Exile’s Bane

by Nicole Margot Spencer

  “Whatever possessed you to approach the prince like that?” I asked her now.

  “The countess denied me attendance at his arrival. Ye heard how she treated me. All I wanted was to see him. I did not expect him to stop.” Since the war began, Peg had been fascinated with reports of the King’s nephew and general, Prince Rupert of the Rhine. “I still don’t believe he actually spoke to me,” she said, with a quick, shy smile.

  “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know my name, my place at Tor House, and did I have a pet.”

  “That was an odd question, was it not?”

  “Oh, no. I had reached out for Boye. He loves dogs, don’t ye see?”

  “Go on.”

  “He squeezed my hand and went on his way. But enough about me.” She put the brush aside, clasped her hands before her, and looked me in the eye. “What has happened to put us in this mean place?”

  “We are confined until we leave for the isle.”

  Peg’s face did not change at this news. She, who had long warned me of my aunt’s and uncle’s grasping ways, leaned toward me in concern.

  “What has she done?”

  “She has leveled a ridiculous charge of conspiracy against me. Her purposes are apparent now.”

  “I warned ye.” She nodded her head sadly and slumped back against the wall. Unable to sit still for long, she soon gave me her brush, slid off the tapestries, and approached the hearth with a doubtful look.

  Alone on the bed, I straightened my back against the cold wall, and folded my arms across my midriff. Anxiety blossomed anew within me. I looked down at the brush still in my hand and began to work the snarls out of my own long hair.

  “Could they be right? Maybe it is my fault. Perhaps I should accept my fate and do my duty. It would be the reasonable thing to do. It would end this dilemma.”

  Crouched before the hearth, her green dress tucked carefully up around her hips, Peg dropped her handful of tinder and shot me an incredulous look. “Edward Gorgon?”

  I shrugged and went back to brushing my hair. The room went dark. It closed in around me, threatened to suffocate me with the deep reds, blues, and browns of my father’s discarded tapestries. The oppressive smell of rain floated in the window.

  The countess had taken my servants, left me in this last bastion within my own home, this bare prison in the farthest corner of the house. Separation from all I knew.

  I left the brush on the makeshift bed, avoided the clutter on the floor, and went over to the window. The sky was full of lowering black clouds. Movement caught my eye, and I recognized one of the stable boys, his face an agony of dread and loneliness. He looked longingly back over his shoulder, then pushed on out through the postern gate. In his way, he could not stand to leave the safety of Tor House any more than I could.

  Moments later, rain droplets showered in through the window. I stepped quickly back to avoid getting wet and nearly fell on a corded collection of old leather tack.

  “Careful there,” Peg said. A guttering flame had started in the hearth, and Peg had a stack of faggots beside her, at the ready.

  “You are right about Gorgon,” I admitted. “He is an unnatural beast of a man.”

  “Truly now, do ye have a choice?” From her squat before the fire, she put a hand on her hip and looked up at me with dark, piercing eyes.

  “I will make one,” I insisted. Anger smoldered under the surface of my helpless distress. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t like the unknown, you know that.” I set my jaw and walked to the edge of the bed, hands in tight fists at my sides. “I will not let my home go so easily. No.”

  “Of course not. I am with thee, Elena. We shall find a way,” Peg said with aplomb, feeding her little fire.

  I sighed, wishing there was something I could do to change the situation. Then, something unspeakable came to mind.

  “There is always a hint of what I should or could do in my dreams,” I said softly. “A hint would be useful now.”

  Peg gave me a doubtful look. “Ye do not feel that way when ye dream.”

  I retreated to the tapestries atop the bed frame. It was true. Foresight was the realm of witches and something to hide. I did not want to burn for a gift I had no control over and certainly had not asked for.

  “So tell me of thy dreams,” Peg went on as she stacked wood over the brightly blazing little fire. “I have long wondered what thee see that defeats ye so, ye who are strong.”

  I shrugged, though sudden panic rode within my veins. “I’ve had them since I was very small, little events for the most part. Father could never surprise me. I even knew before he gave me my sword.”

  “Uncle John’s death was no little event.”

  “No, it was not.”

  “Tell me what ye saw.”

  I shook my head. “My dreams leave raw feelings on me. If I see something exciting or curious, I live with the welling passion of that feeling for hours afterward.” My heart stepped up its beat. “The dreams of Father’s death left me destitute for days.”

  “Well then.” She stood up and studied me, compassion in the set of her head. “I can see why thee would not want to think on it.”

  “I have not dreamed, not those kinds of dreams anyway, for some time. I certainly did not foresee Uncle Charles’ deceit. Maybe I’ve outgrown them.”

  “I warned ye about both of them, the earl and the countess.”

  I sighed again and held my tongue.

  “What do ye think they are? What do they mean?” she asked, suddenly intent.

  “My dreams?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Bible says those who foresee are an abomination.”

  “There is no abomination in thee, Elena Roland.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Tell me of Uncle John, your father.” She sat dutifully down beside me. “Share it with me. Because I too loved him, yea.”

  I studied her sincere face for long, agonizing moments.

  “You must promise to tell no one,” I whispered.

