The Mark of Salvation (28 page)

Or had the earl died of contagion? For a moment Ceallach panicked at the thought that he and his companions might be exposed to some deadly pestilence. And Orelia as well. Where was she? Had she fallen to this illness, too?

Anxious to see her again, Ceallach turned and ran back to the main hall. He smelled smoke and wondered that the fireplace drew so poorly in such an otherwise well-kept castle.

Fergus and Morrigan had rounded up some of the castle's inhabitants. Ceallach hastily scanned the crowd but Orelia wasn't among them. Disappointed and anxious to find her, he approached a young knight. Thinking the man to be one of the castle's men-at-arms he asked, “Is this everyone?”

The man stared at Ceallach. “You!” He backed away.

Ceallach brought his sword up. “Do I know you?”

“I am Sir George of Wellsey.”

“Never heard of you. How do you know me?” Ceallach asked as he menaced the man's throat with the tip of his sword.

“I was squire to Lord John Radbourne at Bannockburn. You were there. I saw you when your mask slipped.”

Ah, Ceallach remembered. This must be the young man Ceallach had not killed when the hood fell off his face. Aye, the man had lived to earn his knight's spurs. And lived to be able to identify Ceallach— turn him in for Edward's bounty.

Let him.
All that mattered was finding Orelia. Ceallach would worry about his own safety later. “
If
I was at Bannockburn it makes no difference tonight.” He looked at the knight. “Is everyone here?”

The man didn't answer and Ceallach brought the sword back up. “I am short of patience tonight,Wellsey. Answer me.”

“Everyone is here except the countess and her sister-in-law.” He paused, as if judging Ceallach's threat. “What do you want? If you mean to rob us, be done with it.”

Intent on his need to find Orelia, Ceallach asked, “Where are the women you mentioned?”

Hurried footsteps and shouting sounded in the entryway. Ceallach turned to look as a servant raced into the hall. “Fire! Fire in the tower! Come quickly!”

Fire!

Wellsey stood rooted to the spot. “Lady Orelia. God help us. Orelia is in the tower!”

“Orelia.” Ceallach didn't even pretend not to know who she was. It no longer mattered if George or anyone knew Ceallach's true purpose for being at Radbourne. “Lead on, man!”

As Ceallach and Fergus raced after George, Ceallach asked his friend, “Did you search the tower?”

“No, I didn't see the steps.”

“This way,” George shouted. “I should have
made
her leave—she was supposed to leave in the morning!”

They rounded a corner and through a door to the gathering dark. Tucked onto the outside of the original castle wall was a door that led to a covered staircase. George opened the door and smoke poured out of it.

Ceallach stepped onto the first step.

Fergus pulled him back. “Ye can't go up there!”

Ceallach turned to George. “You're sure she's there?”

“She was an hour ago.”

Ceallach shoved Fergus's restraining hand aside and ran up the steps, staying as low as he could. There were windows in the stairwell, open to the outside with no glass or other covering. Moonlight and fresh air streamed through them at intervals, lighting the darkness and thinning the smoke. Please God, let me get to her in time.
Not unto us, O Lord. Not for my glory, but for yours. Give me your
strength that I may glorify your name.

Ceallach ran up the narrow staircase and reached the first landing, stumbling over something in the gloom. He jerked to a stop, heart pounding, with Fergus right behind him.

A body lay at Ceallach's feet. He peered closer. Light colored hair spread in disarray around the woman's head. She lay face down, her neck at an awkward angle, and Ceallach could not force himself to turn her over. “Orelia,” he whispered.

George of Wellsey came up behind them in the narrow stairway. “What is it?” He shoved past Fergus. “Alice!” he cried. He pushed Ceallach out of the way and knelt beside the woman, righting her body and then lifting her head onto his thigh.

A smoldering torch fell from her hand and George pushed it away from her clothing. “She must have tripped coming down the stairs.” George brushed the reddish blond hair off her face.

Not Orelia.
Ceallach's relief was closely followed by terror— Orelia was still upstairs! Ceallach started past George and the woman when he noticed something familiar dangling from her hand. Ceallach reached down to make sure his eyes hadn't been affected by the smoke.

