She would have liked to be patient, but she was too distressed. She was rescued once again . . .
And once again a prisoner.
By the time he arrived up the stairs, she had worked herself into a long simmering anger.
Rowenna had been to see her, bearing food, talking excitedly about the ride through the forest in her wake, the injured men they had come upon, and the careful and cunning way they had watched Cheffington, day after day. She left the room without ever knowing that Igrainia was disturbed.
He had traveled many miles, hours, and nights, with his men, of course. And with Rowenna.
She sat stiffly in a chair in the strange room, all but locked into place, there had been so much tension in her limbs for so long before he arrived. When he came in and closed the door, she didn’t move. He walked around the chair slowly, meeting her eyes, then crossing his arms over his chest.
“What is the matter with you, Igrainia?” he demanded.
“What is the matter with me? Why nothing. I am a prisoner again. The faces of the captors change, and that is all.”
“You’re not a prisoner. You’re here for your safety and protection. And because you’re my wife, and it’s the room I’ve chosen.”
“You will pardon me if I am not weeping with ecstasy.” She couldn’t sit any longer. She rose, putting the chair between the two of them. “You made a fool out of me,” she told him. “Last night . . . I was nearly dying with fear that you should be discovered. You already had men in the castle. It was all but yours. If you had been caught in here, you would have shouted out an alarm, and, I imagine, men would have poured from the woodwork and the kitchen servants would have taken up arms.”
“We had men in the castle, yes. But if I’d been caught here last night, many more lives would have been lost. The bloodshed would have been terrible, with the number of English troops who were in residence then.”
“But you could have told me—”
“I couldn’t have told you anything. You could have inadvertently given us away to Lord Danby or your brother.”
“I was desperate to warn you about them when you were eager that they leave!” she exclaimed.
“I did what I had to do,” he told her flatly.
“Yes, you always do, don’t you? Seize the castle, for your king. Capture the lady, for your king. Marry her, for your king. Sleep with her, for your king. And now . . . let her shake through a night with fear. You don’t dare trust her. She’s English. She might do something—that would be against the honor and glory of Scotland!”
“For the honor and glory of Scotland!” he repeated, a note of anger entering his tone. “Aye, for that a man risks his life again and again. Do you know how many men willingly risked their lives to come here?”
“Oh, aye! They followed you once—and Langley fell to them. They followed you again, and they have taken Cheffington. The men—and women—who have followed you. It is amazing, Eric. You have the ability to take everything. Including people. Those who rode with me and were injured . . . Now they are your most loyal followers. And even a poor girl and deaf-mute I befriended . . . they are yours as well.” She paused for air.
“Ah, you’re speaking mainly of Gregory and Rowenna, aren’t you? How curious. And correct. We’ve gained a great deal through you. I was most determined that I would not come here without Gregory—and, of course, Rowenna.”
“Ah, Gregory! You—the great warrior! Always so willing to trust in his ‘sight’! Aren’t you ever just a little afraid that his vision may be hazy?”
“Actually, Igrainia, I do believe in God. And it seems that the boy has an affinity with his maker. I’ve yet to see him proven wrong. So I do listen to his words, then follow what judgment I have made on a situation. And he is a fine young fellow. I am always glad to have him in my company.”
“Him, and Rowenna. Well, then, surely they are free to celebrate with you on this newest victory. You should return to them.”
“I don’t believe it,” he murmured.
“Just what is it that you don’t believe?”
“That you, the noble beauty, beloved and admired by all those she touches, can be jealous of a poor scarred girl.”
She braced herself and spoke as coolly as she could manage. “I am not jealous. How could I be jealous? I am simply the prize that you were ordered to take. A pawn, passed from player to player in the game of war.”
“Ah.” he said, not protesting her words. “Well, she will accompany you on your journey north.”
She started at that. “She will accompany me . . . north.”
“My king—and the honor and glory of Scotland—call. We have to join with Robert Bruce, and prepare for Edward’s advance. Sirs Neville and Mason are surely fuming and in a rage out in the forest somewhere, and they remain a danger. I’m sending you north, to the safety of my family in the highlands.”
She felt ill, suddenly riddled with fear again. He would be leaving soon. To join the king. And he proved himself to be almost a magician, his strategy against odds was so calculated and cunning.
But King Edward himself was riding against the Bruce now.
And when Edward led the might of the English army, victory was almost assured.
She managed to remain standing, but couldn’t voice a reply.
He walked over to her. She realized that she wanted him to take her into his arms. She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, that she wasn’t just a possession important in a tug of war of power. That he wanted no one else when he had her. That he had ridden for her because he had discovered that she was as important to him as his beloved Margot had been, that . . .
He loved her.
But he didn’t pull her into his arms. He plucked at something in her hair.
“Hay,” he said. And he turned away from her. “Of course, like your brother, you’ll be treated with all the respect due your position. I know how you love your bath . . . one will be sent immediately, because it’s growing late, and, of course, you will be at the celebration we’re planning tonight. . . and of course, my men will all be grateful for this new great glory we’ve achieved in our pursuit of you.”
