Eleanor’s eyes burned. Pressure in her throat made it difficult to swallow. As hard as she tried she couldn’t hold back the floodgates of her emotions. Her eyes blurred with tears. The salty droplets fell on to her hands.
Seeing her distress, Martha knelt in front of her, scooping up Eleanor’s hands, holding them tight.
Her loving friend’s reassuring presence felt comforting as it had so many times in the past. “Oh Martha, why did this have to happen? It was such a wonderful evening,” she sobbed.
“I don’t know, my love.”
“Today I saw Dominick in a way I had never expected. It contradicted everything I thought about the man.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I found him playing in the stream with Ruth’s children.”
Martha’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes,“ she said with a sad smile. “He played as though he were one of them. They had no fear of him and hung on his every word. He showed real affection for the children. And later, when I came down for the evening meal, he was so gallant and full of compliments, my head was spinning.” The tears started anew. “When he slapped the cup from my hand I thought—“
Martha rubbed her mistress’ hands. “That it was your father all over again.”
“Yes.”
“You do realize if he hadn’t done so, you would be dead.”
Eleanor shivered. “I know, but how did he know what was in that cup?”
“I cannot say, my dear, but it was a good thing he did.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
The older woman pushed Eleanor’s hair off her face. “Try not to think on it so. You will have the answers in good time.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Martha stood. “You’re alive, and I’m grateful to his lordship for that.”
Suddenly, loud noises came from the corridor. Eleanor bolted out of the chamber door despite Dominick’s order to stay inside. At the top of the stairs she looked down into a chaotic scene where people shouted and dogs barked. All of the kitchen servants were lined up in the hall. Dominick stood like a statue amidst all the activity.
“Silence!” he shouted, and instantly the hall fell quiet.
Two guards restrained one servant. He tried to struggle free, but when Dominick approached, the man stilled.
Towering over him, Dominick looked down, his expression cold as death. “Did McPhearson pay you to poison the wine?”
The steward was clearly frightened. “No, my lord.” He shook his head vigorously.
“You poured the wine?”
“Yes, my lord, but I did not poison it.” The man dropped to his knees, pleading. “Please, my lord, you must believe me. I would not do such an unthinkable deed.”
As Dominick paced before the servants, another movement in the hall caught Eleanor’s eye. Erik walked toward a cat that meandered in and, scooping it up, held it close while he stroked its fur. It was an odd behavior considering the amount of activity that surrounded him. Putting the cat down, he gave it a final pet, then walked over to Dominick pulling him away from the line of servants.
After a moment of conversation, Dominick turned back to the wine steward. “The question seems to be, at any time did you leave the wine unattended?”
The steward seemed confused by the question. “I’m not sure, my lord. Maybe for a moment when the cook required my help with taking the roasted boar off the spit, but it was only for a moment, sire,” said the old man.
Erik stood behind a man that was larger than the rest. He didn’t fit in with the others. The man look more like a soldier than kitchen help. Erik stood straighter, as though expecting something to happen.
The tension in the air was palpable as Dominick slowly walked down the line of servants eyeing each one individually until he stood before the stranger. Without looking back, he asked, “Steward, tell me, have you ever seen this man before?”
“N—no, my lord.”
Dominick turned to the other servants. “Has anyone ever seen this man before?”
There was a murmur among them as they shook their heads. Like a trapped hare the stranger tried to run, but Erik quickly grabbed him from behind in a great bear hug. When Dominick plowed his fist into the captive’s stomach, he stopped struggling.
Stifling a gasp, Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth.
Two guards pulled the man off the floor as he gasped for air and glared at Dominick. Before anyone knew what Dominick was about, he’d torn away the captive’s sleeve.
Eleanor recognized the exposed mark immediately, and shock rushed through her body.
“You bear the mark of McPhearson’s crest.” Dominick’s voice was dangerously calm. “What were your orders?”
The soldier smiled. “To kill you and steal the bitch and take her to Aurora Castle. With you dead he could take the land and her too.”
Eleanor sickened at the thought of the clan leader touching her. Pressing her hand to her chest, Eleanor leaned against the stone wall, unable to believe McPhearson’s man could get so close to them. They had been careless to let down their guard. The gates were open to anyone, including Robert McPhearson’s people.
Dominick grabbed the man’s tunic. Holding her breath Eleanor feared her husband would snap him in two. Finally, he released the spy. Eleanor expelled the air in her lungs, bowing her head in relief. She expected that the assassin would be taken to the dungeons. The ringing of a sword being drawn pulled her attention back to the great hall. At once, she realized Dominick’s intention.
“No!” she cried as she ran toward the stairs, but it was too late.
Dominick thrust his sword into the would-be assassin’s middle and up into his heart. With horror she watched a river of blood run down the sword. The soldier’s face turned grey and his eyes widened with the realization of death. Dominick withdrew the sword, and the body crumpled to the ground.
