“Then I will do it for you,” Jacqueline retorted. “There is no need for warfare when a simple discussion will suffice. I am certain ’twas no more than a misunderstanding.” She gave Angus a hard look. “And I can well imagine that you may have lacked some diplomacy in your earlier appeal.”
His expression turned thunderous, but Jacqueline was not afraid.
“Truly, Angus, let me see to this matter for you. I shall plead your case and Airdfinnan will be returned to you and then I shall retreat to the convent as planned, knowing the end of the tale fully.” She smiled pertly, but Angus lunged after her.
“You will do no such thing!”
Jacqueline clicked her tongue to Lucifer and drove her heel hard into the beast’s side. The steed took off like the wind, needing no further encouragement to plunge through the undergrowth. He was not a small beast and she nigh lost her seating, so unaccustomed was she to riding sidesaddle.
But she held on with a vengeance. She would see this repaired, she would see Angus regain his rightful holding, for she had perfect faith in her ability to discuss matters reasonably with a priest.
“JACQUELINE!” Angus roared far behind her.
But he would see the merit of her plan soon enough, Jacqueline was certain. She simply could not retire to the convent without doing her part to ensure justice was served. And this, she knew, could so readily be set to rights.
Jacqueline took the downward course of the larger path, Angus’ cries fading behind her. At the main road, she halted the destrier just long enough to fling her leg over the saddle and arrange her skirts, then urged him onward.
She admitted to herself that this was far more exciting than recounting her rosary or even discussing the lessons of the good book with Ceinn-beithe’s priest.
* * *
Angus swore as Lucifer’s hoof beats faded from earshot. Jacqueline was the most irksome woman who had ever drawn breath and if ever he caught her, he did not know whether he would kill or kiss her senseless.
Obedience. Ha! She would never manage to keep that oath. She was not remotely biddable, she did not even cede that there was any other point of view than her own, she was whimsical and impulsive and a threat to the clear thinking of men everywhere.
Or perhaps just to Angus’ own.
And his steed was a faithless wretch, one that should have been sold in Sicily when he had the chance, or left for the wolves. Angus marched through the undergrowth, his cloak catching on burrs and branches, reached the road in a fury, and was not surprised to find it empty.
Even the dust raised by the beast’s hooves was settling. He bellowed one last time, but knew she would not heed him now. He knew he could not run faster than the destrier when that beast desired to race.
He should never have let her brush him. Therein lay his error, for now Lucifer would permit Jacqueline to ride him.
Although the alternative was sobering. Angus had seen Lucifer toss another from his saddle and his heart nigh stopped at the prospect of Jacqueline sharing such a fate. She was a vexing creature but he was glad that Lucifer had taken to her—’twas reassuring to be certain that the steed would not permit her to slip from his back.
And she was a skilled horsewoman. He had naught to worry about on that score.
All the same, he retreated quickly through the woods, anxious for confirmation of his conclusions. Angus returned to their vantage point stealthily so that he would not be spotted by a sharp-eyed sentry. He lay on his stomach and had not long to wait before an unmistakably black steed galloped toward the bridge. The sunlight glinted golden in the rider’s hair when she halted the horse with a flourish before the guards.
Angus was surprised and oddly proud as he watched Jacqueline. Lucifer was no means small and by no means unopinionated. The stallion stomped and tossed his head, but she reined him in with impressive assurance.
There was far more to this seemingly demure maiden than met the eye.
Angus watched as she apparently declared her mission and the guards discussed their course. ’Twas only a moment before both she and the horse were led across the planked bridge and swallowed by the gates of Airdfinnan.
’Twas then he shivered with dread. For he had no doubt that Jacqueline would blurt out the truth of her mission, much as she had just declared it to him. She had too much trust in men and Angus feared she would learn her own folly in the worst way possible.
Too late he realized that if ’twere convenient for him to be dead, ’twould also be convenient for any who claimed to know him—or worse, supported his cause—to be dead.
