"There are those who say you chose an old man, knowing you must marry, before the king stepped in to make provisions for you."
"I knew I must marry, yes. And I chose Alain."
"So that he would bring prosperity back to Clarin—and die soon, leaving you a young widow with—perhaps—the right to choose a second husband entirely on your own."
"This is ridiculous!" she protested. "I did love Alain; aye, he was older! He was my friend as well as my husband, a very best friend—"
"But not a lover?" Fitzgerald queried softly.
She felt an icy grip, as if around her throat.
"Look," Corbin protested. "You do not know Eleanor, Sir Miles. She is loved deeply in this village for her kindness, and for her efforts to save lives. You never saw the tenderness she showed to her husband."
Fitzgerald sighed. "Believe me, this is a very sorry occasion for me, but I am sheriff for this region, responsible not just to the Duke of York, but to the king of England as well. Such an unhappy matter! But in England, we have laws. And we honor our laws. My lady, we must continue."
"Please do so," she said curtly.
"You were taken at sea by the Scots?" he inquired.
"I was seized by a pirate, then the ship was taken by the Scots who happened upon it. I was then brought to Paris, and handed over to Alain and King Philip."
"And what of the Scots?"
"What of them, sir?"
"You came to ... respect your captors."
"They did not mistreat me. I told you, I was taken to Paris—"
"By the king's greatest enemy."
She gritted her teeth, breathed slowly, then answered. "Perhaps you did not hear about incidents that occurred here, sir. A number of my people were horribly burned to death in a raid. Clarin was nearly destroyed. I rode—a woman—at the battle of Falkirk. I assure you, sir, I did not seek out the Scots."
"Nevertheless, they became your captors."
"Aye."
"You came to know them . .. intimately."
She stood. "Sir Miles, I did not kill my husband. I loved him. I swear by the Holy Trinity, I did not kill my husband. Are we finished?"
Fitzgerald stood as well. "Madame, it is believed that you formed more than a friendship with the heinous outlaw, Sir Brendan Graham, and that you grew intimate with the greatest enemies of your king, Edward of England, Wales, Ireland, France—and overlord of Scotland."
"I never betrayed the king in any way. And I did not kill my husband. Are we finished?"
"Madame, you will not leave your room until we have finished ..." Here even he looked uncomfortable. "With the body. Are we understood."
"Perfectly."
She whirled around, leaving the hall. She felt as if eyes bored into her back as she walked. She turned.
Indeed.
Isobel was watching her ...
And trying very hard not to smile.
Brendan's men were careful to choose their military targets with deep thought as to their worth—against the risks that must be taken.
He was alone with his band in the borderland at the time; Bruce holdings were now loyal to the king of England, Red Comyn's men were still improving Hebert's fortification, and Wallace had traveled to Edinburgh to confer with the Archbishop of Lamberton, a rare breed of military holy man who was doing his best to walk a fine line with the English presence—and keep the fight for freedom alive.
The men knew how to infiltrate through the countryside, and most importantly, how to eavesdrop, question the people—and even English guards at various points—to know what was happening where, and when, along the borders.
But on a Monday morning in early May, Brendan was taken by surprise when Eric, who had been scouting with Thomas and Collum, burst into the secluded copse where they had camped-—and where he now shaved carefully at a stream—to tell him that a group of armed and armored knights was crossing through the forest.
"Who are they?"
"I believe they've come from the motte and bailey castle just due north," Eric said. "They wear the king's colors, as if they were conscripted for his special command."
"The king—"
"The king is definitely not with them," Eric said, shrugging with disdain. "He's not an old fool; if he were ever to arrive in Scotland with so small a group, every man, woman, and child in this country would risk death just to scratch his face!"
"Which way do they ride?"
"South."
"South!"
"Aye, 'tis a curious group. Armed heavily, prepared for battle—yet moving away from us. Maybe civil war has erupted. Perhaps we should let them go. We don't know what they're doing."
"We can't let them go, for precisely that reason."
"They are wearing more than just mail; these are mounted knights, protected by plate as well."
"Then we will have to bring them down hard," Brendan said.
Eric understood Brendan's meaning perfectly.
"Aye, we'll set traps in the road, but we must hurry then."
"Aye."
But Eric paused, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You missed a spot Aye, nay, that's just an ugly chin you've got Not enough Norse blood in you, me lad!"
"The ugly spot remains; there is plenty of good Scot's blood."
"Idiot blood; we've but a handful of men against at least twenty well-armed, well-trained men."
Their swords rested by an oak with branches that dipped over the stream. Brendan reached for Eric's, and tossed it to him.
"Who wants to live forever?" he queried.
