The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “You look nervous, love. Are you sorry to see me alive and well?” His tone was coldly controlled but accusing, almost menacing.

  “Andrew would not have hurt you. He only meant to keep you until he was well enough to make good his escape.”

  “So you told me before. But you betrayed me to him and I cannot forgive or forget that.”

  “That isn’t true; I never betrayed you.”

  “You are a cunning little liar. I’ve been such a damn fool to believe anything you had to say. No, don’t speak! I don’t wish to hear you lie again. You are no better than any cheap slut who sells her wares upon the streets. Nay, they are better, in point of fact, for at least they give no pretense of being anything but what they truly are. A man cannot be misled by such as they.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Surely, he could not believe such things about her. “How dare you imply that I am…” she faltered. However, she knew that she must say the words outright. “You think me a whore?”

  He did not reply; the answer was written on his face.

  She turned furiously and moved hurriedly toward the door of the chamber, but he was there first.

  “I will not let you insult me further.”

  “You’ll not leave here so quickly.” His hands tightened on her arms, biting into her flesh.

  “I need not stay here and be insulted,” she countered. She raised her chin with dignity. “Besides, your soldiers would not let me change into a proper garment. I am here much against my will dressed in nothing but my robe and night-rail. I wish to leave.”

  He pulled her against the hard length of his body, but then just as quickly released her. She realized that his heart was beating as wildly as her own, but he was striving to control his emotions. For just an instant, she thought that he wanted to make love to her again, that the rage he had turned toward her was actually anger with himself for what he conceived as personal weakness.

  “We are not done,” he told her. “This is far from settled between us.” The fury on his face was fearful to behold.

  “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  “I agree. Words spoken between us are mere perversion. A man should use a tart’s body, not speak to her. There was my error. I need take my pleasure of you and then cast you away.”

  “I believe you’ve already done that.” He had savaged her with his cruel words.

  She turned quickly to exit the chamber. Madeline fled from him, running to the sanctuary of her room in the manor house. His words were meant to wound and he’d succeeded handsomely.

  By the time she had cried herself to sleep, it was nearly dawn. It was Elizabeth who awakened her and she realized that the sun was high.

  “The Englishman’s sent a soldier for you again.”

  She felt panic assault her. Madeline shook her head and pulled the bedcovers over her. “No, tell them I’m ill that I cannot leave my bed. It’s really not a lie. I feel terrible. I can’t face him again.”

  Elizabeth left and Madeline sank back against the sheets. He was not the same man who had held her in his arms and comforted her when her mother died. It was as if there were two different Gareth Eriksens, one, a kind, loving and considerate man, the other, a cold, calculating conqueror capable of irrational cruelty. Which man was he? Or was he both? What had she brought upon herself? How could he say and think such horrible things about her? She was totally confused and bewildered.

  There came the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs and then pounding on her door. Madeline’s heart began to beat madly.

  “I know you’re in there. Come out at once!”

  It was him! He had come himself for her. She could not stand to lay eyes on him, not now, not ever again. She hurried out of bed and ran to the door, thinking to lock it, but Gareth burst into the room before she could do anything.

  “So you are ill, are you?” His voice was harsh with mistrust and disbelief.

  She bit down on her lower lip, not even bothering to answer. He looked badly disheveled and his eyes were reddened. She thought he must have slept as badly as she had, but she felt not a shred of sympathy.

  “Come with me,” he commanded.

  She shook her head vehemently. “Get out of here; never touch me again!”

  “I will do as I wish.”

  “Absurd man, I am not your chattel.”

  Anne rushed into the room, followed by Elizabeth. “You loathsome vermin,” Anne shouted at him. “Get out of my house, English swine, ye shall not touch innocent girls in my home!”

  “I’ll do what I deem necessary, Madame. I have treated you all far better than you deserve. As for this lovely one,” he drew Madeline roughly into his arms, “she’s going to the gallows if your son does not turn himself in. I give him one day only.”