  “I would die first.”

  I settled myself, my back pushed up against the cool stone. With a great shaky breath, I took her hand.

  “The sound was shattering,” I quietly began. “Cannon and musket fire, men screaming and yelling. Clouds of gun smoke masked my view, but it was clearly a battlefield, for I could see a weaving standard deep in the smoke. It went down, and swords clashed nearby. A horse screamed. In the dream, I strode forward through the smoke until I came to a Royalist officer on the ground. His armor, his clothes, his sword were bathed in blood. One of his retainers pulled the officer’s helmet off. I recognized his black, wavy hair, so like my own. Oh, Peg, he lay so very still in the surrounding chaos, his eyes wide and staring, but not seeing. A devastated Captain Wallace stood over him. Wounded Kalimir waited close by.” I searched Peg’s honest face for hatred or disgust, but saw neither.

  “Bad as it was, there be no evil in seeing truth.” She gave a sharp nod, underlining her decision. “How did ye stand it?”

  “I did not, as you well know. I remember that I awoke in excruciating terror, for Father was due to leave the next day. Were it not for you, I do not know what I would have done. Your ministrations that morning saved my sanity. I never told you, but I tried to stop him.”

  Peg gasped, her face gone pale.

  “My pleas would not sway him.” I shook my head in despair. “He went on to war and to his death. According to Captain Wallace, just as I foresaw it.”

  We sat quietly for some time. Finally, Peg picked up her brush and broke the uneasy silence between us.

  “So what, now, are we to do?”

  “I have given some thought to it.”

  Mrs. Lowry, promising mattresses later in the day, had come and gone again by the time I trod the stair that curved down along the tower wall to the hallway level. Duncan stood in the open doorway. He removed his hat and bowed, an intense twinkle in his eyes.

  With a s
udden hot blush, I moved closer to him, afraid to get too close. I recalled how useless my resolve had been around him earlier in the morning.

  “Duncan,” I said, my tongue running easily over his name. I ignored my rising inner affliction and raised my chin. “I must go to my uncle once he retires to his library. That is his habit upon his return from a long campaign.”

  “I cannot allow that,” he said abruptly, watching my every move. “Though I personally do not approve of Countess Marie Louise’s treatment of you, it is my duty to keep you here.”

  His longing stare left me shaky and unsure of myself.

  “Only my uncle can undo this betrayal,” I blurted out, determined to maintain my good sense around this man.

  He blinked, opened and then shut his expressive mouth.

  My gaze, at odds with my words, soaked up this intimidating new force in my life. I studied his fascinating hair, how it curled at the ends, just below his shoulders. It was the color of weathered brick, made up of many shades of red, light copper to dark bronze.

  “You heard the countess,” I insisted, my eyes locked on his face. “She means to take me away, willing or no.”

  “Yes. She is a callous woman.”

  “My life will be lost to me. This is my home, the only home I have ever known. I will be alone and helpless,” I said, the words difficult to form in my tightening throat. I thought of Edward Gorgon and wished I could describe the terror the man created in me. “You cannot possibly understand.”

  His thick red eyebrows pushed together in concentration for a fleeting moment, then his face cleared.

  “But, Elena, life is no more than a succession of moves from place to place. If not physically, then certainly in our minds.”

  I stepped back in bitter disgust. “You, who follow your prince from here to hell and back, can say that very easily, can’t you?”

  His stance tightened with insult, then loosened, his facial expression settling into amusement. He searched my face.

  “You are safe here. For now, it is the best I can do for you and your friend. No one will harm you while I am here. I will post guards at the lower tower door and at this entry. I am sworn to obey the countess’ orders.” He placed a warm palm atop my clutched hands and added in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, ‘tis my duty.”

  He seemed sincere enough. Mixed up in that sincerity, I sensed his mounting desire which, to my distress, made my own soar. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in the safety of his embrace.

  A group of approaching lifeguard cavaliers burst through the doorway and ended the moment. It was just as well, for I was probably about to embarrass myself. Duncan greeted them and snapped out clipped orders to the solidly built, black-haired man suddenly before us.

  “Sergeant Burke, send two men down to the lower entrance and a man to the roof. You and Smith remain at this hallway entry. The two young ladies here may not leave this tower. Nor are they to be disturbed.”

  “Sir,” Sergeant Burke responded sharply, though his salute was unhurried.

  Duncan strode through the door and out of sight. His men dispersed around me, and Sergeant Burke, with his shocking blue eyes and a nasty-looking firelock, one of the new flintlock muskets, pushed me gently back into the room. I looked around, distraught at the thought of being left with soldiers I did not know. All I could hear of Duncan was the clank of his sword and the crash of his boots as he descended the stair in the distance. Fleeing as soon as he got the chance.

  Sergeant Burke rested his firelock on its armored butt and pulled the door closed in my face.

  When I returned to the upper room, Peg confronted me.

  “I was on the stair, and I noticed that special something between thee and the good captain. Very attractive he is, with all that heathen hair.”

  I ignored her, for she accused me of what I had tried desperately to avoid all morning. Sensing my withdrawal, she turned back to her fire. I returned to my perch atop my father’s hangings, where I ran my fingers through hair that hung to my waist, angrily jerking out the tangles.

