"We must leave now. I have word that the French may be marching on us now. We must get to the coast and away from this Godforsaken land."
His men wasted no time in readying the horses and packing up their belongings. Within minutes they were on their way to England—and to Elena.
Setting a grueling pace and hounding the captain of their ship, Michael and his men made it back to England presumably before Kent, since no one at port seemed to remember him landing. A shock to be sure, and most assuredly pure luck. If Kent hadn't landed already, he would within the next day or two.
They'd barely touched ground before he swung his body into the saddle and set a rough pace toward the abbey. By the time they arrived his men no longer looked like English knights, but a band of vagabonds. They were covered in dirt, sweat, their faces filled out with several weeks' worth of facial hair and their clothes covered in stains.
They were so unrecognizable, the friar would not open the gates to them at first.
But what was most disturbing was the frightened look that crossed both the Abbot and the Friar's face when Michael and his men rode into the center of the abbey courtyard.
"Sir Devereux," Abbot Hunsden said, bowing his head, and not so much in deference—for he held authority over Michael being a man of God—but in fear for what his eyes might reveal.
A twinge of fear snaked its way through Michael. He glanced around quickly, taking in the men of God, and not one noble servant. Where was Elena?
"What has happened?"
"Mu—much," the abbot stammered. "We had best talk in private." The little man turned and hurried through the courtyard to his private house with Michael fast on his heels.
When they entered the small, dark room, the abbot lit a single tallow candle, the smoke of which rose up to offend Michael's nose.
"There is much I must tell you. Much that has happened. Mostly bad, but in the end there is some relief." The Abbott shifted and held out his arm indicating for Michael to take a seat.
Oh, God! He hadn't made it in time. Kent must not have been recognized when he landed in port.
Michael swiped his hand over his face and took a heavy seat in a small wooden chair, his muscles aching and burning from the ride.
"Tell me all, Abbott Hunsden. There is no need to sweeten your words."
The Abbott nodded, and wrung his hands together, his fingers dancing over his rosary. Shadows from the single candle flickered wildly over the man's face as he paced beside it. "It appears the man you left, Jon, was not who he appeared to be. Bitten the apple of the viper so to speak. He attacked our poor lady. Roughly abused her. To what end I am not certain, but her dress was torn and her face bruised."
Michael jumped to his feet, his muscles rigid and rage streamed from every pore. "What?" he bellowed. "You lie!"
"No, sir, no." The Abbott shook his head wildly, eyes wide with fright. He held out his hands, shaking them back and forth as if to ward off Michael's anger. "Her own brother found him in the midst of his attempt and was able to subdue the man and save her ladyship."
"Her brother?"
"Aye, Lord Richard. He came to wish his sister well on his way to Ireland from France."
"Where are they now?" Michael had to see her, had to hold her. Had to beg her forgiveness since he'd promised she would be safe here and how wrong he had been! What a bitter disappointment he had turned out to be. She would surely never forgive him.
"They are no longer at the abbey, sir."
"No longer here? Why? Where have they gone?"
"Her brother has taken her back to Ireland, where he can watch over her, protect her."
Instant relief washed over him, so poignant he actually felt weightless for moment, but then sadness ripped through him. Would he see her again? Would she even agree to see him?
He frowned. Of course he would. And she would, wouldn't she? They had something special, a deep love…did they not? He would leave for Ireland at first light.
"Did she leave a missive for me? Or did her brother leave one for Kent?"
Abbott Hunsden pursed his lips and shook his head. "None that I know of."
"When did they leave? When did all of this take place?"
"Nigh on three weeks ago."
"Where is the traitor—Jon?" He wanted to run him through.
Hunsden crossed himself. "He is no longer among the living."
"Lord Richard?"
"Aye."
Michael would have to be satisfied with that. At least the traitor was dead, else he'd travel the earth to beat him into a bloody pulp for having harmed Elena. And how stupid and feeble-minded he felt for having been duped by the bastard. For months and months! He'd taken Jon in when he had no one else. He'd trained him, kept him close, bet his life on the bastard! And the moment he turned his back, the moment he left him in charge of what he considered more precious than his own life—his love—the maggot had jumped at the chance to hurt her.
Oh, God, what she must have gone through…
His only solace was that Jon had a broken leg, and most likely she gave him a hell of a fight. He hoped he'd died a painful death, else he'd seek out his remains and run him through again for good measure.
"Perhaps you should seek confession?" the Abbott said, looking at him expectantly.
Michael realized he must have had a devil of a look on his face. After all the fighting in France, and the murderous, blasphemous thoughts running through his mind, he agreed a confession was in order.
He knelt before Hunsden, and made the sign of the cross over his chest. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…and I will most likely sin again."
Abbott Hunsden's lips twitched slightly, but other than that, he showed no amusement. They went through the confession, and then the Abbott absolved Michael of his sins informing him he would have to fast for the rest of the day as penance. That wouldn't be a problem, considering he had no appetite at all after what he'd arrived to find.
