Ellen's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light within the stable as she listened for a welcoming sound. It finally came from a stall at the far end of the building. He knew she was here. Just inside the doorway, Ellen reached into a barrel and withdrew an apple. She would have preferred one freshly picked, but next harvesting season was months away. The shriveled fruit would have to suffice.
In the far stall, the black stallion's head bobbed, acknowledging her presence. While Ellen stood beyond his reach, she knew he waited patiently for her to approach. "How are you, my friend?" she asked as she moved closer to the half door separating her from the huge animal. He stood taller at the shoulder than most of the mounts stabled here. Sometimes Ellen felt lost standing near him. She reached out one hand and the stallion backed away, his nostrils flaring. His nervous breath made small clouds as he snorted against the cold air.
"My lady," Geoffrey cried out. "It isn't safe to be so close to him. He's turned mean." Geoffrey took Ellen's arm, meaning to guide her out of harm's way.
Ellen glanced at the restraining hand, then looked up into Geoffrey's eyes. "You forget yourself, squire," she reminded him. "I do not need protection from my brother's horse. You should have advised me sooner of Brutus' status."
"Forgive me, my lady, I was concerned for your welfare." Geoffrey took a step back.
"He is not mean, are you, Brutus?" Ellen reached out to stroke the stallion's velvety nose. With her other hand she offered him the wrinkled apple. Her father had to get the stallion used to a new rider. So far, all attempts had failed. Brutus was not really mean; he missed Gordon. "When was the last time he was exercised?"
"Beyond releasing him in the pen," Geoffrey answered, "no one has. That beast will not let anyone ride him, except Sir Gordon."
"And Sir Gordon is not here." Ellen's voice caught. "Saddle Brutus. I will see he gets some proper exercise."
"But, my lady, he is not a lady's mount."
"I am well aware of that, Geoffrey. Would you argue with my brother, were he here?"
Geoffrey bowed his head, realizing it would be useless to argue with her. "No, my lady."
"Then let us not debate the issue any further." Her tone softened.
"Yes, my lady." The squire turned toward the tack room. Geoffrey returned and stood to one side, waiting for Ellen to step away, then he reluctantly saddled the horse. Brutus often sidestepped, trying to avoid the squire's busy hands. Geoffrey mumbled as he worked. "'Tis not fair, making my job so hard to do. I only do as I am told, but I will be held responsible if any harm comes to her. Lord Hugh will have my head on a platter. How do you protect someone who refuses to be protected?"
"Geoffrey?" Ellen stepped close enough to the squire to almost whisper in his ear.
Geoffrey quickly stepped back. "Yes, my lady?"
"I appreciate your concern, but there is no need to worry." She turned from the squire and stroked the horse's muzzle again. "Brutus and I became friends long ago."
Ellen followed Geoffrey as he led the horse into the courtyard, then helped Ellen to mount. Groups of soldiers ignored the cloaked rider as they milled about, speaking quietly, waiting for new orders. Ellen was pleased when they quickly backed away from the restless stallion. Brutus, unfamiliar with the light weight on his back, reared up and pawed at the air as if in battle. Ellen gripped the reins tightly and prayed she would not fall. Making friends with the beast was one thing – riding him was another.
Brutus fought against the short reins until rider and mount cleared the portcullis. He felt Ellen's hold relax as she leaned forward. "Go, my friend," she urged him on, "run with the wind."
Brutus' stride lengthened and his speed increased as he raced across the fields. Horse and rider had need of working out pain and frustration. They flew across miles of barren land, the cold wind blowing in their faces. Ellen gradually slowed the horse to a walk, then let the reins fall. She kicked her leg over the saddle and slumped to the ground. After months of hoping reports had been wrong, she still could not believe she had only dreamed of him the night before. She wept uncontrollably, shedding tears at David's loss, and finally released the anger and pain held within for so long. It felt good to be emotionally free again.