“I—will not celebrate any more slaughter with you!” she countered.
“Oh, but you will. You’ll come down tonight, on my arm—or dragged along by it.”
To her great dismay, he turned and left her.
There were a number of pressing matters that had to be settled.
He was grateful that Jamie was with him, since his cousin could deal with statistics and defense as efficiently as he could.
But there were certain details he had to deal with himself.
The first was Lord Danby.
He found the dignified old lord where he was being held, in his own chambers. He stiffened by the fire as Eric entered, as proud and noble a warrior as Eric had ever seen.
“So,” he said. “Cheffington has fallen. And I was incarcerated in my own room as it happened, without even raising a sword.”
“Cheffington, my lord, is Scottish,” Eric said simply.
“And you believe you will hold it?”
“I believe that the Scots will hold it, and that, sir, were you to decide to honor Robert Bruce, it might remain your holding.”
“I am not one of those men seeking only grandeur, comfort, and riches, Sir. I do not bend and bow to the wind, but do my duty, whatever that may bring.”
“I see. And it brought you Robert Neville and Niles Mason.”
White lashes fell briefly over Lord Danby’s eyes, but he gave little other sign that Eric’s words had disturbed him.
“Sir, you had the daughter of an English earl in your holding. It was the correct and chivalrous thing to bring her back.”
“And would it have been the right and chivalrous thing to hand her over to Neville?”
“Had the king given an absolute order, it would have been so.”
Eric smiled. “But the King’s absolute order did not r
each you, and so you did not.”
Danby nodded.
“The lady is my wife, and will remain so,” Eric said. “And though it was certainly not done for my accord, I am grateful that you chose to protect her. And though I swear, if it is ever in my power, by God, both Neville and Mason will die. But it has not been our policy to show brutality or cruelty to men for proving that they are loyal to their King, yet obedient as well to the dictates of their conscience. We intend you no harm. You will be taken north, where the King of the Scots has greater allegiance, and if and when arrangements are made, you will be returned, in the best of health, if not spirits, to Edward.”
Danby bowed his head. “I am grateful for the honor and chivalry you have proven in battle, sir,” he said stiffly.
“And, I, my Lord, remain grateful to you,” Eric told him.
He left Danby’s quarters then, wishing that the man were on their side.
His next stop was Aidan’s room.
He found the young Lord Abelard busy at his writing desk.
Aidan looked up as he entered, set down his quill, and rose.
“My sister, sir?”
“Your sister is well, I assure you.”
Aidan nodded, watching him. “In the woods that day . . . you would have killed me, if you hadn’t realized who I was.”
“When engaged in a sword battle with a man who intends to kill me, I am most usually called upon to fight him unto death,” Eric said dryly.
“In truth, I do not hide behind my sister’s skirts.”
“In truth—I did not mean to accuse you of doing so.”
Aidan inclined his head.
“I came to give you my thanks.”
“For?”
“You were here when Igrainia needed you.”
“She is my sister.”
“Ah, but many men might have seen only the white or black of war, the right or wrong of his own side.”
“I assure you, I did nothing to aid outlaws.”
“Of course. But . . . you are welcome to come to the hall tonight.”
Aidan squared his shoulders. “I’m a prisoner, and therefore, not interested in communication with the enemy. Sir, you may be as decent as my sister says. But I am an Englishman. I may acknowledge certain virtues in such a man as you, but I will not turn my back on my country.”
“I understand,” Eric told him. “But I must say as well . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad that I didn’t kill you.”
He left Aidan then. There was still a great deal do to before the evening.
The first was to plan for tomorrow.
CHAPTER 22
At first, Igrainia ignored the bath that was sent. She was nearly beside herself with misery. It had been one thing to accuse him of regarding her a prize of war, a wife as ordered by the king—and another to reconcile herself to the fact that it was true.
And though he enjoyed his time with her, it was a pleasant interval, but not one that would disturb any other desires he might find upon a long ride in her absence.
Without her absence, perhaps . . .
Now he wanted her at a celebration.
She intended to walk down without him touching her. To walk down with the “nobility” he had granted her.
And so, she bathed and was ready when he returned for her, apparently braced and ready for a fight, a very determined look on his face.
She shot through the door before he could speak, or touch her.
When she came down to the hall, she felt her temper melt somewhat. Even as she walked down the last of the steps, men were coming to meet her. Jamie first, who bowed over her hand and kissed it. Angus, Brandon, Thayer, Timothy, Allan . . . and finally, Father MacKinley, whom she had least expected to see.
“You’ve taken to arms, Father?” she asked him.
“Many a priest travels with troops, Igrainia. And many a man of the cloth has picked up a sword.”
“So you pray for these men now?”
“Aye, that I do. And, of course, I have other functions,” he said with a wink. But he didn’t explain what functions he meant. He smiled at Eric as he came behind Igrainia, then went on to speak with Angus.
“Your place at the table awaits, my lady. Ah, in fact, we’ve arranged the meal so that you many take your customary chair.”