He left the Abbott's house and walked back out into the courtyard, intent on wiping his horse down and giving him an extra treat for the suffering he'd put the animal through. Then he'd see if any of his men wanted to practice. He'd already given them the rest of the day off to rest, but surely there would be a one he could rival just to get the pent up energy and anger out of himself.
He needed to find Colin and Fletch, tell them what he'd learned as well. When he arrived in the stables, both his men were there.
"We heard the news, figured you'd be coming here to calm yourself before you asked one of us to volunteer as your quintain—and the answer is no, neither of us really want to be brutalized today," Colin said with a smirk.
Michael grunted, and faked a punch in his loyal companion's direction.
"Tell it to us straight, Michael. What will we do now?" Fletch said, his eyes drilling into Michael's gaze.
"You've heard it all?" Michael searched out the stables, but saw no one close enough to overhear their conversation.
"Aye. Never knew the bastard was against us." Colin shook his head, anger flashing on his features.
"Neither did I. Feel like a damned fool. I shared everything with that whoreson!" Fletch was even angrier, and with good reason.
"We were all deceived, but we cannot dwell on it. He is gone now, and we can only look to the future, make reparations with the living."
"And go after the lady?"
"Report Kent's crimes to the King?"
Both his men spoke at the same time.
Michael nodded. "Indeed, both of those things are what I have planned."
Michael left his men with instructions on preparing for their departure and then headed to find Abbott Hunsden again.
The Abbott found him instead. "Sir, I know you will plan to leave. I feel it is my duty to remind you of your station."
Michael tried not to laugh at the man who wrung his hands like a nervous maiden. "My station?"
"You are in servitude to Lord Kent." The man of God looked from side to
side and not at Michael.
"Are you afraid he will come after the abbey?"
"He is not known to be a man of God, Captain Devereux."
"I was on my way to see you about leaving a missive, but instead I shall give it to you to relay as you see fit. Tell my Lord Kent when he arrives that I have gone to retrieve his wife who has unlawfully left the country. That should give him solace. Mention nothing of the attack or her brother."
The Abbott nodded, relief sagging his shoulders.
"But I will have you know, I am also sending a missive to the King. You shall not have to deal with Kent and his violent ways much longer."
"I should think that a good thing. You see, many of his victims have sought solace with us before. Lady Elena would not have had to give us so many supplies or the use of her servants, we would have welcomed her with open arms."
"She would have done it anyway. She has a sweet and giving nature. She is pious and deserves better than the life that has been forced upon her."
"And you would see it made right."
"Aye, Father."
"Go with God, my son."
Michael bowed to kiss Abbott Hunsden's ring, and then left to find the rest of his men. They needed to know what he was about. He needed to know now, who was with him and who was against him.
The following morning, the abbey gates opened and a flustered Arthur rushed through. "Captain!" he shouted, running until he was within inches of Michael. His face was twisted in series of conflicting emotions: fear, triumph, nervousness.
The boy had not traveled with them, but Kent's men. Which meant Kent was back in England and on his way here.
"What are you doing here?" Michael glanced at the gates as they were closed tight, no one else entered.
"I came as soon as I could get away. A man met Kent at the port, we have only just arrived in England, but I listened to what he said. I know you have no need to trust me, but you must hear me." The boy panted from his rushed speech and from having raced all the way to the abbey for hours.
Doubt filled Michael's mind. Already so many had worked against him. Who could he trust? He gazed deep into Arthur's eyes, trying to assess what he saw there. There was no deception. "Arthur, you have come this far, you have pledged to me before. I will trust what you have to say."
"The man told Kent what transpired here. His lordship has sent the man to Ireland." Arthur swallowed hard. "To kill her."
There was something about Ireland that made it entirely different from England. Elena didn't realize how much she missed her homeland until she stepped foot off the rowboat that had taken them from the moored ship. She took a deep breath of crisp, earthy air, smelling the fresh grass and peat—liberty. Instantly she could breathe easier, despite the chill. The temperature had dropped tremendously, being so late in fall with cool breezes drifting off the water. She tucked her cloak closer to her body—still achy from her attack at the abbey.
Her ladies filed behind her—even Beth, who had a bandage on her head where Jon's crutch had wounded her. Elena was elated Beth lived; she'd sincerely thought Beth had died. When Richard told her she was merely unconscious, Elena sent up prayers to Heaven and promised a large tithe to St. Augustine's Abbey. Her women exclaimed on the beauty of the countryside. The leaves had turned glorious shades of red, yellow and orange.
"Welcome home," Richard said, offering her a wide smile.
"Thank you for bringing me." She smiled sadly, wishing she'd returned under different circumstances. They were a pair. He was coming home to emptiness when he had left behind a family, and she was coming home as an escape from an abusive husband. Most likely her father would not take her back into his household. She did not know what she would do, and could not think on it now. Not yet. For now she wanted to bask in the connection she felt with the land.
She held her hand against her stomach and closed her eyes against a sudden dizziness. The ground felt like it was shifting and swaying beneath her booted feet. She was suddenly thirsty and could not remember the last time she'd eaten. "'Tis hard to come off a boat, I fear I have sea legs."