Nausea seeped in, not from just the gruesome sight of the blood pooling on the floor, but the raw act of violence. Martha grabbed her from behind to keep her from falling over the top of the stairs. Just then, Dominick looked up at her. His eyes were dark and still in the throes of a murderous rage. This is what she knew. This was the man she expected. A ruthless, merciless, warrior. She felt hollow as Martha pulled her back into her chamber. There she vomited until she was weak and her ribs sore. This was her fate. A lifetime of violence, and no peace in sight.
Chapter Eleven
In the small hours of the night, Dominick sat before the fire in the great hall, berating himself. How could he have been so complacent, so captivated by Godwin and its lady. He had forgotten the reason he was sent there--to protect her and their lands. He would not forget again. His mistake had nearly cost Eleanor her life.
By ordering the assassin’s body tied to a horse and sent to the McPhearson border, Dominick had sent a strong message to his enemy. Any more attempts on Godwin or Eleanor would be met with the same deadly result.
And no more wagons would be allowed to enter Godwin without a full inspection first.
His thoughts moved to Eleanor, remembering the horror in her eyes. He hoped he hadn’t undone the progress he’d made toward gaining her trust. The thought sickened him. Did she again view him as a violent man, incapable of mercy?
If only she had stayed in their chambers as he had ordered. Yet he would have done nothing differently. The price for attempted murder of his family was death.
Dominick cleaned his sword, and then placed it in the fire. It was a ritual he had done since his first kill as a young mercenary. It seemed so many years ago. Feeling older than thirty, Dominick realized William was right. His life was built on a foundation of blood. Now he wanted more. More than just a sliver of land and a few gray stones to house him. He wanted a family. Playing with the children in the stream only intensified that desire. But the look in his wife’s eyes had turned his hopes into a mist of fantasy. He shook his head in despair and gazed deeper into the hearth’s fire.
&n
bsp; Randolf appeared, carrying a pitcher of ale which he used to fill Dominick’s goblet.
Dominick looked inside the cup. “It’s ale.” Randolf gave him a rueful smile. “And I poured it myself.”
Dominick half chuckled and took a long drink, letting the brew drift down his throat and settle in his stomach. The small burn comforted him. Then his gaze turned back to the fire.
“She came to you again.”
“She warned me about the wine.” Dominick slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair. “I don’t know how she breaks through my wall, but she does.”
“Good thing she did. It saved Eleanor’s life.”
“Yes, but if she can come through, can others?” Rubbing his eyes, Dominick muttered, “I cannot endure that hell again, Randolf.”
“It has been years since you experienced these apparitions. Perhaps she’s so strong because she’s close to Eleanor. You must tell this ghost where she needs to go and put her soul at peace.”
“I never see her long enough to send her anywhere. She comes for a span of a heartbeat, delivers her message and disappears.”
Randolf sipped ale, thoughtfully gazing into the fire. “Let’s hope the danger has passed and she will no longer haunt you. Keep Eleanor safe and the ghost will stay away.”
“I hope that will be true, but as long as McPhearson still covets Godwin, there is always a threat.”
The two men fell silent, quietly drinking their ale, each deep in thought.
Randolf broke the silence. “I see you still adhere to your old superstition. You are still purging spirits from your sword by fire?”
“After all that we have been through, how could you consider anything we do superstitious?”
“I suppose you’re right. If I saw ghosts, you bet your last gold piece, I would observe every superstition there was.”
Dominick’s brief smile faded. It was late, and he needed to face Eleanor. Dreading the confrontation, he drank the rest of his ale then stood to retrieve his sword from the fire. “I will see you in the morning, Brother.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“The truth.” He continued toward the stairs.
“She won’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s the only explanation I can give her. Good night.”
“Good night and good luck.”
A sense of foreboding penetrated Dominick’s heart more deeply with each step he climbed. He would give anything not to see fear in his wife’s eyes.
The chamber door wasn’t locked as he had expected. Upon entering he found Eleanor sitting near the hearth, staring vacantly into the fire. She didn’t look up when he walked in.
Concern pulled on his shoulders and knotted in his neck. “Are you all right?” When she didn’t answer right away, fear crept in.
“How did you know the wine was poisoned?” Her voice was hollow, void of emotion.
Dominick had rehearsed this conversation over and over in his mind during the course of the evening. But now he found it hard to answer. Stalling, he placed his sword on the bed. He sat in a chair opposite hers, studying her expressionless face.
“You may not believe me if I tell you.”
The glow of the fire bathed her skin in hues of gold. He wanted to run his fingers across her cheeks, but resisted the urge to touch her and webbed his fingers together.
“Tell me anyway.” He hadn’t expected such venom. Or her expression. Her body was ridged, like a stone wall he had to hurdle, but he had to make her believe the truth.
“My explanation begins when I first arrived at Godwin,” he said on a long breath, then hesitated. Silently she waited. He plunged forward. “The morning you ran away. That’s when she first appeared to me.”
“Appeared to you? Who appeared to you?” she asked.
“It’s going to be hard for you to believe. She wasn’t a person from this world.”
“What are you saying? You mean to tell me a ghost told you I ran away?”
He pulled a chair in front of her and sat down “Let me finish.” This evening when you were about to drink that wine, she appeared again and told me it was poisoned.”
