next.

“What of George? Can he be trusted?” Mary sat Iain down on a bench.

“I'd like to think so—he did warn us. But if he must choose, really choose, between Iain and his own cousin's children, then what? I won't gamble Iain's life with a man whose loyalty is so divided.”

Orelia observed Mary gathering her things. “Will you go with us, Mary?”

“Am I welcome?”

Orelia rushed to her and hugged her. “Most definitely.”

Mary indicated the nearly full basket. “What else shall I pack?”

Orelia peered about the room and her gaze fell upon the small chest that held Ceallach's letter. Taking the parchment from the box, she held it to her chest and closed her eyes.

“What is that, my lady?”

“A . . . letter from a friend.”
Do not open it unless you have need of
me. When you read my words, you will know that I will help you no
matter what your need.

Her life was about to change—in a few minutes she would leave Radbourne to seek sanctuary elsewhere. Perhaps she would write to Ceallach once she'd established her new life. Not because she needed him, she assured herself, but simply to know that he was well.

She broke the seal on the letter then hesitated. What harm could there be in reading his words? She opened the parchment and read:
There were no roses blooming when we parted. If there had been, I would
have given you a cream colored one with a blush of color on its tip, a
promise of the love I hold for you.

Ceallach loved her!
Memories poured over her, one after another. Dunstruan. Safety. Friendship.

“What does it say, my lady?”

Mary's query brought Orelia back to the present and the need for action. She would not send for Ceallach and endanger him, despite his declaration. But perhaps she could seek refuge in Scotland. Orelia reached up to touch the necklace around her neck, to seek reassurance with a quick prayer.

“My necklace! Where is it?” Frantically she searched her clothing, then the room, trying to remember when she'd taken the necklace off. Mary joined the search but neither of them found the precious chain and cross.

With tears in her eyes, Orelia said, “It must have fallen off and I didn't notice. I thought I'd put it on the clothing chest last night before going to bed.”

Orelia sat down hard on the bed, very nearly ready to halt their flight to safety until the necklace could be found. That piece of jewelry had come to symbolize her life with John and all he had tried to teach her about God's love. Now it was gone.

“I'm sorry, my lady.” Mary laid a comforting hand on Orelia's shoulder.

Orelia blew out her breath. The loss of the necklace didn't change her situation nor did it mean God loved her any less. But with its loss came the final separation from John and his home.

Yet still she doubted. “Am I doing the right thing in leaving, Mary?”

A simple life in the country is better than a quick death at “Radbourne.”

Accepting that the piece of jewelry was lost forever she said, “Let's go, then.”

Just before dusk, Orelia, Mary, and Iain sneaked down the tower stairs. They went into the kitchen, thankfully deserted this late in the day, and took some bread and fruit and water. Then they raced to the sheep pens in the bailey, from where they could see the gate. The gate was closed!

Orelia stifled a moan. How would they get the gate opened without being detected? Every minute in the bailey was another minute closer to discovery.

“Don't fret, my lady,” Mary said. “Someone will be along and they'll be opening the gate for them, you'll see. They're always slow about closing it up again. We'll move then.”

They waited for nearly an hour for an opportunity to open the gate and leave unobserved. All through those hours of waiting, Orelia repeatedly reached for the cross that should be hanging around her neck. And each time it wasn't to be found she grieved the loss. Until it dawned on her that maybe this was God's way of showing her that her future no longer lay here at Radbourne. The cross—John's cross—was part of her past; now it was time for her to look elsewhere for her future.

Well after dark, the gate was opened and left open. Orelia heard shouts and a cry of alarm, and feared they'd been discovered missing just as they were to make their escape. She touched the knife strapped to her leg, reassured by its presence. A group of horsemen entered the gate, and in the confusion, the three of them slipped out of Radbourne unnoticed.

They ran for the cover of the woods, struggling through the thick forest that lay between them and the safety of Bolton Abbey. Orelia had decided to throw herself on the mercy of the abbot and take sanctuary there for the night. They would walk to her grandmother's cottage tomorrow and there she would take the time to decide what to do next.

Iain hung like a sack of wet clothing around her neck, and her arms ached. She and Mary took turns carrying him.
We should have
taken horses.
But then they would have had to stay on the road and risk being seen. She and Mary didn't talk, saving their breath to run and scramble across the rough terrain.

How much farther?
God give me strength.
The uphill climb eased and soon they crested the hill. Exhausted, she gratefully sat on an outcropping of rock that overlooked Radbourne Hall to catch her breath. Mary sat beside her.

Far below them and about a mile away, were the flickering torches from the gate and walls of the castle.

A noise in the brush sounded behind them.

Iain whimpered and she covered his mouth. “Shh,” she whispered. He quieted, and Orelia gave a prayer of thanksgiving. An animal scurrying for food, nothing more.

She stood, her arms protesting as they accepted the child's weight again. Nodding to Mary, she turned for a final look at Radbourne Hall. She struggled to make sense of what she saw in the moonlight.

Smoke poured from the tower room.

WISHING HE COULD LIGHT one of the candles that lay within his reach, Ceallach cautiously approached the bed and laid his hand on the man's chest. There was no rise and fall of breath. This chamber obviously belonged to the master of the castle; the dead man must be Orelia's brother-in-law, the Earl of Radbourne.

Still a young man in his prime—what could have killed him? Ceallach saw no sign of a violent death. Had he been poisoned as the serving wench had said? And if so, by whom?