She sniffed and quickly dried the moisture from her cold cheeks. Never again would she weep for the only man she loved. She would lock away the treasured memories, to be taken out when she was alone. Her only regret was the day he had sent her home, and her last angry words to him. Ellen did not know how she would live with that final memory of him, but she would – another lesson learned. She would much rather not marry again, for no man would hold her heart as David did, and always would. King John and Nicholas thought otherwise. Only time would prove who was right. If he were alive, Ellen wondered what David might have planned for the not so noble son of an earl.
Sometime later, Ellen lay back and stared at the sky, unaware of the cold ground beneath her back. Her eyes felt puffy and she was sure her nose was bright red. How David and Gordon would tease her. Gordon! How could she have forgotten about her brother? If they were alive, what scheme would they put into motion to stop her wedding? A myriad of questions raced about her head. Foolish girl ... If they were alive, there would be no wedding this day – at least not mine. She felt drained of any desire to move, but realized it was long past time to return to the castle. Geoffrey was probably imagining all sorts of things had happened to her. Finding a rock to stand on, Ellen climbed back into the saddle and turned Brutus toward Ravencliff. The powerful stallion moved at a leisurely pace, content to take his time. As for Ellen, there would be no more tears.
Brutus trotted docilely into the bailey. Several men-at-arms were mounted, preparing to leave. "She has returned!" Geoffrey called out, relieved to see Ellen returned safely. Brutus shook his massive head and snorted. Geoffrey gingerly took hold of the horse's bridle, while Ellen slid out of the saddle and landed wobbly, on solid ground.
"What goes on here?" Ellen glanced about her, wondering what trouble could be brewing now.
"Lord Nicholas ordered the men to start a search for you," Geoffrey replied. He glanced to his left as Kitty appeared and stood by his side.
Nicholas strode out of the great hall over to Ellen. She saw the anger in his eyes and knew his fury was under tight control as he approached her. "Have you no concern for your father?"
"My father knows what I am about. By what right do you order his men?"
"Your father's state of mind has been precarious at best since your brother's death. Someone had to order a search for you. His men are lacking in discipline. He takes no interest in the business of running his lands. Serfs have not paid their dues. Of most import, he has failed to prepare his daughter for the responsibilities of her new life. Need I go on? Ravencliff needs a firm hand to take over, and I will see things done properly.
"Your own actions prove you are incapable of the smallest consideration for anyone. You have caused your father untold grief." Nicholas stepped closer to her. "That heathen Scot was remiss in that he never broke you of your independent spirit. That is a duty I will enjoy undertaking. When I am done..."
Ellen stood her ground as Nicholas looked down at her and wrinkled his nose, as if he had just got a whiff of something rotten. She had deliberately defied him in the matter of her clothing. He stepped around her, looking her over from head to toe. "What did you hope to prove, dressed this way? You have been told before, you were never to do this again, did you not understand? I will not allow my wife to run about the countryside looking like the worst of villagers."
A loud crack filled the momentary void, and Kitty stared in shock as Nicholas' face turned color. His left cheek paled for a moment from the sharp slap Ellen dealt him, then his whole face turned deep crimson with rage. Ellen knew the lies for what they were. Nicholas would never break her; nor had her father become lax in his duties to his estates. She preferred a cloistered life or even death, to the life Nicholas had planned for her. "My father understands more
than you think. There is nothing wrong with his mind, nor is there anything wrong with my spirit.
"Do not ever," she continued hotly, "speak of David in such a way again. He was good and decent. You could never hope to be half the man he was, nor have his kindness or compassion for others. As for me, Lord Nicholas, stay out of my way, or you may regret it. You have no authority over me, or anyone else – at least not yet." Ellen only touched on her bitter feelings for Nicholas, and bit her tongue before she could say more. The rest would have to wait for release. She did not push him too far now, before all his men. There would be a better time, later. She would do whatever was necessary to keep the honor of Ravencliff intact.
"That will change in a few hours, my girl, or have you forgotten what day this is?" Nicholas grabbed Ellen's arm, and twisted it behind her back as he pulled her against him. "Say what you will, Lady Ellen, but once the vows are said, you will learn your rightful place as my wife. I shall enjoy teaching you what that heathen Scot could not."
