Immortal Love

by Victoria Craven

  One rider rode off. It took all of Eleanor’s will not to jump out and give away her hiding place. Her fingers grabbed the metal hilt of her dagger, and cold resolve settled in her heart. If this man found her, she’d no choice but to defend herself, even if it meant killing him. The thought sent a prickly chill down her spine. Wrapping fingers around her dagger tightly, pulling it slowly from her girdle, she readied herself for battle.

  Another twig snapped and a movement near their hiding place forced her and White Wind out. As they bounded forward an arm came around her waist, pulling her from her saddle. Eleanor’s struggles caught the man off guard, unbalancing him and knocking them both to the ground. She was the first to gain her wits and was up in an instant and running for White Wind.

  The attacker quickly regained himself and pursued.

  Fear and anger spurred her on. Lifting her skirts she ran, dodging behind trees and bushes, slashing at him with her dagger. It never connected with flesh. He bobbed and weaved out of its path. Dodging behind another tree, she tripped over a log and sprawled face first on the ground. The assailant flipped her onto her back, but before he knew what she was about she had plunged her dagger into his chest. Air whooshed out of his lungs, and his wide eyes turned vacant. He became very still. Not until she felt the blood running down her arm did she realize what she’d done.

  He collapsed on top of her, and she struggled out from beneath his hulking dead weight. The sound of a rider heading toward her released her adrenaline and with one great shove she rolled him off her.

  She had the presence of mind to pull her dagger free and run to her waiting horse. She mounted in one leap and bounded toward Godwin Castle, the second rider in pursuit.

  Swallowing hard she tried to calm herself and keep her mind clear. Any mistake now and she would become McPhearson’s captive. Then her real nightmare would begin.

  There was a clearing ahead, but her attacker was Riding by her side. His fingers tore at her sleeve, pulling it away from her shoulder. Eleanor lashed out with her dagger, cutting the man on his forearm. He cursed as he pulled it away giving her the advantage to move ahead.

  Breaking through the forest, they were in a flat out race toward Godwin. Riding beside her, his arm reached out to pull her off her horse. With a downward thrust she planted the dagger into her assailant’s thigh.

  “You bitch!”

  He pulled the dagger free, then backhanded her with his fist. The blow caught her in the shoulder, nearly unseating her, but she quickly regained her balance.

  Leaning forward, she plastered herself against White Wind’s neck, and soon they were pulling ahead. By the time she reached the black fields of the castle, her pursuer turned back, and she continued to ride headlong over the drawbridge and through the gatehouse. It wasn’t until she reached the stables that she came to a halt.

  Her heart continued to pound against her rib cage. Her throat raw from the exertion of the ride. She trembled uncontrollably. Sitting on White Wind she tried to regain some sense of control. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. The pounding in her ears began to lessen in volume. The world was quiet in that moment.

  It wasn’t until she heard Dominick call her name that she broke out of that silence and turned to the sound of his voice.

  “God’s blood, what happened?”

  Suddenly, emotions exploded to the surface. She leapt into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. Her feet barely touching the ground.

  “Shh, my little dove.”

  Finally, his soothing voice calmed her fears and she pulled away. His eyes widened in alarm. She looked down to see herself covered in blood.

  His hands frantically ran over her body. “Where are you hurt?”

  Before she could answer, she was swept up in his arms and carried inside the castle.

  “Martha!” his voice bellowed.

  “Dominick,” she grabbed his tunic. And struggled against him. “Dominick, I’m not hurt.” He stopped abruptly to look down at her. “This is not my blood.”

  Putting her down he asked “What happened?” His tone was dark.

  Weakly she sat into the nearest chair. Dominick left for a moment, but quickly returned with a cup of wine. Pulling up a chair in front of her, he sat with his spine ramrod straight. She wondered at his pose. Was he going to chide her foolishness for wandering the forest alone?

