It couldn’t be so.
God, please tell me it isn’t so! she demanded, and began to cry. He couldn’t be dead.
But he was.
Tomas noticed her first and came striding toward her, the look in his eyes dark and frightening, but she wasn’t afraid. He wouldn’t dare touch her in front of so many people.
“Elizabet!” he called out, sounding relieved to see her. “Dear God, where have you been?”
She ran past him, pushing his arms away from her as she stumbled through the crowd, meeting Seana’s familiar gaze. The woman’s expression was filled with pity, and Elizabet cried out in grief at what she was beginning to comprehend.
Tears blurred her vision.
Faces began to melt before her eyes.
“Elizabet!” shouted one of her father’s men. She recognized his voice but didn’t see his face.
She stumbled to her knees beside the gaping hole in the ground. Beside her, some man stood frozen at his task, dirt piled high upon his shovel, ready to throw it down into the open grave. Blind anger surged up from the depths of her, and she shoved him away.
“John!” she sobbed, staring down into the black hole. He was already half covered with soil.
Someone came forward and tried to comfort her. Someone else came and dragged her to her feet.
She felt suddenly dizzy. Everything faded as though it were naught but a terrible dream.
The last thing she remembered before blackness fell over her was Broc’s face as he came toward her.
Chapter Twenty Five
Elizabet sat weeping at Montgomerie’s table.
Seana and Meghan stood at her back, both trying to soothe her.
“If she wishes to go home, ’tis her right,” Tomas said in her defense.
Piers remained unyielding. “Her father sent her to me, and I’ll not turn her about and send her home in her time of distress!”
Piers sat across from her, watching Tomas pace angrily before the table, but she was weeping too hard to express her wishes.
What a fool she had been!
How could she have believed in Broc? What was wrong with her that she would throw herself at the first man who showed her any affection.
Colin and his brothers had dragged Broc away, shouting and cursing at them to let him go. They’d had to pin him down and speak to him in low tones. Elizabet was told that he had agreed to leave, only if Piers promised that Elizabet would not be left alone in Tomas’s care.
But it wasn’t his right to request such a thing. She repudiated him as her husband. Their vows had not been spoken before God.
It didn’t matter that in her heart she had felt every last word. She would always bear the painful memory of their brief time together. She had wanted so very much to believe in him.
“You don’t believe that idiot Scot!” Tomas shouted in anger.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Piers said.
Tomas must have stamped his foot in protest.
Elizabet glanced up to find his face mottled with anger.
“You have two witnesses who swear they saw that damned savage kill John before their very eyes. Will you call them both liars, Montgomerie?”
Piers’ expression turned cold. “I have called no man a liar,” he said tonelessly, tapping his fingers restlessly upon the table.
“Aye, but you have!” Tomas argued.
Piers stood.
“Piers,” Meghan said at her back.
He glanced at his wife, his eyes dark with anger, his temper barely restrained.
“If you would believe that Scot devil rather than two of your God-fearing countrymen, then you have named them liars!”
Piers cast his head back, obviously trying to control himself, but Elizabet wanted Tomas to win this argument. He was right. How could they believe Broc, when two witnesses saw him murder her brother in cold blood?
Broc had lied to her.
To her very face he had lied to her.
She wanted to go home.
If her father would not allow her to remain in his house, then she would take her dowry and place herself in a nunnery. There she would spend the remainder of her life.
She didn’t ever wish to open her heart again! She didn’t want ever to wed anyone else! She didn’t want to believe in any man’s lies!
Nor did she appreciate these two pompous men discussing her as though she weren’t even present. Didn’t her wishes count for anything?
“I want to go home,” she said softly. Both men turned to look at her, and she sat straight in the chair.
“Elizabet,” Seana protested.
Elizabet shrugged away from her, casting her a wounded glance. Seana hadn’t precisely lied to her, but she had allowed Elizabet to continue to believe something that wasn’t true. She might have spoken up and kept Elizabet from making a fool of herself.
What a fool Seana must have thought her.
The very thought of it stung her eyes once more. Her heart wrenched painfully.
She never ever wanted to set eyes upon that man again. The sooner she left this place, the better she would feel.
She stood, facing Piers squarely. “I wish to go home!” she repeated adamantly.
He shook his head, stubbornly refusing her. “I cannot allow that, Elizabet.”
Elizabet squared her shoulders, challenging him. She didn’t care who he was. He had no right to make decisions for her.
“You cannot allow it?”
His expression remained unyielding. He said nothing, refusing to be baited, but Elizabet wasn’t going to accept his decree so easily.
This was her life.
“Are your loyalties so twisted, my lord, that you would keep your promise to a liar over your obligation to your own flesh and blood?”
“You are out of line, Elizabet,” he told her, though his tone was gentle.
“Nay, my lord! You are out of line!” she countered, unwilling to cede to him. “This is my life, and my decision to make, and I wish to go home!”
Tears streamed from her eyes. She couldn’t stop them.
His eyes slanted with compassion.