  I knew Duncan was as attracted to me as I was to him. Though he would not disobey orders for me, I could not fault that in him. In fact, I admired his loyalty. No, the ominous issue that disrupted my thoughts was my escalating feelings for him. They would surely engulf me if I gave in to them. So I spent some time trying to figure out how I might evade the one person whose services I needed, only to come to the conclusion that, short of a drop off the tower roof, there was simply no way out without his help.

  Some time later, the sudden scrape of the heavy door sounded below, boots came through the open doorway, and the burr of his voice told me he had returned. I went immediately down to him, driven by unmitigated desire.

  He stood in the cramped circular room over by the deep-set window and peered out as though he might find something useful in the rain in the postern courtyard. I moved toward him along the disordered path to the window. The sight of his powerful body sent a flutter through my stomach. His scent of precious horse leather and fresh air washed over me. His thick, leather buff coat and his breast plate were spotted with rain. He had been in the front courtyard then, if not beyond the walls.

  At my approach, his hat in hand, he turned to me, tall, square-jawed and impressive. His eyebrows went up, and a smile warmed his face.

  “I must see my uncle,” I said, plunging into the simple plea I had memorized. “I cannot defend myself without your help.”

  He stiffened, and the smile waned. “At this time, the security of this house is my responsibility. I cannot and will not allow you to just willy-nilly walk away.”

  I waved a hand, dismissing his words. His clean-shaven face appealed to me. I longed to run my fingers along its contours. His gaze followed the nervous movements of my hands that accompanied these illicit thoughts.

  “I do not understand what you are afraid of. You have no reason to fear me.”

  “And I do not appreciate your point of view,” I snapped.

  He seemed strangely constrained, as if I had asked him to desert his post.

  “I respect your feelings,” he said. His sudden words flowed out as though he had been holding them back. “I can see that you are not being treated well or fairly. And I say this despite my responsibility to Tor House, to my King, and to my prince, whom I honor above all things.” The constraint remained, and now something else, irritation, I think, played across his features. “Nor should I tell you that I think you should be very careful around Lord Devlin.”

  “I am well aware,” I said, my natural poise regained. “Regardless, I must see him. Whatever he is, he is my only hope. And you are my only chance to get to him.” I fumbled with my hands, to conceal the cuticles I had ravaged in the past hours. “Can you not simply escort me to Lord Devlin and return me to my prison, should he so command, after I’ve seen him? That is within the range of your duties, is it not?”

  His gold-flecked eyes locked with mine in amazement.

  “Perhaps,” he said, his face reddening.

  He pulled me close, turning us both around as he did so, so that his back was to the door and his guards. His head dipped to my neck, but stopped short.

  “I will protect you,” came his passionate voice in my ear. His untainted breath enveloped me.

  My aspiration caught in my throat. I stepped resolutely away from him. “You can do that best by doing as I ask,” I insisted, unable to keep the waver out of my voice.

  He delayed, studying my face. For some moments, he ran blunt fingers around his hat’s edge, finally settling the plumed hat onto his head. Hand at my back, he ushered me quickly across the littered room, between his guards, and out the doorway.

  “Hold your position,” he told his two men.

  Relief left me shaky and anxious. I looked down at my clenched hands as Duncan’s sheltering arm wound around my shoulders. We moved quickly down the back hall toward the private tower. He leaned close, his hat and its peacock feather once again i
n my face.

  “You are hardly my only responsibility, Elena,” he said in a delicious, chilling whisper. “You must learn to trust me.”

  Chapter Three

  There were lifeguard cavaliers at the library door, all with firelocks. The door stood ajar, the deep hum of voices beyond. Duncan returned the cavaliers’ salutes. He turned his head, listened intently, then smiled. With a lift to his chin, he boldly opened the door and pulled me in with him.

  The library was on the first floor of the private tower, a large, pleasant stronghold untouched by the recent siege. Watery sunlight knifed through the three evenly spaced windows to illuminate the document table on the opposite side of the circular room where sat a cavalier’s tri-bar helmet, probably the earl’s, for he had earlier carried just such a helmet in the great hall. At this time of year, the light left the table well before noon. This I remembered from many days spent in this room with my father. It was still early in the day then, still morning.

  The air was chilly though the hearth popped and fizzled to my right, the old fourteenth century battleaxe still mounted in place above the mantel. Not even the warming fire could dispel the stuffy, moldering parchment smell of the room, this sanctum that had been homey, bright, and clean when my father was alive. I had been here often in those days. My mouth dried up in distress at the painful, abandoned memories around me.

  To my left behind the chairs, a long book case commanded the attention of an exceptionally tall cavalier wearing a rich red sash over his armor. Soft cavalry riding boots were pulled down around his knees.

  A deep layer of velvet dust lay along the tops of the precious books. My dear, learned father would have been appalled. Yet the earl, my uncle Charles, had not allowed staff to enter the library since my father died. In fact, the room had remained locked since he went to war last year. To me, who had frequented this room as a child, what lay before me now seemed morose with its new locks and layers of undisturbed dust.