EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  Jenn turned and headed through the garden gate. She took the first path on her left, which skirted the wall lined with lemon trees. A gust of wind rustled the leaves of the old yew tree in the corner and pulled some clouds free of the pale moon. Not much, but enough for her to see the figure of the old man seated beneath the yew branches. He looked up as she approached, so she took a deep breath and put aside her thoughts of the Enclave. Baron Campbell waited for her, waited to ask more of his questions. But Jenn had questions of her own.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come,” Campbell murmured in greeting. “I know it’s a little late and a girl like you should be fast asleep by now. Thank you.”

  Jenn shrugged. “It’s not so late and besides, Bella and Lawrence are still awake. There’s candlelight from their window.”

  Campbell nodded. “So, tell me. Do you think if I asked Dunlorn, would he help me?”

  Taking a seat beside him, Jenn folded her hands together and placed them carefully on her lap. “I don’t see how he can. As I told you, he only discovered my identity by accident. He would have to have a lot more accidents in order to find your grandson. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have any ideas. The only way you’ll know is if you ask him. But tell me what happened when your grandson was taken. I know very little of the Troubles. Where I grew up it was hardly ever discussed and these days my father prefers to think of other things.”

  “He was never really involved with the Troubles anyway. He was too isolated out here and although he knew just about everybody involved, Jacob was always the kind of man who kept to himself. When the fighting began, he thought it best not to take sides.” Campbell glanced across at Jenn, then reached up and ran both hands over his tired face.

  “You know,” he continued, “I had almost passed the stage of thinking about the Troubles, but since I heard about you, I’ve thought of little else. Like the day I heard about the first battle between the Houses of Butchart and Payne. Oh, they’d long had a feud over some silly thing, but suddenly they faced each other on Cadden Field. Twenty-seven men were killed that day alone, and many more wounded. Both Butchart and Payne survived to accuse each other of evil practices on the battlefield. The rest is history.”

  Jenn leaned forward until she could see his weathered face in the filmy moonlight. His eyes were in shadow now, but even so, they seemed to look into the distance as he remembered those times. “It’s a history I barely know. What happened after that first battle? How did the Troubles get so bad that Selar felt confident invading?”

  Campbell eyed her sideways. “If that first battle had been allowed to die down, then Selar would have had no chance at all. As it was, peace never got a chance. Early the following year, Payne’s people were ambushed by men wearing Ramsay colours. The Randalls, traditional enemies of the Ramsays‘, told Payne who was responsible. Payne turned on Ramsay, but because they were allied to the Kendalls there were now five Houses involved in the fighting. I remember the arguments and recriminations, the challenges and the duels. Somewhere in there, the Earl of Caskie tried to calm things down, but unfortunately bringing the Houses together only erupted in fighting and Payne was killed over the meeting table. His son, the older brother of the present Earl, Everard, swore that it was all a plot and gave his oath to wipe out the entire Caskie House. From that point on, we were virtually lost.”

  “But what about King Edward? Did he do nothing?”

  “Edward was weak. He threw blame about like it was seed corn in a ploughed field—no mind about where it landed. The Houses very quickly lost faith in his judgement and so did he. Two years before, his Queen had died, leaving him with no heir. With the succession in doubt, his power base dried up and he was left isolated. There was very little he could do. However, not all the Houses were involved in the feuds. The exceptions were few. Your own house of Ross and those of Maine and Douglas.”

  “Douglas? Dunlorn?”

  “Aye. Robert’s father, Trevor, was a great man in his time. He travelled from one side of the country to the other doing what Edward should have done. Somehow, he managed to keep faith with all of the Houses—and his courage is still remembered.”

  “So what happened in the end? How did Selar manage to invade?”