She couldn’t shake his firm touch upon her arm as he led her to the table. There were new faces in the hall, now, mingling with those she had come to know. She recognized the players who had presented the shows in the courtyard, the pretty young singer, and others. There were smiths she had seen at work with the horses and repairing armor, and there were the masons she had seen working during the day.
The hall was filled.
It was not Rowenna who served ale to them, though, but another girl who had been among Lord Danby’s kitchen maids.
Eric was to her left, in Lord Danby’s chair, and Jamie was to her right. Beside him, handsomely dressed in a clean tunic of Eric’s colors, was Gregory. His silent smile for her was so warm that she could not help but return it.
Then she noted Rowenna, not seated, but standing at the end of the table, talking earnestly to Father MacKinley. And she, too, was differently attired. She was truly beautiful, and the scar could not touch the glow and magic that seemed to have come to her face. She was wearing a soft white linen gown, and a circlet of flowers in her hair.
As if aware that Igrainia was watching her, she turned to her. Her face seemed to beam anew as she offered Igrainia a radiant smile.
“She is such a graceful, natural beauty, is she not?” Eric whispered to Igrainia, his head low, so close to hers.
“Indeed,” Igrainia agreed stiffly.
Eric rose suddenly, tapping his knife on the table, and drawing the attention of those in the hall. When they were silent, he spoke.
“We’ve much to celebrate here tonight. Another victory against our oppressors, and in it, the safe return to our fold of my wife, the Lady Igrainia. With each such step we take, we come closer to the goal of our people, a free and united country.”
Cheers greeted his words.
“We have endured years of battle; it’s likely that we will endure more long years of hardship until we have truly evicted the foreign powers from our lands. William Wallace sacrificed his life in the pursuit of a dream for his country, not for power, for glory, or for gain. Few men have ever been so willing to sacrifice everything for a cause. But now a man who is aware that his loyalty was often misspent has been crowned king of Scotland, and has taken to the field, and in the brutal deaths of so many of his family members, in the imprisonment of the women he loves, he has learned the agony of sacrifice as well, yet casts his life and his crown against a mighty strength. That Robert Bruce is king, and will prove himself king, marks a new beginning for us, one proven in this victory we have wrested today. We feast at the hope and prayer of a new, free Scotland. Our land. And what better way to toast the future than to celebrate the hopes and dreams of the future of a man and woman Scottish to the core. Angus, Rowenna, may the wedding you celebrate tonight bring you the love and loyalty to strengthen your hearts always, in the good and bad days that lie ahead, and may the unity of your hearts and souls be constant, and may your children be blessed to grow and prosper in a country we will call our own.”
He raised his cup. Around the room, other cups rose as well. More words of cheer and congratulations were called out, and as Igrainia watched, still astonished, Angus walked over to Rowenna and gripped her hands. The two of them stared at one another with radiant adoration.
Then Father MacKinley raised his hands in prayer, and those seated stood, and first he praised God for their lives and their victories and the food they would eat. And then he announced that the wedding would begin.
It was simple and beautiful, Father MacKinley’s words spoken with strong, fluid tones, and the bride’s and groom’s vows given with certainty and assurance. When they were pronounced man and
wife before God, there were more cheers, and the happy couple were swept up and kissed and congratulated all around in good cheer.
Igrainia hadn’t dared to look at Eric through it all. But as the cheers rose and the feasting began, she felt his hand on her arm. “Aren’t you wishing to congratulate the happy pair, my lady?”
“Of course,” she murmured awkwardly. He drew them up. They approached, and she had to force a smile, she was still so stunned. But Angus took her in a bear hug, thanking her for being the great lady she had proven herself to be, and swearing his loyalty to her as well as to Eric. Then Rowenna embraced her as well, and thanked her. “My life. . . my life was nothing until I met you. I’d have never known Angus, a man so great and so gentle, and so unaware that this scar mars my face.”
Shame filled Igrainia. She hugged Rowenna in return. “You owe me nothing; it is Eric who brought you to Langley. And you have been deeply and sincerely appreciated there, and you are beautiful, and it is only the truly blind who do see the scar you wear, and . . . forgive me, for ever doubting you.”
Rowenna drew back, perplexed. “Doubting me?”
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I pray for your every happiness.”
“We will be together, you know. Traveling north to safety. Eric and Angus have both insisted,” she said.
Igrainia nodded. “It will be wonderful to have such a good friend on the journey.”
The pipes had begun to play. As Rowenna smiled at her, innocent of any evil thoughts Igrainia might have had, Angus claimed his bride.
Igrainia found herself swept into the steps she had learned from Jamie at Langley. Then she was dancing with Thayer. . . Timothy . . . Allan, and Father MacKinley. Great trays of food filled the tables, ale flowed freely, and the night passed in a whirl. She saw Eric, with the players, dancing with the girl, whose name was Sarah, with the wrinkled old woman who cooked the meat in the kitchen.
But he didn’t talk to her until it was very late, and the newlyweds had left the hall, and the men were beginning to leave, or to find a place upon the table, or on the floor in the rushes, to sleep for the night.
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