His blood ran cold at the prospect. He could not let Jacqueline die, not for her attempt to ensure Airdfinnan was restored to him.
Angus sat back, leaning against a tree shrouded by shadows, while he considered his choices. There was no possibility of leaving Jacqueline within those walls. She was astute and hopefully would not take long to discern that she was within a den of thieves. Perhaps she would be more circumspect in claiming her intent.
Perhaps not. Angus could not fault her for not believing his skepticism, for he was not the most charitable soul alive. Indeed, he could not fault her for believing that right would prevail despite the odds.
But he had led her to this place and he did not imagine for a moment that ’twas anything other than her desire to see justice meted out for his benefit that had her charging impulsively to his defense. In better circumstance, he might have found it amusing that this maiden saw fit to defend a knight twice her size, but not on this day.
’Twas only a fortnight since he had crossed that bridge himself, seeking the same justice from Airdfinnan’s guardian. ’Twas only a fortnight since he and Rodney had barely escaped with their lives.
Clearly, he was not welcome and just as clearly, any attempt he might make to plea Jacqueline’s case would not be heard.
Not if it was made openly.
Angus pursed his lips. Lucifer, he was certain, would be remembered by the sentries. There were not many of his ilk in all of Christendom, fewer still in these hills. Perhaps that was why Jacqueline had been admitted so readily, though he had best not ponder the treachery of baited traps overmuch. Even if pursuing her meant his own demise, he had to try to see her free.
Angus would be remembered, as well, which would compound the difficulties of retrieving the damsel in question from an impregnable fortress.
But then, he had once heard it said that men were more likely to remember the distinctive features of an individual than that man’s face. His eye patch would be recalled, his tunic with its red cross, his flaring red cloak. The accoutrements of knighthood would also reveal Angus’s rank and possibly his identity.
He hastily shed his spurs, his cloak, his broadsword, his tunic. His helm was in the stallion’s saddlebags, so ’twas already accounted for. He cast his leather gloves into the pile, then pulled off his boots, for all were too fine to be unremarkable.
He knotted his simple belt again, this time over his chemise and dark tabard alone. He cast aside the scabbard for his dagger and stuck the blade into his belt. ’Twas old and honed many times, sturdy but without ornamentation.
Angus stood, barefoot and garbed in naught but his dark chausses and tabard, and his white chemise. Even cleanliness could reveal his station, so he scooped up handfuls of mud and smeared himself with it. He rubbed it into his face and his hair, shoved it under his nails as though he had been filthy for a long time. He tore his chemise in a few places and worked the dirt into its weave as well, then rolled like a pig in the mud.
He separated the white tunic with its red cross, the broadsword and his red cloak from his belongings. The rest he concealed in the undergrowth, hoping they would remain undiscovered. He stabbed his dagger into the tunic, then cut his hand and let the blood stain around the tear. He had to milk the blood from his own flesh that the mark would large enough to be convincing, and even then he wished for more.
A weasel had the misfortune to peer at him inqu
isitively in that moment. The creature gave a merry chase, but it had not Angus’ determination to see Jacqueline freed. Shortly thereafter, the tunic boasted a bloodstain of significant size to cast its wearer’s survival in doubt.
Angus bundled it up, gripped his father’s blade and cast the cloak over his shoulders. He strode through the woods and stole down the steep path to the main road.
But when he stepped out of the shadow of the woods there, he was as a man transformed, so hobbled in one leg that he dragged it behind.
He also dragged his broadsword behind himself, as though unable to bear its weight. Angus was loathe to lose the heirloom blade, but he knew that naught less would persuade his opponent that he ceased to draw breath.
He pledged with every step to see the blade sharpened anew if ever he regained it from this travesty. Angus lurched away from Airdfinnan, knowing ’twould not be long before Father Aloysius sent sentries out in search of prey.
But that man would not find the victim he sought.