"Beware, Nicholas, for the day is still young and may yet hold surprises not to your liking." Ellen shuddered with the strange feeling that her words were somehow prophetic of the day's events.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ellen shivered with a sense of foreboding, and rubbed her arms. She wrapped David's cloak snuggly about her. It was not the cold air that bothered her, but the thought of Nicholas' touch after the wedding. She refused to consider spending the rest of her life as his wife, hoping there might still be a chance for a miracle. If that did not happen, she fervently believed she would prefer to live in a convent, than be the wife of a man whose only marital desire was to gain control of her father's property through her.
Ellen rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, taking comfort from the soft wool. David was close in spirit, and she could not help but wonder what he would have planned to stop this farce. She stopped and sniffed at the dark material. His scent lingered on the garment, and in fact, seemed more noticeable than when she fell asleep the night before, a pleasant reminder of the many times he had worn it. After refusing to believe, for almost a year, that he lay dead somewhere, along side her brother, she realized the time had come to finally give up hope. A forlorn sigh escaped her lips. She wished desperately David were with her now.
Ellen waited patiently as Jane entered the bedchamber, then stepped aside. Several kitchen boys followed, carrying in a wood tub and buckets of hot water. The maid placed several linen sheets close by, ready for use and sprinkled on the water's surface, a packet of herbs Ellen had chosen. The boys scurried out, taking their empty buckets, and Jane shut the door firmly behind them.
A bucket of water sat within reach of the tub, and cooling, while Ellen stepped into the bath. Steam rose from the scented water letting her close her eyes and relaxed. Visions of David on their wedding day, a year before, brought a smile to her lips. Last night's dreams seemed all the more real. There were moments when she could almost believe he had come to her during the night, rather than that scandalous one-eyed gypsy. Something about that man whispered to her not to give up hope just yet. Ellen did not understand this strange feeling and wished with all her heart David was here with her now.
Ellen ducked beneath the water to wet her hair and came up, brushing the clinging strands out of her face as Jane rubbed in a small amount of soft rosemary scented soap. The rhythm of the maid's deft fingers felt good to Ellen, releasing some of the tension she felt. Somehow, she would manage to get through the day's events. It was the night she considered with dread, and did not want to face.
Ellen tilted her head back asJane slowly poured a portion of the remaining bucket of water over her hair and squeezed out the excess liquid. After wrapping a piece of linen about the long length, the maid held up a larger piece of toweling and wrapped it around Ellen's slim figure as she stepped from the tub.
An elaborate gown had been carefully laid out on the bed. The sight of it disgusted her. Gold threads shot through wine colored heavy brocade, creating a lavish design. It wasn't enough Nicholas had cut short her year of mourning. Ellen refused to dishonor the memory of her husband and brother by wearing this inappropriate creation. The thought of wearing it made her feel like a traitor to her husband. Her memories of the night before, a mixture of hope and doubt, refused to leave her. She could still feel the gypsy's mocking touch, hear his deep voice and feel his warm breath against her cheek...
"Jane, find me the plainest gown I have."
The maid brushed out imaginary wrinkles from the heavy skirts, and looked up at Ellen in surprise. "My lady, the wedding."
"My plainest gown, Muriel." Ellen gave the abomination on the bed one more disdainful look, then shoved it to the floor where it landed in a heap – a fitting comment on Nicholas' taste. A devilish smile lit her face as she grabbed a bucket of bath water and flung it on the garment. Ellen glanced up at Jane in mock horror. "Oh how clumsy of me," she moaned. "There is no time to salvage this gown. I suppose I must apologize to Nicholas for ruining his gift." She sighed and shook her head, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the deed done.
Ellen saw a small smile play at the corners of Jane's mouth, as she turned away. Ellen's eyes blazed, as her defiant nature reasserted itself. It was a good feeling. "Jane, wait, I have a better idea. Bring out the gown I wore when I married David. Nicholas saw fit to cut short my mourning, did he! He will learn now. I have no intention of being the malleable wife he expects. No matter what happens this day, he will find he does not have a wife, after all. He will know for once and all time where my heart and loyalties lie."