  Campbell shrugged. “He waited. Over a period of three years, the Troubles escalated to the point where almost every major House in Lusara had a blood feud with at least two others. No trust, no friends. Allies one day became enemies the next. Selar crossed the border, fought a few minor skirmishes and was well advanced before any House could mobilize their forces. Since they were already divided, it took months to get them all to work together. There were two major battles, the first at Nanmoor and the second at Seluth. That’s where my son was killed, where Trevor died, and where your father received his wounds. King Edward also died on the battlefield. Selar was crowned at the Basilica in Marsay eight months after he crossed the border.”

  Jenn tried to absorb all this. So much division and hatred had cost Lusara its identity. In a flash the truth of it came home to her. She and her country had both lost their identity at the same time, in the same way.

  “So,” she breathed, glancing up at Campbell, “what happened to your grandson? How did the abductions begin, or were they just part of the Troubles?”

  Campbell folded his arms. “At the time we were in no doubt that they were part of the Troubles. I don’t remember who was taken first, but Blair’s son was definitely taken early on. It’s difficult to say. There were so many raids and ambushes and battles—so many people were killed, innocent people. At first it was hard to put the disappearance of one or two children down to any single thing. That was until young Peter McGlashen was taken, in broad daylight. A dozen or so armed and mounted men swarmed down on a caravan taking him and his mother to visit her uncle. They killed the guard, left the mother and women and took young Peter. He was two years old. His parents waited in vain for a ransom demand, but none came. It was much the same story with my grandson. With all of them.”

  “But,” Jenn began slowly, and very carefully, “I was the only girl taken. Why? It doesn’t make any sense. All the other Houses were in some way connected with the Troubles. Even yours. But you said my father was never a part of it—and even if they were only taking heirs, I am the younger of two daughters. I was of no value to anyone. Why me?”

  Campbell turned his head and looked at her for a long moment. “I guess it depends on what the purpose was—in the first place, I mean. If it was to get ransom, then yes, taking you meant nothing. But if there was some other reason?”

  “But what?” Jenn insisted.

  “Well,” Campbell searched around for an answer, “perhaps all those children taken were from Houses directly influential on the one responsible. Perhaps they were all enemies. Perhaps the man behind it all originally meant to return you to your homes, but never got around to it, or died on the battlefield fighting Selar. I wish I knew.”

  “So do I.” Jenn glanced up again at the light on the tower. It was getting very late, and if she didn’t go in now she would be missed.

  “I don’t think Robert can help you. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand, lass,” Campbell stood and offered her his arm. “But you needn’t worry. I have no false hopes—well, not many. At this late stage, all I can do is try. If I did not, I would never be able to sleep at night. As it is ...”

  Jenn smiled and took his arm. Together, they went back into the castle.

  Fiona appeared two days later, in the company of Bella. The moment Jenn saw her, she began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to agree after all. Bella introduced her as a teacher to take Bella’s place when she and Lawrence left for the summer. Fiona, along with Father Brian, was to continue Jenn’s interrupted education. There was still so much to learn if she was to take her place in the society to which she belonged. Fiona said nothing as Bella rattled on then finally, after much justification, Bella left them alone. The moment the door was closed behi
nd her, Fiona moved. She stood close to the oak panelling and kept her ear there for a moment. Then, without a word, she waved her hand over the lock and turned an expectant face on Jenn.

  “We can talk safely now. I’ve just put a warning on the door. I’ll teach you how. It won’t keep anybody out, but you’ll always know when somebody’s approaching. I warn you though, don’t try to open a door that you know has a warning put there by somebody else. You’ll get a nasty shock.”

  Jenn got up from her seat and crossed the solar. With a frown she said, “But you didn’t use your ayarn. Don’t you need one?”

  “I did. Every sorcerer uses an ayarn every time they practise. Except you, of course. For the rest of us mere mortals, it’s dangerous not to.”

  “But shouldn’t I need an ayarn in order to learn the things you have to teach me?”

  “Look, I don’t know any more about what kind of powers you have than you do, so please don’t ask me. For the moment and until we know more, I will teach you as though you were using one. It’s the best I can do.”