John of Radbourne's necklace.

Ceallach took it from the woman's lifeless fingers and placed it around his neck. Then he started up the stairs with Fergus close behind. The smoke lessened as they neared the top, and when they reached the final landing, Ceallach knew why.

The ashes of rushes gave evidence that the fire had started on the landing in front of the door. Having burned the fuel on the landing, the fire had crept under the door, igniting it. The thick oak door smoldered but had not yet burst into flames. Ceallach could hear the fire on the other side.

He tried to lift the latch. Locked! Then he saw the key dangling from the latch. Someone had locked Orelia inside and set the place on fire! Dreading what he must face, he knew that unless he opened the door and went to her, Orelia would surely die.

Stealing himself, he turned the key, lifted the latch, and opened the door to a hellish sight. The fire had spread rapidly through the floor covering to the window curtains and the bed hangings. Flames shot from the bed's canopy to the beams holding the slate roof above it.

Dry from years of protection from water, the beams snapped and popped as the fire fed on them, weakening them. Smoke swirled near the ceiling and one of the great beams made an ominous cracking sound. Burning ash and cinders rained down on the room, igniting clothing and furniture.

“Orelia!” Ceallach shouted above the fire's roar. “Orelia! Where are you?” He turned to Fergus. “We must search quickly before—”

“Look out!” Fergus screamed over the sound of wood giving way.

The beam directly over where the bed had stood came crashing toward them. Ceallach saw the flames, felt the heat, smelled the smoke, but suddenly he wasn't at Radbourne anymore. He was in the torturer's room in prison, and the flame coming toward him was a pitch-laden torch.

When the torch—in his vision—hit his chest, Ceallach came back to the present. A piece of the beam had broken off and struck Ceallach, knocking him to the floor and making his head momentarily swim. “Orelia! Answer me!”

The heat from the burning wood heated the chain and cross around his neck and Ceallach could feel the metal grow hot through his clothing. Desperate to keep the cloth from igniting, he shoved at the wood, pushing it upward while at the same time Fergus kicked it away with his foot. Fergus grabbed Ceallach and began to drag him toward the door.

Ceallach resisted, pushed against the floor but his blistered hands were so painful he had to give in. He tried to stand—how could Fergus be so strong?

They reached the door and Ceallach used the doorframe to pull himself to his feet. He stepped back into the room but Fergus held on. “No! There isn't time, Ceallach.”

“I must! I must!” he cried out. Then the heavy slate roof gave way and with a roar came crashing down. Debris pelted them and Fergus pushed him to the stairs. They reached the landing where the woman's body had been as smoke billowed after them.

Ceallach turned to look but Fergus propelled him forward. They barely outraced the column of smoke to the bottom of the stairway. Coughing and staggering, the two of them came face to face with Morrigan, the silent question written on her face.

Fergus shook his head.

Ceallach sank to his knees. God had once again deserted him.

Orelia was dead.

THE WALK DOWN THE HILL had been easier to manage as the trees grew less close here and the moon's light sifted through the branches. Another small rise of ground came next, and when Orelia reached the top of it, she could see the abbey. Orelia breathed a sigh of relief as they approached the road and the bridge spanning the narrow river that laid between them and shelter.

Orelia judged that they could cross the bridge and by staying close to the river, make their way to the safety of the abbey's stable. She'd had second thoughts about contacting the abbot. Better that no one know where they'd gone. Alice might send someone looking for her.

Alice. George. The children. What would become of them all? Were they in danger, with the fire? Had the fire been laid for her? Phantom flames danced in her mind. The farther they got from Radbourne Hall this night, the better.

“Come on. 'Tis too late to disturb the abbot tonight. We can sleep with the horses.” Gathering Iain to her once more, Orelia ran across the bridge with Mary close behind. Not much farther. She ran from tree to tree until all that remained was an open span of ground between them and the stable door.

A gloved hand suddenly clapped over her mouth and another came around her waist. Both she and Iain were well and truly captured in a man's strong arms. Orelia managed to twist about and stare at her attacker.