"I, at least, shall go to Valhalla. You will have to do penance For years in Purgatory," Eric informed him, deftly catching the heavy weapon.
"You he; you are baptized a Christian. And they will let Kou rot with the sinners far longer than I."
Eric grinned. "Maybe we shouldn't die."
"Indeed. Let's not!"
The day stretched out endlessly.
Once, she attempted to leave her room. One of the men, a goodly fellow over six feet and appearing to weigh near a ton, greeted her at the door.
"I would like my maid," she said.
"I'm afraid that is impossible, my lady."
"Why?"
"You stand accused—"
"Accused. Not condemned," she said.
"My lady, I'm sorry. Another woman—"
She slammed the door before he could finish.
Later, however, she heard a tap at the door. She answered it, and was surprised to find Corbin. He appeared ill, his handsome face ashen.
"May I come in, Eleanor?"
"Of course."
He entered the room. He paced, then sat in a chair before the fire. She sat before him.
"Eleanor ..." He lifted his hand in a futile gesture, then shook his head miserably, and leaned forward. "My God, Eleanor, I'm so sorry for all of this! I know that you are not guilty, but they will not listen to me. And we can do nothing ... for these are the king's men. To stop them ... well, Clarin could not withstand the king's army."
"I know that, Corbin," she said. "But how have these men come here? Why?"
"We knew that the Duke of York had ordered Fitzgerald here ... but I had thought it was just to clarify the count's death."
"Oh, he has come to clarify!"
"We didn't know he'd come to accuse!" Corbin said.
"How?" Eleanor said. "How then ..."
"The doctor."
"What?"
"Our good doctor went to them. When he left here that night, I thought little of it. But he was angry with you, Eleanor. He said that he was curing the count, but that you kept getting infuriated with his medical methods, and threw him out"
"Alain had no blood left—and he kept taking more and more!"
"Eleanor, I'm just telling you what happened. Again, he complained as he left here, but we thought nothing of it we were all ... at a loss. I didn't know that he had left the village ... of course, he has not shown his face again."
"I kept th
e little bastard from killing Alain, and here I stand accused of poison!"
Corbin took in a deep breath, staring at her. "Eleanor, I have hovered about the best I could. They have taken the count's body and inspect it still and ..."
"Aye?"
"There are signs of poison. A blackness beneath the nails ... certain tinges to the flesh ... there's not much I know about such matters, but the experts can find traces that ... he might have been killed."
"Corbin, I didn't kill him! My God, if I'd wanted to remarry, I didn't have long to wait anyway! He was old and in poor health from the moment we said our vows."
"Eleanor, you didn't certainly ... but who else? Who else would benefit from his death? Not Alfred or I—his death only allowed your re-marriage while you were young—and very fertile."
Eleanor moistened her lips. "Isobel?"
Corbin shook his head, frowning—and dismissing the thought completely. "My wife is a shrew, mean as a rabid wolf, but she is always open in her contrivances. She wants a child—but she wanted you with Alain as long as possible. The longer he lived, the older you became, the less chance that you would bear a child."
Eleanor sat back. Unless Isobel had heard her conversation with Bridie, and knew that she was already with child. Then, she needed to die along with Alain. What better way to kill her than have her executed for Alain's murder?
Still, now, she was especially afraid to share the fact that she was with child with anyone. The fact might put her—and the child—even more at risk.
"I didn't kill Alain. And I don't trust your wife."
"Eleanor, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to prove your innocence."
"Thank you." She hesitated, afraid for herself—and for others in her household. "Corbin, do you know where Bridie is?"
"She is safe enough—for the moment. Since she was with you when you were attacked at sea, then with the Scots, and in Paris with Alain, they believe that she must be extensively questioned. She is being held in solitude in her room, just above you."
"Thank you. Don't let them hurt her, Corbin."
"I won't."
"Do you need anything, want anything?"
"No."
"They have brought a woman with them to attend you."
"I don't wish to have an attendant."
He rose, and kissed her forehead. "I'm going to go back and demand to know more about what is happening."
She nodded, looking down at her hands.
He lifted her chin. "I know you, Eleanor. And God will prevail."
"He must," she said, smiled, and let him go.
When night fell, there was a tap at the door again. Expecting Corbin, she ran to the door and opened it.
A woman stood there; as tall and slender as Bridie, but as dour as Bridie was pleasant. She was austerely dressed in stiff linen; her lips were primly compressed, and her hands were folded before her.
"If you need any assistance, Lady Eleanor, I am here."
"Ah. Well, I don't need any assistance."
"My lady, a tub and water are being brought now. I will see that they arrive, and assist you."
"Truly, I need no assistance." She wanted to slam the door, but controlled the impulse.