  After what she’d just been through she could not stop her run of thoughts. Eleanor shook her head. Dominick was nothing like her father. If he had proven anything to her, he proved that he did not abuse women. “I rode out into the forest today and encountered two of McPhearson’s men.”

  If it were possible, he stiffened more. “Go on,” he said quietly.

  “I killed one of them.” A tear slipped down her cheek. Bringing the wine to her lips, she took a long swallow “I stabbed him with my dagger. The other one I managed to wound and got away.” Another long sip. “White Wind is a very fast horse. She saved my life.”

  She’d expected outrage from Dominick, but there was none. No outside indication that he was angry. His face was a mask she couldn’t read. He rose out of his chair, towering over her. His hand grasped her elbow pulling her out of her chair.

  “You must rest now.” He escorted her to the stairs. “I will send Martha up with a hot bath and some tea.”

  Confused by his reaction, she climbed the stairs toward their chamber. . When she looked back, she found him watching her. His eyes were dark. She saw a murderous rage brewing. It stirred her fear and she ran.

  She could no longer endure the clinging of her bloodied gown. It was a ghoulish reminder of what had happened. She quickly unhooked the mantle and pulled at the gown’s laces. Puddled at her feet, she kicked the garment into the hearth along with her chemise, and the embers soon consumed them. Naked, Eleanor stood watching them burn.

  A knock on the door reminded her of her state of undress. She quickly wrapped the mantle around herself and bid whomever to enter.

  Martha walked in with a tray of tea. “His lordship said for me to bring you some tea and ready you for a bath . . . Oh, my dear, what has happened? Are you ill again?”

  Eleanor bowed her head, the truth too painful to voice at that moment. “No, Martha, I’m not ill.” New tears pooled in her eyes.

  Martha reached out and touched her face. “If you’re not ill, what then?” She saw the dried blood on Eleanor’s hands and drew back in alarm. “What is this?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “It’s not mine. McPhearson’s men attacked me in the forest.” She turned away not able to look at her maid. “I managed to kill one of them.”

  “Oh, my lord, Eleanor.” Martha’s hands flew to her chest. “I’m so sorry. I should have gone with you.”

  “No Martha, don’t blame yourself. You had no idea that I was leaving.” She took the older woman’s hand. “I’m all right. I managed to get away. I will just have to be more careful in the future.”

  Martha hugged her. “My poor lamb. You have had too many adventures these last few weeks.”

  There was a knock at the door. Martha pulled it open for two men carrying a tub and others who followed with buckets of steamy water. Once Eleanor settled in the tub, Martha left her to soak and think. Eleanor scrubbed her hair and body, washing away the evidence of her attack.

  The water grew cold and pulled her out of her thoughts. She dried herself quickly and dressed near the fire. She plated her hair down the back, then sat down heavily in the window seat. The weight of the day’s events pulled at her newfound confidence. Would there ever be a day when she would be safe from McPhearson? As long as he threatened Godwin, this castle was still a prison.

  Sounds of horses and the grating of chainmail in the bailey rose to her window. Looking down she saw Dominick and his soldiers dressed in full armor. Panic filled her lungs, and she ran from the chamber and down into the bailey.

  He was about to mount his horse when she called out to him. Hitching up her ski
rts, she ran toward him. “Dominick, you can’t do this.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, my lady.” His voice, though low, bore a steely edge.

  Eleanor’s fear turned to anger. “You forget, these are my people, and you cannot plunge them into war.”

  “McPhearson can’t be allowed to attack what is mine and expect no reprisals.”

  He turned back to mount his horse, but Eleanor was not finished. Grabbing him by the scabbard that sheathed his sword she pulled hard, forcing him back to the ground. “I’m not one of your men or your cattle. I’m your wife.”

  Leaning toward her, he whispered, “You have not been a wife.”

  Anger grew to a boiling point in the pit of her stomach. “Dominick, come with me. I would like to show you something.”

  “Not now.” He turned away.

  “Right now!”