The king of Scotland grinned at her, and she nearly fainted in relief.

CEALLACH SAT WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS in the main hall of Radbourne. Morrigan instructed one of the servants to cover his blistered hands with a soothing balm. His hands didn't hurt, but he thought for sure the agony in his heart would kill him.

George of Wellsey directed the servants in putting out the fire. Soot-covered and singed, he sat down beside Ceallach. “Thank you for trying to rescue Lady Orelia, my lord.”

Ceallach merely nodded. He'd failed once again to save someone he loved. Hadn't he prayed for God to spare her? “Who was the woman on the landing?”

“Lady Alice. My cousin and the Countess of Radbourne.”

Orelia's sister-in-law. “Are there children?”

“Two. The new earl—a babe of one year—and his sister. I will no doubt be named their guardian.”

Morrigan came over to Ceallach. “Fergus is waiting—we'd best be going, Ceallach. The fire might draw more English to the keep.”

But Ceallach had more questions. “You said you warned Orelia to leave. Why? What danger was she in?”

George looked uncomfortable. “My cousin Alice wasn't well. I have reason to believe she poisoned her husband.”

Shocked by such a statement, Ceallach replied, “Why would she do that?”

“Because Richard had every intention of recognizing Orelia's son as the rightful heir. Obviously Alice set the fire to kill Orelia and her son. I imagine her maid was in the room with them and is dead as well.”

Morrigan looked as dumbfounded as Ceallach felt. “ 'Tis a good thing the woman is dead by her own doing. Otherwise I'd have had to kill her myself.” Morrigan swiped her hand across her eyes in a valiant attempt to hide her tears. “Poor Orelia. If only we had arrived in time to save her and her child. She deserved so much better from life.”

No one spoke.

Ceallach just wanted this nightmare to be over.

Finally Morrigan laid a hand on Ceallach's shoulder. “We must go, Ceallach. We can't stay to help . . . recover the remains.”

George agreed. “No. Nor should you. You would do well to put a good distance between you and this place—there are army patrols in the area.”

Ceallach heard George's warning and raised his head. “You warn me of this? You could hand me over for the ransom.”

“Go with God, Ceallach. For Lady Orelia's sake, I never saw you before in my life.”

But Ceallach only stared at his hands. “If Orelia is dead, I may as well stay and let you have the reward.”

“You're talking like a madman. Get to your feet and let's go.” Morrigan tugged at him, and Ceallach hadn't the strength to fight it. He allowed her to lead him to his horse.

They rode to their rendezvous with Bruce at Bolton Abbey. The king and his men were hidden in the woods just before the bridge that covered a fast-moving stream. Morrigan and Fergus had to lead the way—Ceallach's mind had frozen. Ceallach dismounted, tied his horse and followed Fergus to Bruce, dreading the report he must give.

Blinded by grief, barely aware of his surroundings, Ceallach didn't see whoever or whatever hit him. He staggered under the weight of the person who leaped into his arms, arms that closed automatically around the woman who clung to him, kissed him.

Kissed him? He raised his hands to push her away, but she held his face in her hands and kisses rained on his eyes, his lips, his neck.

“Orelia?” He'd lost his mind. The stress of losing Orelia and the scorching of the fire had finally destroyed him. But if this woman wasn't real, he would gladly live the rest of his life right here in this fantasy world.

He clasped her close. “Orelia.” He breathed in her scent, touched her hair with his damaged hands, heard her whisper his name. “You are real. Oh God, you are real.” Tears streamed down his face as he held her tight and kissed her. “Is it truly you? Or are you an apparition?”

“I am real, Ceallach. Real and alive and so glad to be seeing you again.”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Dead?”

“Dead in the fire. I tried to—”

“Fire? No, no, Ceallach. I'm here. Here with you.”

“God be praised—Father in heaven—he's answered my prayers. He's answered my prayers!”

She stilled in his arms. “You've been praying?”

“Aye, though I didn't think anyone was listening.”

“But you changed your mind?”

“You are here—my prayer was answered.” He dried his wet cheeks on the sleeve of his sark. There was no avoiding what must be done next. “Orelia . . . Alice is dead.”