She hadn't asked for a bath to be brought. She hadn't seen anyone to ask. Curiosity plagued her, and she didn't want to antagonize these strangers in her house any more than necessary.
"I thank you, and if I do need any assistance whatsoever, I will, of course, ask that you be called."
She closed the door quiedy.
A moment later, there was another tap. She opened the door. Two of the young villagers had arrived with a tub. One was Tyler, the son of old Timothy, a handsome lad of about sixteen with a thick thatch of dark hair. The other was Gregory, whose parents had died one after the other, just a few years ago. He had lived with his sister until called to train for service in the king's army. She hadn't seen him now for a very long time.
"Tyler, Gregory, my deepest thanks," she said, welcoming them as they brought the tub. She was about to ask Gregory what he was doing back, but a strange glance from him warned her to keep her silence.
"Ah, my lady, here, before the fire?"
"Fine."
"The water comes behind us."
Two more of the village youth appeared bearing buckets of water; they were emptied into the tub but for one.
''That goes to the kettle, to be warmed above the fire again,'' Gregory instructed the other man. "My lady would have the water very warm. Here, I'll take care of it."
He took the water bucket. She thanked the lads, and they left, along with Tyler; Gregory made a pretense of putting the water into a kettle to set over the fire. When the others had gone, the door remained ajar. She looked at it, then at Gregory, who shook his head and mouthed the words. "Don't close it, m'lady. They will think it suspicious."
She walked over to him, hunching down as if to stoke the fire. "Gregory, what are you doing here? Suspicious of what?"
"Me. I shouldn't be here."
"I know that. Why are you here?"
"I came for Molly."
"Your sister?"
"Aye."
"Gregory, she is not in the castle," she advised him softly.
He offered her a quick grin. "I know that. She is already on the road north."
"North?"
"I am riding with the Scots now."
"The Scots!"
She almost spoke too loudly. He brought a finger back to his lips.
"With Sir Brendan Graham."
She almost gasped aloud again, but quickly covered her mouth.
"Gregory, that's madness—"
' 'The man spared my life—and the lives of others. A generosity from an enemy I don't suppose comes often."
"But, you remain—"
"Nay, my lady," he said, shaking his head. "I ride with the Scots."
"You'll wind up killed, Gregory," she said sadly.
He smiled. "No more so than riding for Edward."
She had lowered her head, trying not to speak of Brendan, but she had to ask.
"How is he?"
"Clever and wily as a fox. He takes a nick in the flesh here and there, surely, but fares remarkably well."
"He'll still get himself killed."
"My lady, you are the one in danger now."
"I didn't kill my husband."
"No one who knows you would believe you could do such a thing."
"They will not prove me guilty."
"My lady, they have already determined that you are."
"I must stand trial—"
"Aye, you'll stand trial. And there's no proof that you did not. The doctors have determined that Count de Lacville did die from poisoning, slowly administered, and when he did not die quickly enough, you fed him a lethal dose."
She stood, fury sweeping through her. "I didn't kill him— but if they are right, and he was poisoned, then someone is guilty. And I swear—"
"My lady, you are in grave and serious trouble. Tomorrow Fitzgerald will listen to the final diagnoses of the doctors .. and then you will face trial. They'll take you to London. And you may well face a death penalty. Edward may decide that you must lose your head—to appease Philip of France."
"How do you know all this?" she asked with dismay.
"I listen well—though these are not facts kept secret here in the castle. Due to the love borne you by the people here, Fitzgerald may send for more men before trying to escort you to London for the trial."
She touched his hand briefly. "Thank you, dearly, for this information. But you must follow your sister, quickly, and leave the north of England. If anyone knows that you have changed your allegiance, you will be executed, and quickly, with a rope from the nearest branch."
"My lady, I will come back—"
"You will not! You will not risk your life for mine. Do you understand?"
"My lady, when I find Sir Brendan—"
' 'By the time you find him, I pr
ay that I will be long gone. Or that I will have discovered my own method of escape. Now, please, you must go, and quickly. I would not have any harm come to you."
He looked to the door, then kissed her hand quickly. "My lady—"
"If it were possible without costing the lives of everyone here, my cousins would have made a move by now. I won't have scores of men dying on my behalf."
"Not even for justice? For the count?"
"I won't have a war on this property again, women and children ridden down, village and people ravaged."
"But my lady—"
"I am not without some talent for escape," she told him, smoothing back her hair and smiling. "And thank you—you have already taken a terrible risk."
He nodded bleakly, ready to leave. She caught his arm. "Is he really well?"
"Sir Brendan?"
"Aye."
"I swear it, my lady."
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