Chapter Fifteen
Airdfinnan was more imposing than Jacqueline expected. The walls rose higher and the river was both wider and more agitated than had been visible at a distance. It churned as it passed, murky and heavy.
The sentries barred the bridge with their swords and she reined Lucifer to a halt. They were fully armed, a surprising detail in this apparently peaceful corner of the realm.
Perhaps their guardian took the trusteeship of the King of the Isles most seriously.
Or perhaps he defended Airdfinnan for another reason. Jacqueline wished she had pressed Angus for more of the tale.
One sentry pushed up his visor to consider her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What happened to the knight who owns this steed?” he demanded by way of greeting.
Jacqueline’s heart sank. Angus had been here and worse, she did not know what had transpired. Curse her impatience to see matters righted!
Perhaps Angus had not even passed these sentries to enter the keep. She had best disguise the truth until she was before the priest himself, when she could plea his case.
“I stole his steed and fled,” she declared, which was not entirely untrue. “I seek sanctuary here, and would request an audience with Father Aloysius.”
“How do you know our lord’s name?”
Jacqueline feigned a laugh. “All have heard the repute of Father Aloysius at Airdfinnan, as well as the justice of his administration.”
The men exchanged a glance, then lowered their blades. One took the reins of Lucifer and led the beast across the bridge. Though the bridge was sturdy enough, the surface of the swollen river was treacherously close beneath the planks. Indeed, at one point the water swelled between the chinks of wood.
Lucifer shied when the wood was not fully visible. He fought the bit and tossed his head impatiently. The sentry cursed the steed and made to force him onward, but Lucifer far outweighed the man.
And was likely more stubborn. He planted his hooves on the boards he could see and refused to move further. The sentry cursed and tugged at the resolute beast, Lucifer showed the man his teeth and snorted. When the sentry raised his hand to strike the horse with the ends of the reins, Jacqueline cried out.
“Let me,” she insisted. She slipped from the saddle, waving the man away. He went but two paces and the destrier eyed him balefully. “Leave us,” Jacqueline suggested. “He will not move whilst you are here.”
“He would move if given a sound whipping.”
Jacqueline stroked Lucifer’s nose. “Nay, he probably would not,” she said quietly. The beast exhaled and a shiver rolled over his flesh. She spoke to him quietly as Angus had done, slowly easing away from him. He stretched his neck after her, seeking the reassurance of her touch.
And when she moved beyond his reach, he stepped after her, so intent upon pursuit that he did not note the water swirling around his hooves. Jacqueline whispered and coaxed, rubbing his nose then retreating, until the length of the bridge was behind them. Her own shoes were sodden, as was the hem of her kirtle, but they had successfully made the crossing.
Lucifer snorted and pranced a little when he was on the solid footing beneath the portcullis of Airdfinnan. Jacqueline smiled and gave his ears a congratulatory scratch, nigh jumping from her skin when a voice cleared behind her.
“And who might you be?”
She spun to find an elderly man standing in the shadows. He was garbed in dark robes that fell to the ground and tonsured, what remained of his hair as white as snow. His eyes were a merry blue, his gaze sharp but kindly.
“Father Aloysius?”
“Aye, though I have not the pleasure of your name, child.”
“I am Jacqueline and I seek an audience with you.”
“Indeed.” His gaze flicked over the stallion. “When last I saw this steed, it was ridden by a man claiming to be a knight.”
His choice of words gave Jacqueline pause. “Aye, ’tis a knight’s steed and I confess that I stole the beast, so great was my desire to flee.”
Again, a half truth. The priest watched her carefully. “The roads are thick with brigands in these times.”
“Aye, ’tis true enough.”
“But ’tis uncommon for a woman to travel alone. What brings you so near our gates?”
“I was traveling to the convent of Inveresbeinn, where I am to become a novitiate. I was kidnapped by the man who rode this steed.”
“And you escaped him when?”
“Just this very day.”