“If you do not allow her to return with me,” Tomas interjected, his lip curving into a smirk, “I will be certain to tell Geoffrey you took the word of a Scots bastard over that of his daughter and two witnesses. That man murdered his son, and you refuse even to punish him for his crime. The least you can do is let this poor girl go home to her father. She has been abused more than enough.”
Piers sighed, relenting. It was clear he didn’t wish to let her go, but Elizabet was determined. He ignored Tomas’s ultimatum and said to her, “Are you certain ‘tis your wish to go, Elizabet?”
Elizabet nodded, grateful that he would consider her request. “I cannot stay here,” she assured him and began to sob. “I cannot stay!” she cried out and left the table.
If she didn’t leave their presence at once, she was going to disgrace herself with tears. She ran to the staircase, weeping, desperate to be away from so many pairs of eyes.
“We will leave in one hour,” she heard Tomas say to Piers as she raced up the stairs. “Ready yourself, Elizabet!” he shouted after her.
Broc sat in Colin’s hall, surrounded by the three brothers. They’d convinced him to leave Elizabet in Piers’ care, but he was afraid they would let her go with Tomas.
He buried his face in his hands, trying to block the image of Elizabet’s accusing face from his memory. His heart felt near to bursting with grief. And he kept seeing the pain in her expression as she’d turned from her brother’s grave to face him. She’d swooned then, and he’d lifted her up at once and carried her to Piers’ hall.
Tomas, the bastard, had demanded his immediate arrest, and they’d rent her out of his arms.
As long as he lived, he would never forget that look of betrayal upon her face.
He’d promised not to let her down, and he had done far worse than that. He’d lied to her and more… he’d left
her in Tomas’s hands.
He’d recognized the man at once as the bowman in the woods. There was no doubt in Broc’s mind that Tomas intended her ill. But he hadn’t been able to convince anyone else of that fact, not when Tomas and his lackeys all pointed their fingers at him in accusation.
He was going to kill the whoreson with his bare hands!
He stood up, ready to do battle. “I have to go back!” he told them. “I canna leave her with him! Dinna ye understand?”
All three of them stood in his way: Leith, Colin and Gavin, ready to stop him if they must.
“We believe you,” Leith assured him, “but ’tis the word of three against one, Broc. What would you have had me do?”
“If you return there, you will force Piers’ hand,” Gavin explained.
“Be patient,” Colin said. “Piers gave his word he would not allow Elizabet to leave, and he willna betray his word. Sassenach he may be, but he is an honorable man.”
Broc slammed his fist upon the table. “Do ye honestly believe he will go against his own kin and countrymen to keep his word to me?”
Leith reasoned with him. “I know only this, Broc, if ye return against his wishes, we canna defend ye any longer.”
“Listen to Leith,” Colin demanded of him.
They had him trapped behind the long table and surrounded on all sides. He felt like a caged lion, savage and angry, desperate to be at Elizabet’s side.
What good did it do him if his friends believed him yet he couldn’t protect the woman he loved?
Fury boiled up inside him, turning his vision black. By damn, no one was going to keep him from what he knew he must do. “She’s my wife!” he roared, and kicked the table before him with all his might. Its massive weight toppled from the dais, leaving the way clear for him to go.
He ran toward the door.
Only Colin was quick enough to block his exit.
“If ye know what’s good for ye,” he told Colin, “you’ll move the bluidy hell out of my way!” His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
Colin drew himself up to do battle with him, though Broc was far bigger than he.
Leith and Gavin were there at once at his side.
Broc looked his best friend square in the eyes and said simply, “What if it were Seana?”
They stared at each other, deadlocked, and for an instant, Colin didn’t reply. His jaw clenched with indecision. He blinked then and put up his hands for Leith and Gavin to back off.
“I canna stand at your back,” he told Broc, his tone vehement.
“I willna ask ye to!” Broc countered, ready to barrel his way through the door if need be, but he wanted no quarrel with Colin.
“Know that if you leave here you put me and my brothers at risk,” he told Broc, and then, without another word, he stepped out of Broc’s way, eyeing his brothers in a warning not to interfere, making his position clear.
Elizabet was all that mattered at the moment.
Praying he wasn’t too late, he bolted at once out the door.
Chapter Twenty Six
Tomas was in a quandary.
He couldn’t allow Elizabet to return to Geoffrey, but it wasn’t going to be an easy task to be rid of her now.
Having her at his disposal was half the battle, and he was pleased the wench had mettle enough to stand up to Montgomerie—the arrogant bastard would never have let her leave else-wise.
Still, he couldn’t simply kill her. He had to do it so that it placed suspicion on his two companions. They were stupid, mayhap, but loyal to Geoffrey, so he hadn’t dared approach them. They rode ahead of him, Elizabet at his side, her mood somber and her eyes red-rimmed from her ceaseless weeping.
He’d be damned if he’d give up his purse. He deserved to keep it.
It was his now.
So was that damned crucifix she wore like a trophy around her waist. He eyed her malevolently, his gaze drawn to the girdle she wore. The object of his concern was pressed into her hand. She held it as though it were a talisman to ward away her grief.