  “You cannot,” Madeline retorted. “I have done nothing to hang for.”

  “Have you not? A woman answering your description helped the Young Pretender on his way. I have it on good authority. You disguised him as your maid, did you not? The Pretender is a wanted man and is to die on the spot if we catch him, as are those who help him. Now do you think I say this just to frighten you?”

  Madeline could hardly stop her body from trembling, but somehow she found her voice. “I will never forgive you. Never.” Her voice was quiet but firm.

  “I shouldn’t want you to. Nor will I forgive or forget either. You won’t get the opportunity to make a fool of me twice. You have earned your punishment.”

  What he said to her made no sense at all. She hadn’t done anything to him. Was he a madman? She felt as if she were living a nightmare from which she could not awaken.

  She turned to Anne. “Tell Andrew nothing, I implore you! Whatever I did was done willingly. If the English would have me dead, so be it.”

  “Andrew would never sanction such behavior,” her cousin said. “He’s a man of honor and will not have your life lost to protect his own. My son is no coward.”

  “No,” Madeline cried out. “I won’t allow it.”

  But Gareth had her and she knew it. He took her hands tightly in his own. “I’m locking you up until your cousin exchanges himself for you.”

  “I hate you.” Her eyes burned into him.

  His face was a perfect mask.

  “I curse you for all time,” Anne said. “May you know nothing but sorrow and suffering.”

  “I have no wish to speak with you further, Madam. You are clearly not in your right senses at this time.” Gareth’s face betrayed no emotion whatever. He pulled Madeline along, clamping his large hands on her narrow wrists, and did not look back. All the time, she questioned the horror of what had happened. How could a man who had once been so romantic, understanding and sensitive turn into such a cruel brute?

  Fifteen

  Ever practical, Marie had hurried after them, insisting that Madeline be allowed to place a floral wrap over her night-rail. The maid’s English was barely intelligible but her gestures were clearly understood.

  “Marie cannot believe that you would have me suffer the indignity of appearing before your soldiers indecently clad. She does not understand the extent of your intended degradation.”

  His face softened but only to a slight extent. “You may go back to your room and dress yourself appropriately, but do so quickly and do not attempt to escape.”

  “And what will you do to me if I should try to escape?” It was foolish to goad him but she could not seem to help herself, unable to keep the anger from her voice.

  “Never mind. I forget I cannot trust you. Just put on that robe and come along. I’ll let your servant bring fresh clothing and food for you later.”

  “That is unacceptable.” She stiffened her spine.

  His eyes scorched her but his voice was implacably cold, at once fire and ice. “Very well then, I shall undress you myself and then act as your maid. Will that suit you much better, my lady?”

  Defiantly, she pulled her robe on and walked past him.

  ♥ ♥ ♥r />
  She spent the day pacing back and forth in her small prison, trying to think why and how everything had gone wrong. Often, she found herself unable to refrain from crying. Although food was brought to her, she discovered that she could not eat it, too great was the lump in her throat. She cried until there were no tears left, and finally fell into a sleep of exhaustion late into the night.

  Awakened by noise without, she arose, chilled and frightened in the gray light of early morning. Gareth had locked her in the small tower room obviously once been used for prisoners. Here she had huddled on a narrow pallet with only a thin blanket for warmth. The silk gown Marie had brought her was elegant and no doubt meant to remind her of the fine family she descended from, but the gown with its low neckline and short capped sleeves was hardly adequate to the early morning chill in the damp, ancient castle. Still she considered herself fortunate; Gareth had not forced her to his bed in anger. He had not raped or beaten her. But certainly his verbal cruelty toward her was something she had no intention of forgiving.