"Should you like to sit?" Her brother held her arm gently, gazing at her with concern. He'd treated her, since rescuing her from Jon, as if she were a delicate piece of porcelain and that she would break with the slightest of breezes.
She breathed in deeply and shook her head, hoping to reassure her brother. "No, I will be fine."
"Humph," came from behind her.
Elena turned around to see Raelyn narrowing her eyes, assessing her.
"Is something wrong?" Elena asked, uncertain why her lady's maid would suddenly be so sour.
"'Tis nothing, my lady. But we had best get you to where we need to go."
"Indeed," Richard responded.
He ushered the ladies and the rest of his party toward the awaiting horses. The ride to Enniscorthy was short, and by the time they reached the castle, Elena was famished, exhausted, and the tip of her nose felt as though it might fall off from the cold.
But she was on full alert and her hunger vanished when her father graced the top of the stairs leading into the castle. He was still the same fearsome figure she remembered, and the years she'd been gone did little to age him.
"Welcome back, Richard," he said, stepping down to slap his son on the back. The two men exchanged pained glances, as their father told him without words how sorry he was that he should come home to an empty house. He peered past Richard toward Elena, question written on his features.
"Daughter. Why have you come?"
Elena stepped forward and opened her mouth to answer, but Richard spoke first. "I encountered her at St. Augustine's Abbey on my way home. She was being beaten by a man left behind to protect her."
"Who?" their father demanded, his eyes narrowed, his voice loud and booming.
"A man of little consequence and he is dead now."
"He should be," the older man bellowed. He stepped forward and stroked her cheek. "I can see the bruises are fresh."
"Aye." Elena didn't know what else to say. She had not expected to ever see her father again, not after he'd left her to her fate.
"But, why have you brought her here, Richard? Why not leave her at the abbey if the man is dead?" Their father turned away from her to face Richard. "Why not to her husband?"
Richard narrowed his eyes. "She is not safe with her husband."
Baron McCullough narrowed his eyes. "'Tis not for you to say, my son. She must return to her husband."
Richard's frown matched their father's. "I won't send her back to the very depths of hell. I have seen what this man can do."
"No, you have seen what a dead man can do, not what her husband has done. A wife's place is beside her husband."
Elena's heart sank. Her father would not protect her. With pleading eyes, she gazed at her brother. After her time away from Kent, she realized that she deserved and wanted happiness. She would run away to the wilderness of Ireland, never to see another human soul, rather than return to Kent. But was that really true? Could she live the rest of her life without seeing Michael? She missed him so much already. Even if she did run away, her ladies would not let her go, and she would not leave them to an uncertain fate.
"I cannot let her return, Father. In most cases, I would agree with you, but not this time. She is my blood, I won't have her harmed."
Their father snarled and backed away from them, looking from Elena to Richard. "My own children would side against me?" His voice was quiet, angry when he spoke.
"No, Father." Elena stepped forward. "I would do what you ask, but please just let me stay for a little while…to recover." She folded her hands in front of her and hoped she looked meek.
Her father started to nod his acceptance when Richard spoke loudly.
"No. I will not have you recover only to send you back for another beating. You will stay."
At this, the old man turned red in the face and blustered. "So you would side against me! I won't have it, not at m
y own castle. Be gone with you!" he bellowed.
"Wait, Father!" Elena pleaded.
"You have no haven here, and you are no longer a daughter of mine." He turned his back and continued up the stairs and into his castle, the large oak doors—doors she remembered running in and out of as a child—slammed shut, barring them from entering.
Her knees felt weak. She would collapse if it weren't for her need to stay strong in front of the crowd that had gathered. She turned on her brother.
"What are you thinking, Richard?" she said through clenched teeth.
"He would send you back, I sought to protect you."
Bitterness swept through her. "Just as you sought to protect me for the last several years when I begged for your help?"
"I am a fool, Elena, what more can I say? At least now I have done what I should have done long ago."
She nodded dejectedly. "You are right. Forgive me. I am tired."
"All is forgiven, sister. Let us go before it gets dark. My keep is a good three hours ride from here."
On weary, shaking legs, Elena climbed atop a horse, and led the animal from her childhood home. She supposed she would never speak to her father again, not if he had a decision in it. Would he send word to Kent telling him of her whereabouts? Was she truly safe in Ireland or had she landed here only to be handed back to her husband?
Oh, Michael. Where was he? Was he still in France? She closed her eyes for a few brief moments, praying for his safety. The rocking gait of the horse and the warmth of his flesh beneath her lulled her into sleep. She woke suddenly as her body started to slide out of the saddle.
"My lady!" Raelyn shouted.
Instantly several men were at her side, helping to right her. She shook with fear at having nearly fallen. She would have been trampled for certes.
Raelyn handed her an apple. "Eat this, my lady. You have hardly eaten a thing in days. You need your strength. We have hours yet to ride before you can rest."
Elena nodded and took the offered fruit, biting into the crisp skin, apple juice dribbling down her throat. She'd never tasted anything so good. It was so sweet and succulent and quenched her thirst. She was suddenly ravenous! She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything so succulent. When she finished the apple, Raelyn thrust a crust of bread into her hands.
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