  A murmur rose among Dominick’s men, but he paid them little mind. His furious black eyes bored into hers, but she was too angry herself to care.

  His hand snaked out to grab her upper arm and he led her away from his men. “Show me what it is you have to show me. We will discuss your behavior in front of my men later.”

  “Don’t make the mistake that I’m one of them.” She pulled out of his grasp and stalked out of the bailey and left him to follow. A small corner inside the castle walls, shaded by trees, was a cemetery. Wooden crosses stood in rows.

  Eleanor’s voice spoke low and reverent. “These are the graves of my people. People who have died at the hands of war. Young men--and women.”

  Dominick looked around. “People die in war, Eleanor.”

  She detected sadness in his voice, but his face gave away no such emotion.

  “These were not soldiers, Dominick. These were farmers, blacksmiths and stable hands. Some not old enough to be called men.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Mothers buried their sons here. Wives buried their husbands. Ethan and Matthew buried their father here.” She pointed to his grave.

  “Ethan and Matthew have never known peace until you came. Now you’re willing to plunge them into another war.”

  “What would you have me do? I will not allow McPhearson to terrorize Godwin or its people.”

  “There must be another way,” she pleaded. You gave them hope, now you plan to throw them back into uncertainty. It’s a cruel game you play.”

  “This is no game. McPhearson will die by my hand. I swear it.”

  “Not today, Dominick. Let my people live in peace for a while. Let them know prosperity.”

  Dominick surveyed the cemetery. “I will allow you this, Eleanor. I will not subject our people to this war. But if the time should come that I face no other choice, you will support me in whatever decision I make.”

  She gripped his forearm. “I will ride at your side.”

  He stepped away. “We shall see.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dominick walked away, leaving Eleanor in the cemetery. She didn’t have to tell him about young men dying. He had seen too many die in war. Some never understood what they were fighting for.

  Looking over the graves he had remembered William’s words, “I want you to build instead of destroy.” The words echoed when he disbanded his men.

  Randolf gave him a skeptical look as Dominick pulled him aside. “Take a small band of men and search the surrounding area. Chase down the man who attacked Eleanor and bring him back to me. I will know of McPhearson’s plans. Perhaps we can find a weakness and exploit it.”

  “So, you don’t plan a frontal assault?”

  “This may have been an attempt to make me do just that. Battalions of men leaving Godwin would make it vulnerable.”

  Randolf studied his brother’s face and nodded as though he read his thoughts.

  Eleanor was right, Dominick conceded. The people of Godwin needed time to heal from McPhearson’s siege. He remembered the gaunt women standing in the streets as he passed by when he first arrived at Godwin. And why hadn't he noticed the lack of men inside the village?

  Godwin was growing. It had become a worthy stronghold in the northern borders. He couldn’t allow a man like McPhearson to destroy it. But he couldn’t allow this kidnapping attempt to go without retaliation. He would send his men out on reconnaissance to find any enemies that could threaten his home.

  Once inside the castle, Dominick removed his armor. It was the first time in his life he had backed away from a fight. This left a bitter taste. Every nerve in his body wanted to fly out and destroy those who threatened his wife.

  When she rode in after her attack that morning he had been about to scold her for her recklessness. Then he had seen Isolde standing beside her, and his heart went still.

  Why had her mother not warned him of Eleanor’s peril? Realization kicked him in the stomach. When he woke that morning his mind had been clouded with the self-pity of unrealized dreams. He closed his heart and his mind. He would not make that mistake again.

  He had much to learn as a landowner. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of running down his enemies and killing them. The price his people would have to pay should now be forefront, as it had been with Eleanor. Protecting the castle was vital to Godwin’s survival.

  Dominick chastised himself for not considering the ordeal Eleanor had gone through beyond how it affected him. With her own cunning she’d escaped two men attempting to take her by force to McPhearson. He smiled to himself. Only a woman of courage would have spoken to him the way she did in front of his men. Her fragile appearance was only a façade to her inner strength.