  Madeline wrapped herself in the small blanket and went quickly to the window. It was encrusted with filth and hard to peer through; she rubbed the edge of the blanket against it and looked down. There below in the courtyard, surrounded by all of Gareth’s soldiers, her cousin, Andrew, stood erect, dressed like the brave Highland warrior he was. Tears welled in her eyes, but they were as much tears of pride as of sadness. Here was a man of integrity and character. Why could she not love him with the kind of passion she’d felt for Gareth?

  She heard footsteps outside the door of her small prison and then a key turned in the lock. Some soldiers took her forward. It was just as well that they held her arms in restraint, as her legs were none too steady.

  In the courtyard, she found herself facing Gareth and Andrew. The two men glared at one another in silent animosity, each taking the measure of the other.

  “Well, Viking, I trust you’ll keep your word and let Lady de Marney go.”

  Gareth did not look at her at all, his gaze fixed on her cousin. “Where are your men, MacCarnan?”

  “That was no’ part of the bargain. ‘Twas me for her. You’ve gotten that.” Andrew’s face reddened with anger.

  “Very well then. I shall let the demoiselle go now.” He turned to her, a grim expression on his countenance. “By the way, although I arrested you for aiding the enemy and helping the Young Pretender escape, you would have quickly been released. You see, because you are a foreigner, all that would happen is that you would be sent packing immediately out of England and never allowed to return. However, that would hardly have been enough of a punishment for one so cunning and treacherous as you.”

  She cursed him in French, but he only gave her a sardonic smile. “My, how unladylike that sounds. You show your true self now.”

  That served to increase her ire. “There are no insults great enough for one such as you. Not only are you a bastard by birth; you are also one by choice. I regret that I ever thought well of you or trusted you.”

  “Trust, my lady? You speak of trust? How truly ironic.” His expression was little more than a sneer.

  “You are a cold man with no heart and no love within you. I completely misjudged you. I was a fool, an inexperienced innocent. But in the end, you will be the true loser, not I, for I do know how to give and how to love, feelings obviously beyond your ken.”

  She turned her attention to Andrew then who had stood listening, his head held high, his posture stiff. “I blame myself for this and will do whatever I can to deliver you from prison. You have my solemn word.”

  “For what that’s worth,” Gareth said.

  She ignored him but it was not easily done.

  Andrew took her into his arms and kissed her warmly on the lips. “Dinna fash yourself lass. ‘Tis not right for you to worry and fret for me.”

  Gareth pushed Andrew away from her with unexpected force. She was enraged by his behavior. In no way was Gareth Eriksen a gentleman. He behaved like a barbarian, wild and unreasonable.

  His hands were on her arms. “You’ll be taken back to the manor now,” he told her, his icy azure eyes boring holes into her. Then he turned back to Andrew. “MacCarnan, you’re under arrest for high treason. You will be taken to Carlisle and there tried for your crimes against His Majesty, King George.”

  “Traitor? I am no traitor! I do not recognize the Elector of Hanover as the true King of England. Only the Stuarts have the right to such a title.”

  The two men faced each other. “You’re a brave warrior, MacCarnan, but completely misguided in your politics.” Gareth signaled his men and Andrew was taken away.

  Others removed Madeline, although she turned stubbornly to get a last view of Andrew as he was led to a horse, his hands bound in front of him.

  Madeline found her cousins outside the manor house. They had been watching everything that happened.

  “Do you not wish to say goodbye to Andrew?” Madeline asked.

  “I already have, lass. He was here before he traded places with ye.”

  Madeline found herself barely able to speak. “I am so sorry,” she said. “He should not have come.”

  “He could do no less. Though I be his mother, I ken it.” There was a fatalism in her voice.

  Madeline was disconsolate. She heard the soldiers ride away and felt to blame for everything that had gone wrong. But another shared her grief and sorrow. Beside her, Jenny now stood crying wildly.

  “They’re taking him away! They cannot! I only sought to prevent the marriage, but not this way,” she sobbed.

  Anne turned furiously on the hysterical girl. “What have ye done, you stupid, silly gel?”