Her mouth hung open a moment then she bounded out of her seat. “That is ridiculous. Do you take me for some fool that would believe such a story?”
He leaned forward. “How else could I have possibly known you were going to ask to sample the wine? Eleanor, you don’t drink wine.”
“I know!” I didn’t think it could be staged. As you have said, you didn’t know I would ask to try it.” She threw up her hands. “But I can’t understand this story you’re telling me.” Sitting back down, she stared into the fire. “What does she look like?”
Her question took him by surprise. He shifted in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “Her hair is golden, her eyes are green like yours, and she has a small, dark beauty mark at the bottom of her jaw.” He pointed to the spot below Eleanor’s left cheek. “Right here.”
The blood completely drained from her face.
When she made a gasping noise, Dominick was up in an instant pouring water into a cup and handing it to her. “Here, drink this.”
Her hands shook so hard he had to hold the cup to her lips. Once she settled, he pulled the water away, stroking her back until her breathing slowed.
The shiny pools that filled her eyes were like daggers in his gut.
“My mother betrayed me to you on the day of our wedding?”
He took her hand. “McPhearson’s men were waiting in the forest. You would have walked into an ambush. She did not betray you, but was instead protecting you. Just like she did tonight.” Dominick swallowed. It was time she knew the rest. “There is something more . . . I don’t believe your mother committed suicide. I believe she was murdered.”
Eleanor went completely still. “How would you know that?”
“She showed me. Eleanor, she was stepping away from the edge of the cliff when I saw her pushed.”
“By whom?”
“I sense it was your father.”
He saw the storm of anger begin to brew. Her eyes grew dark, her lips pressed against the thunder growing in her mind. Standing, she moved toward the table as laughter like the crackle of lightning escaped from her throat. “He made me believe she didn’t care about me,” she said softly. “My mother was murdered by that abomination of humanity.”
Like the sudden crash of a wave, her arms swept across the table, knocking its contents to the floor. The goblets and pottery made a loud crash. Her voice rose over the cacophony.
“Liar!” she shouted to the ceiling. “He lied to me. He made me believe you hated me!” The violent wave of emotion crashed down on her as she turned over the table and chairs. “Damn his spirit. Damn him for taking you away from me!” she shouted in helpless rage.
Dominick knew the storm needed to be spent, but Eleanor was out of control and had to be contained before she hurt herself. Wrapping his arms around her body, he allowed room for movement, but not so much she could hurt herself. The tide of anger turned on him. She kicked at his shins and pounded on his chest, screaming for her release. He let her fight in the circle of his arms.
Finally exhausted, she collapsed against him. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath. He could feel her heart beat furiously. Gently he guided her to the bed. All that was left in the wake of the storm was Eleanor’s soft weeping.
“Mother, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” She collapsed onto the mound of furs.
The need to comfort her swelled within his heart. Cradling her in his arms, he wiped away her tears and brushed the wild mass of hair from her face. Eventually, she stopped crying, and the only remnant of her tirade was a soft hiccough. She lay in his arms staring up at the beams of the ceiling.
He pulled back the pelts and tucked her in tightly then rose to busy himself straightening the shambles of their chamber. When he looked back toward Eleanor, she hadn’t moved. She stil
l stared at the ceiling. He knew he could not help her with the turmoil that roiled within her, but the woman needed rest.
He went to the kitchen for mulled wine sweetened with honey. The concoction would relax her body enough to allow her to fall asleep. When he returned with the cup, he found her just as he had left. Insistently, he pressed the cup to her lips. Without argument, she drank the entire contents, and just as he predicted, she soon relaxed and her eyes closed. Dominick pulled a chair up beside the bed and stroked her hair until she drifted off to sleep.
It was only a couple of hours before dawn as he sat in the quiet of the night watching her. She was like a dove, fragile as well as beautiful. How was he going to convince her to trust him? Her father had done so much damage. Could it ever be undone? He would have to plan carefully, but fatigue seeped in and he couldn’t think any more.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, Isolde’s icy cold hand pressed against his heart.
He is not her father.
Chapter Twelve
Outside the borders of Godwin, McPhearson sat upon his mount and waited to hear the news of Dominick’s death. Despite the cold gray morning, his spirits couldn’t be higher. Soon his elite guard would be riding over the ridge with the happy news.
He imagined the sweet sight of Dominick writhing in pain until the spirit devils snatched his soul. It would only be a matter of hours before he and his men rode in, taking the castle from the Immortal’s distraught and bewildered soldiers. Without their general to lead them, there would be panic and mayhem. It would weaken strongholds to the south, and the balance of power would shift to him.
And then, the sweetest revenge of all. He would take Eleanor. His groin tightened exquisitely. That night he would mount her and ride her until dawn. He could barely contain his revelry.
Robert McPhearson saw a rider approaching and knew immediately that something was wrong. The man sat on his horse at an odd angle, and his head bobbed unnaturally. Revelry plummeted at the realization that his soldier was dead. The bastard had failed.
Immortal Love Page 9