  Still, though he admired her spirit he couldn’t allow such a scene to happen again. He would talk to her about a more discreet method of voicing her opinion.

  Turmoil over the problem with McPhearson tied up his gut. He would send a message to the bastard. The man could not go unchecked. He decided a walk in the village would clear his mind and help him remember what he was protecting.

  He saw Ethan, hand in hand with Abigail, walking to a nearby well. Thoughts of McPhearson temporarily halted. The boy hobbled a little, and Dominick noticed a large hole in the heel of Ethan’s shoe. Ethan’s father would have made sure his son had proper shoes. But the man was dead. Dominick shook his head. How many other fatherless children lived in the village? Approaching the children, he grasped Ethan’s shoulder with one hand and scruffed his hair with the other. “So what are you two urchins up to?”

  “Getting some water for our mother,” he said giggling.

  Abigail’s hands went up begging for Dominick to pick her up and he obliged.

  “There you go little miss,” he said, setting her on one shoulder. “Where is your brother, Matthew?”

  Abigail was quick to answer. “He has to stand in the corner for saying a naughty word.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Do you want to know what he said?”

  “That’s all right little one, I don’t think your mother would appreciate you repeating it.” Peals of laughter escaped her as he tickled her. As he set her on her feet, he looked back at the boy. “Ethan, how long have you been wearing those shoes?”

  “I can’t remember, sir. Seems like forever.”

  Dominick lifted him on to the edge of the well to examine his feet. “These will never do. They are too small.”

  “They are the only ones I have, my lord.”

  “Well, we will have to do something about that, won’t we? We can’t have a page of mine hobbling around with holes in shoes.”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Your page! Honestly, sir?”

  “Report to Sir Randolf first thing tomorrow morning on the training field. He will get you started.” Dominick lowered him to the ground and pointed him to the cobbler’s building. “We’ll go and get you fitted for a proper pair of shoes.”

  “But sir, my mother needs the water now.”

  “We will give it to her on the way. At the same time we can get Matthew and have him fitted for a pair, too.�
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  Abigail pulled to a full stop, crossing her arms and poking out her bottom lip. “That’s not fair.”

  Dominick turned and smiled. “Don’t worry my little princess, you have not been forgotten. You will get a new pair of shoes from the cobbler as well.”

  Her eyes brightened into two big brown orbs, and a smile spread across her face.

  “Oh, thank you, my lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Her little arms hugged his leg.

  It wasn’t hard to see the future of this child. She would have men eating out of her hands with that smile and those deep dimples.

  Realization took hold. The children of the village needed a chance to grow up. His resolution solidified. He was their lord and it was his duty to protect them. He couldn’t do that fighting battles somewhere else.

  He scooped Abigail up into his arms again. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck. The weight of her head and the gentle breath that fell on his neck was like a balm to his troubled spirit. His decision was right. “Ethan, take me to your mother.”

  The little boy led Dominick to the cottage, where he got Matthew then took the three children to the cobbler.

  On his way he said to Matthew. “Matthew, a gentleman never uses profanity in front of a woman-ever.”

  “I know," he said, "but I was just so angry.”

  “It doesn’t matter how angry you are, never use foul language in front of a lady.” Matthew was properly chastised and apologized to his mother when Dominick brought the three children back to their cottage.

  “Would you like some tea, my lord? Ruth offered.

  “Yes, thank you.” As she puttered around the table, they talked about the villagers.

  “Things are much better since you arrived, my lord. It’s like the village is coming back to life.” He smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

  He thanked her for the tea and the conversation and left, heading to the castle. Eleanor. She’d faced real peril that day, even killed a man, and he hadn’t offered her so much as a kind word. Blinded by rage, he had forgotten she might need comforting. She didn’t think of herself, only her people. Her selflessness brought him up short. Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to be near her moved him more quickly toward the castle.