  Jenny fell to her knees, prostrate before her mistress. “Forgive me. I meant no ill. I did not understand. I would not have helped the Englishman escape if I had known.”

  “The harm’s already done, but keep from my sight for a time or I might be unable to keep from striking ye!”

  The girl scrambled away. The sad scene in no way mitigated Madeline’s own suffering. Each one of them lived in her individual hell.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  On the ride to Carlisle, Gareth rode beside his prisoner. For some reason, he had a desire to converse with the Highlander. The MacCarnan was a man who inspired respect and under other circumstance, Gareth knew they might have been friends. They had much in common as they were both leaders of men. And, as he was only too well aware, they also shared an interest in the same woman. Gareth tried hard not to think about that similarity. Yet, around the campfire that night, the subject of Madeline came up. It was Andrew who talked and Gareth who listened.

  “I have but one regret, Viking. I would that I could have made my betrothed a bride ere I went to my fate. I would have liked to leave a bairn of mine behind.”

  “Perhaps there will be a bairn,” Gareth said, working hard to keep his tone even. “You cannot be certain.”

  “Nay, I ne’er bedded the girl. A virgin needs a bit of wooing, mon. I’d ne’er lay a hand on that lass ‘til our wedding night.”

  “Perhaps you were misled by the innocence of her appearance.” His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears.

  “What are you inferring? You’re lucky my hands and feet are bound! That lass was as innocent as she appeared. No man touched her. Her mother told mine it were so, and that woman would ne’er dissemble about anything. Madeline was convent schooled and chaperoned closely. Her heart is pure and good. Not that I have to explain her to you, Eriksen. You’re a cold-blooded reptile. You’d probably not know a decent lass if you fell over her.”

  Gareth walked away from the enraged Scot and took a walk toward where the horses were sheltered and tethered. He found Night Dancer and gently caressed the horse’s mane and velvet nose.

  “Was I wrong, old friend? Could I have made a terrible blunder?”

  Night Dancer merely whinnied and Gareth lowered his head despondently, wracked by torturous doubts. He’d only done his duty, which w
as bringing Andrew MacCarnan to prison. Using Madeline was simply a clever strategy on his part. He had probably saved many lives this way, for there was bound to be a fight between his soldiers and MacCarnan’s clansmen if he’d had to resort to violent tactics. In fact, a skirmish was just barely avoided at the time he’d managed his escape from the Highlanders. No, what he’d done was right. But then why was he feeling so miserable about it?

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Madeline spent the summer in a state of near emotional collapse. Marie and Cousin Anne mothered her, urging her to eat, but Madeline could hardly think about herself. Her thoughts were always on her cousin, on the terrible wrong that he had suffered because of her. Her guilt was overwhelming. She wanted to save him from a sentence of death but did not know how.

  Fergus and Bobbie came one evening along with Angus and Father Ian MacCarnan. They sat with Annie, Elizabeth and herself. The talk quite naturally went to the MacCarnan and what could be done to help him.

  “I say we rally every Highlander still living of our clan and march on Carlisle!” Fergus announced, his powerful voice reverberating through the house.

  “That prison’s a fortress. There’s no way to lay siege to it to get the prisoners out. Even if we had the fighting power we need, which we no longer do, the English could hold out long enough to send for reinforcements. Remember, we’d be in England, far from home and at the enemy’s mercy.” Bobbie frowned deeply at them. “Nay, mon, there has to be another way.”

  Anne began to pace the room anxiously. “After the ‘15, William Maxwell, the fifth Earl of Withsdale, was saved in a more subtle manner by his clever wife, Winifred. She was a courageous woman, that one. At first, she went directly to George the First and pleaded at the German’s feet, but he was immovable, just as ye would imagine. She soon made other plans. Winifred was allowed to visit her husband at the Tower on the eve of his execution. She had her wits about her. She dressed her husband in her robes and marched him out under the very noses of the English.”