  Jenn nodded, feeling like she was being swept along on the tide of Fiona’s eagerness. She moved away a little, wanting to slow this down. “I still don’t understand how you got here—or why Bella employed you. How did you do that?”

  Fiona just shrugged and moved through the room, glancing at things here and there. “I have references from other places I’ve worked.”

  “But I thought you were a teacher back at the .. .”

  “I do that every winter. In the summer, I’m a Seeker.”

  “Like Finnlay?”

  Fiona laughed. “Nobody’s a Seeker like Finn. That’s like saying all sorcerers are like his brother!”

  “But that’s what you do?”

  “Yes. All sorcerers can do it to some extent. You’ll learn that as well. Each day I’ll teach you a little more, along with your proper lessons. Otherwise your sister will wonder why you still know nothing about the world.”

  Jenn nodded and sank back on to her seat. Fiona continued to move around the room, but Jenn didn’t take her eyes off her. She wore a plain gown of grey wool over a white shift and while not rich, the colours suited Fiona’s colouring and made her, in the warm daylight, almost pretty. Her eyes were alight with intelligence and energy, as though she had a thousand things she was determined to get done every single day. A formidable presence. She would be about Finnlay’s age, but bore none of the trappings of marriage or children. Was that why she had volunteered?

  Curious, Jenn asked, “Do you like being a Seeker? Do you enjoy travelling the countryside looking for others?”

  Fiona bent down to study an enamel pot by the fireplace. “I am a Seeker—so liking it is not a question.”

  “But you’re not married?”

  “No. And before you ask, I have no desire to be.”

  “Why not?”

  At this Fiona stopped her exploring. “Two reasons. Firstly, our brethren no longer practise arranged marriages as they do outside. They did once, before the cave community existed, for reasons lost to us over time. Once it was all very magical and wound up in ancient scripture, a process called Bonding. Nobody had a choice at all. But as I said, we no longer practise that and nobody would know how to go about it anyway. I expect with your family connections, you’ll have as little choice as we once did.”

  “What has my family to do with it?”

  Fiona laughed. “You’re the daughter of an Earl, Jenn! Think about it! One of the last remnants of the old royal line. How much choice do you expect? Your father would like an heir and your sister has so far failed to produce one.”

  Jenn swallowed at that, unable to really take it in for the moment. “And the second reason you aren’t married?”

  The hazel eyes glinted back. “The man I would marry would never ask me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, exactly. And there’s your first lesson. Don’t ask a question unless you’re ready for the answer. Now, to begin,” Fiona was about to continue when she broke off, her head tilting sideways as though listening for something. “Somebody’s coming.”

  Without moving, she waved her hand in the air and, in her mind, Jenn felt a tiny click. Seconds later the door opened and a servant appeared summoning her downstairs to her father—urgently.

  By the time she arrived in his study at the end of the great hall, Bella was already there, along with Lawrence and Campbell. Her father sat in his usual chair by the now empty fireplace. As she entered, he looked up, his face dark and deeply lined.

  “Jennifer! Come in, child, close to me. I have some news. I’ve just received a letter. The courier arrived moments ago, from the King. It’s the first I’ve received since I retired here after Seluth. He writes to congratulate me on the return of my lost daughter and...”

  “Come on, Father,” Bella pressed, “what else does it say?”

  “Jennifer has been summoned to present herself at court,” Jacob replied flatly.

  “What?” Bella breathed.

  “By the gods!” Campbell sank into a chair by the window.

  Bella moved across the room. “Father, you can’t let her go. You know what he will do. He’s already imprisoned Bishop McCauly on trumped-up charges of treason. We are of the old royal line. He will see Jennifer as a threat to his position. You can’t let her go!”

  Jacob shook his head at her pleas then reached out and took Jenn’s hand in his. “That’s exactly why I must let her go, Bella. You know I don’t have the power to stop him.”

  “But...”