The look upon Margaret’s face when she’d first spied the piece of jewelry had been lamentable. She’d known at once that he’d stolen the trinket from her jewel box. Though she never asked him about it, he knew she knew. Still, the look in her eyes when she’d discovered it on Elizabet’s girdle and realized he’d used it to pay some whore for his pleasures had turned his gut.
He understood why it upset her so. It had been a gift to Margaret first… a lover’s gesture, not a brother’s.
Elizabet rode stoically at his side, saying naught, her gaze distant, and he knew she was thinking of that damned Scot.
Stupid wench.
She thought the worst was done.
Well, he was going to give her something better to weep over. She thought her life was over without him, did she now? Well he had news for her. She wasn’t going to need to waste her dowry on some abbess’s treasury after all.
Broc had no choice but to appropriate one of Montgomerie’s horses from the field where he’d put them.
Piers was like to be angry when he discovered it gone, but Broc didn’t give a damn. Piers had broken his word. He’d looked Broc straight in the face and sworn to him that he would not leave Elizabet in Tomas’s hands. Then he’d let her go anyway, abandoning her to that bastard’s mercy.
He was afeared he was going to be too late.
He’d never forgive himself if anything should happen to her.
Elizabet was all that mattered to him.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Elizabet’s heart felt as though it had been ripped from her breast. In its place was emptiness, sorrow and pain.
She had never dared to hope that she would find love and live happily ever after, but it was a cruel, cruel twist of fate that she should be taunted with a glimpse of it and then have every chance of happiness snatched from her.
She didn’t see how she could ever be happy again—not after Broc.
She had felt so cherished in his arms, so beautiful, so full of hope…
Now she felt only foolish.
Never again would she allow herself to fall prey to a man’s sweet words and gentle caresses. Never would she be so stupid to place her trust in any man’s care.
In fact, let any man dare even look at her sideways, and she would curse him to hell where he belonged! Men were faithless knaves, who cared only for their own selfish pleasures.
She didn’t want to remember the devotion with which he had worshiped her body or the unselfish way he had made love to her. She wished she could erase the memories entirely, for she knew it would leave her aching for something she could never have.
And Tomas… she no longer saw him the same somehow. There was something in his demeanor that seemed sinister now.
Her other two companions were decent men, and she trusted their words. If it hadn’t been for their testimony, she would never have taken Tomas’s word over Broc’s.
And the worst of it all was that she, too, had witnessed everything—except that she had been too enraptured with Broc to trust her own eyes. She had allowed him to convince her otherwise with scarce more than a wink of his blue eyes and a few empty assurances.
As it turned out, he was naught but a liar—and she was a fool because she still wanted to believe him.
She cast an annoyed glance at Tomas, wishing he would keep to himself. If she had to suffer his presence every instant of their journey home, she thought, she would scream. He was like her shadow now, never leaving her side. No matter that the other two had given testimony to his innocence, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy in his company.
“You made the right choice, Elizabet.”
She nodded, not wishing for conversation at the instant.
“You made the only choice to honor your brother.”
Elizabet’s heart wrenched at the reminder.
John deserved far more than to be buried in some foreign land by a bunch of strangers who cared nau
ght more for him than they did for justice and truth.
“I’m only glad you were fortunate enough to escape,” Tomas persisted.
She hadn’t escaped, in truth. Broc had shamelessly brought her there—after having his way with her—without any warning of what she would encounter. For that, too, she would never forgive him. Though it scarce mattered, because he like as not didn’t care how she felt. If he had, he would’ve at least honored her with the truth.
Shame kept her tongue stilled.
Fury kept her from weeping.
“He was a dangerous man, Elizabet!” Tomas said, as though rebuking her.
She cast Tomas a beleaguered glance. “You needn’t tell me what I already know!”
Sweet Jesu, she was beginning to believe that all men were bent on inflicting misery and heartache! Go away! she begged him silently.
“Anyone who could so savagely cut a man’s throat and leave him to be mauled by wild animals should be hung by his entrails!”
Bile rose in her throat at his exclamation.
“So much blood!” he said, shaking his head. “Poor young John. “’Tis a fortunate thing you did not see him,” he assured her.
Her heart jolted, and she straightened in the saddle, suddenly realizing what he’d said.
John’s throat hadn’t been cut.
Nor had there been any blood.
She recalled it clearly, because she’d searched for a wound and had found not one single drop of blood or any sign of injury. When Broc had assured her that he’d merely smacked him with the butt of his dagger, she had believed him because, in truth, she hadn’t spied any wound at all.
She looked at Tomas, trying to determine whether she had heard him correctly or not. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed elsewhere.
She peered about, searching for their companions, and found that they were nowhere in sight. It was only she and Tomas. She’d been so busy castigating herself for her mistakes that she hadn’t even been aware of their surroundings.
Her heart began to beat a little faster as she gathered the reins in her hands. “Where are the others?” she asked Tomas casually.
Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart Page 18