Jane's eyes registered confusion, for a moment, at Ellen's remark, but the maid's smile grew as she hurried to do her mistress's bidding. It was good to see the old Ellen back again. Muriel and Emma returned to help their mistress dress for the wedding. Muriel and her husband, Justin, had returned to Ravencliff a few days earlier, accompanied by Alex Ross. Alex had allowed himself to be convinced to join them. If there was a way to help stop this wedding, and he knew of only one person who could do it, Alex wanted to be there for Ellen. With the political climate in Scotland quiet for the time being, Alex had released Justin from service to him, allowing the soldier and his wife to return to Ravencliff, where Justin renewed his oath of loyalty to the duke. Ellen had been surprised and pleased to see her former maid again, and welcomed them both home. She had been even more surprised to see Alex. The scowl on Nicholas' face pleased her greatly.
Ellen's spirits remained low asJane stood back and smiled at the scene Ellen made. The morning had quickly vanished and it was finally time for the reluctant bride to be escorted to Ravencliff's church, near the village. Ellen smoothed the skirts of her forest green wedding gown, her thoughts only on David. If he had survived the battle, would she be back in Scotland? Would they have had a child by now? She refused to close the door on the past year. Thinking about the happiness they shared in the past, kept her from dwelling on the near future. Would anyone find a way to prevent Nicholas' plan from being completed? Ellen took a deep breath. It was too late for miracles. In an hour, she would be Nicholas' wife. Ellen had to have faith something would reverse the course of events and everything would work out as it should.
* * *
Bright sunlight glared on the white crystaline blanket covering the courtyard. Despite the cold, Hugh took his time escorting his daughter to the village church. Many high ranking guests waited for the bride to appear. The Duke of Ravencliff was aware Nicholas had subtly insisted his marriage to Ellen be held in Westminster Abbey, but King John had overruled him by leading his entourage to Ravencliff. Hugh was in no hurry to turn responsibility of Ellen's wellbeing over to Nicholas. If it were not for King John's edict, this marriage would never take place. Hugh wondered how much it had cost Nicholas in gold, to convince the king to draw up the decree.
He glanced at his daughter, but could not see her features. The hood of her fur-lined cloak protected her face from the worst of the cold. He saw her head turnin
g from side to side as if she were looking for something. He patted the small gloved hand tucked in his arm. Courage, my girl, there is still time. There still might be found a way out of this debacle. Have faith, child. When Ellen looked up at him, he saw something new her gray eyes. Was there hope there? Had something happened he knew nothing about? His heart ached for his daughter, that he had been unable to find a solution to their problem. He felt Ellen squeeze his arm and saw the small smile. What foolishness have you planned, daughter?
The hard crust of snow crunched beneath their booted feet. Father and daughter said nothing as they continued on their way to the chapel, their horses plodding through the snow. Kitty followed slowly on her palfrey, with Geoffrey by her side as her escort.
Bishop Renfrew stood at the top step in front of the church door, a guard at his side. Hugh grimaced at the sight of King John standing by the bishop, intending to witness the marriage. The bishop wrappedthe edges of his fur-lined cloakabout his stout frame. The large hood kept his face in partial shadow, protected against the cold. Father Bernard should have been standing next to him, with Lord Nicholas, but no one had seen the priest since he had made a special trip to his brother's abbey, weeks before.
On the other side of the bishop, Nicholas waited. The fingers of one bare hand thrummed restlessly against his thigh. His tunic and hose were of fine black wool. Gold threads were embroidered in an ornate design along the hem of the garment and the sleeve edges. One side of his cloak was folded back over his shoulder, making him seem impervious to the brittle cold. His dark eyes were harder than obsidian. His mouth remained a tight thin line, the only sign of barely controlled impatience. The narrow, white scar dominating his right cheek, shone starkly in his wind reddened face.
To Every Love There is a Season: A historical Romance of the Scottish Border in the reign of King Jo Page 22