Her host pivoted and immediately dispatched a trio of men-at-arms with a command too low for her to overhear. The men mounted their horses and galloped through the gates. He then smiled at her, summoned another man to tend to Lucifer, then gestured through the portal. “Come in, my child.”
Jacqueline looked after the men with uncertainty. “Where are they going?”
“It matters not. You must be weary. Come in.”
“But...”
“But naught.” The elderly priest shook his head. “Why trouble yourself with the vagaries of the world of men?” His voice soft and soothing, and he moved slowly, the darkness of his robes making him look more frail than he probably was.
He led her through the heavy wall that encompassed the gates and into the enclosed space. The ground was hard-trodden within what of the courtyard she could see, the square building that had seemed so small from a distance looming up before her.
She looked for the garden that she knew must be here, but could not glimpse it. Perhaps ’twas behind the hall. Perhaps ’twas gone. The prospect saddened Jacqueline.
Perhaps Angus spoke aright and Edana truly knew naught of what she spoke.
The shadows of the hall embraced them as they crossed the threshold. This building was only a single story in height, a board set simply in its midst. There was a screen which no doubt hid the living quarters of the priest and a fire smoked in a brazier on the floor. Lanterns flickered on the board, for the windowless hall was dark even in the afternoon. The decor was so plain as to be monastic, with the exception of the large embroidered tapestries adorning the walls.
“Welcome, welcome to Airdfinnan.” Father Aloysius gestured to the simple board set behind him. “If it pleases you, I would have you join me at the board. I would much like to hear of your ordeal and your escape.”
Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder, her head still spinning at how rapidly she had been ushered into the hall and Lucifer led away. “I did not know that monasteries kept men-at-arms.”
Father Aloysius chuckled. “Traditionally, they did not, of course. But times change and we are forced to adapt. ’Tis a burden thrust upon us in holding Airdfinnan in trust.”
“But what of the destrier? I should ensure he is settled...”
“Child! ’Tis not fitting labor for a demoiselle. Indeed, you must be sorely troubled after what you have endured at the hands of a lawless rogue.”
He clapped his hands and gave instructions tersely, smiling upon Jac
queline when he was done. “Though ’tis not our custom to entertain women, I shall surrender my corner of the hall to you. I beg of you to consider this as your own home and refresh yourself accordingly.”
Though the bath supplied was only a bucket, Jacqueline delighted in it. Behind the screen, she shed her garments, reassured by the silence that followed the retreat of the men, and gave herself a hearty scrub. Indeed, the washing cloth supplied was rough, though most effective in scouring away the dirt that covered her.
Even having to dress again in her travel-stained garments did not trouble her, for she felt much better after her wash. She rebraided her hair after using a comb to restore its length to order, then stepped out behind the screen once more.
Father Aloysius spoke to one of his charges on the far side of the room, laying a hand upon the man’s head, then turned to Jacqueline when the man retreated. The priest smiled in a paternal fashion and crossed the hall.
“I thank you for that courtesy,” she said politely. “’Twas most welcome.”
“And I apologize for the simplicity of what we have to offer.” He poured red wine into a waiting silver chalice, then turned and offered it to Jacqueline. “A restorative,” he said with a smile. “I confess ’tis my weakness, wrought of years living in Rome.”
Jacqueline accepted the chalice, surprised by the weight of the silver. ’Twould have been expensive to make, despite its simplicity and she wished that her brother-in-law Iain, who labored much in fine metals, could have the chance to see it.
Though that only made her miss Ceinn-beithe with unexpected vigor.
Another chalice was brought, its lines as simple as the first. Father Aloysius poured himself a draught, then raised his cup to Jacqueline. “To the prevailing of goodness throughout all of Christendom.”
“As God wills it,” Jacqueline replied, then sipped of the wine. ’Twas rich on her tongue and unfamiliar in taste. She had a vague recollection of wine drunk at celebrations at Crevy-sur-Seine, but she had been six years at Ceinn-beithe and was more familiar with their own ale.
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