  “You’ll go with her. In a week. You’ll take care of her and bring her back safely. You and Lawrence.”

  He paused, turning his gaze on Jenn. She said nothing, merely tried to still the rising tide of fear which threatened to overwhelm her.

  Jacob nodded slowly. “May the gods protect us. The monster wants to meet my child!”

  Chapter 12

  Godfrey emerged from the dark corridor and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the spring sunshine. The courtyard was glaring but it was much warmer than the dungeon where McCauly now lived, and nowhere near as damp.

  As he walked across the cobblestones, Hilderic was waiting for him by the inner gate, his hands clasped together in what should have been pious patience, but was more likely to be the exact opposite.

  “Well, how is he?” Hilderic demanded.

  “Keep your voice low, Brother,” Godfrey murmured, eyeing the guards closest to them. They wouldn’t be able to hear but that was no reason to take any risk. “He’s well enough. The Queen visits him almost every day, bringing him fresh linen, books and such. He’s a little thinner I suppose, but that’s to be expected.”

  Hilderic frowned and shook his head. “I thank the gods at least that Selar finally allowed a visit. To keep him confined there without even the Sacraments as comfort is a barbarity below even the King. Did McCauly say anything?”

  Godfrey sighed. “He said we were to do nothing to gain his release. He refuses to be the instrument of the Church’s destruction. Instead he wants us to be united behind Brome—even if Brome is the King’s voice.”

  “But that’s ...”

  “I know, brother, I know.”

  “By the gods,” Hilderic hissed, “if only we had some help.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Godfrey said. “I wouldn’t suggest you go looking for help in that direction.”

  Hilderic frowned. “Why? What have you done?”

  “Nothing, Brother.” Godfrey murmured.

  The older man opened his mouth, then shut it briskly. He took in a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “You’ll pay for that lie, Brother.”

  “I already have.”

  “And what makes you so certain he won’t come?”

  “I know him. We used to spar together.”

  “Spar? But you know nothing of swordsmanship.”

  Godfrey shrugged slightly. “It wasn’t that kind of sparring.”


  Hilderic shook his head, obviously furious. “You had no right, Godfrey! No right at all. If Dunlorn...” Instantly Godfrey raised his hand to silence the older man. The guards might not be close, but it was a foregone conclusion that they’d been instructed to report any mention of Robert’s name—especially by the clergy!

  He took Hilderic’s arm and led him through the outer gate and towards the Basilica. “We should discuss this in private, Brother.” Hilderic was still fuming, so Godfrey increased his pace. The old man stumbled and almost fell. Fortunately, he was caught before he could hit the ground. Caught by a pair of dirty hands, wrapped in rags.

  “Are you all right, Father?” the stranger murmured with concern.

  Hilderic steadied himself and shot Godfrey an angry frown. “Yes, thank you. Deacon Godfrey was not paying as much attention as he should.”

  Godfrey rolled his eyes and was about to help Hilderic on his way when he paused to look again at the stranger. The man was his own height, but obviously a beggar. His clothes were filthy and shredded with years of wear. The man’s face was grimy, making the lines around his eyes deep and dark. But it was his eyes which made Godfrey pause. There was something very familiar about those eyes.

  As though the man could read his thoughts, he dropped his gaze. “Do you have any news of His Grace, Bishop McCauly?”

  Godfrey blinked. Why did this man seem so familiar? Even the voice ... “Father McCauly is well, my son. I have just seen him. But you should be careful being so close to the castle gates, otherwise they might throw you in a cell with him.”

  “A poor beggar might surfer a worse fate, Father,” the stranger replied, keeping his eyes downcast.

  Still none the wiser, Godfrey took Hilderic’s arm once more. “Thank you for your timely help, my son, and remember my words of warning.”

  The beggar bowed and Godfrey moved on. What did it matter who the beggar was anyway? Right now, there were much more important things to consider—like how to commit treason and get McCauly free.