Velvet Angel

by Jude Deveraux

  “Now?” she asked. “You’ll leave before Bronwyn and Miles return from the hunt?”

  “Oh yes.” He grimaced. “I don’t relish being around when my lovely wife finds out I tricked her into leaving Larenston so I could tend to this English trespasser alone.”

  “Or Miles,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I don’t believe he’ll take this calmly.”

  Stephen groaned, making her laugh. “You, Montgomery, are a coward,” she pointed out.

  “Of the worst sort,” he agreed readily, then turned serious. “Will you pray for me while I’m gone? Perhaps if Raine and Brian get along, we can make some progress in ending this war.”

  “I would like that,” she answered. “Brian is a sweet, gentle man and Roger loves him very much. Stephen,” she said in a low voice, “if I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?”

  “I owe you that much.”

  “Has anyone seen Roger?”

  “No,” Stephen answered. “He’s disappeared. The MacGregors are looking for him and my men are always alert. We nearly lost you once and it won’t happen again. But no, so far there is no sign of Roger Chatworth.”

  For a moment they stood quietly, looking at each other. A few months ago this man was her enemy, as were all men. With one step forward, she came close to him, reached up and put her hand to his cheek.

  Stephen seemed to understand the full impact of the honor she was bestowing upon him. He caught her hand, kissed the palm. “We Montgomerys are heart-breakers,” he said with dancing eyes. “We’ll end this feud with love words instead of swords.”

  She pulled away from him as if she were insulted, but her laughter escaped. “I will indeed pray for you. Now go before my Miles finds you and gives you a good thrashing.”

  He lifted one eyebrow at that. “Poor little brother, when some woman decides she owns him.” With that he left her alone in the clearing.

  Elizabeth sat alone for quite some time and now that she was listening carefully to the sounds around her, she could hear the MacArrans. There were still two men in the trees above her. Far off she could hear Kit’s laughter and Tam’s deep rumbling answer.

  In the last months her senses had dulled greatly. Before her swam the angry face of Brian and she knew that once she, too, had felt such hatred. She hoped with all her being that Stephen would be able to take some of Brian’s hate away, or perhaps this Raine Montgomery could do it.

  With a heavy heart, she returned to the ruins and the laughter of Kit. In a few days, she’d have Miles’s anger to deal with and that would take her mind off her problems.

  Bronwyn returned to Larenston the next day and went first to her five-month-old son, Alexander. The child had a wet nurse as Bronwyn was too often away to feed him, but she made sure the boy knew who his mother was. As she was contentedly cuddling her son, Rab at her feet, Elizabeth told her about Brian and how Stephen had taken him to Raine.

  For a moment, Bronwyn’s eyes flashed. “Damn him!” she muttered but calmed when Alex let out a yowl. “Hush, love,” she cooed. When Alexander was quiet, she looked back at Elizabeth. “I don’t like that he used you. He should have brought your brother here. Stephen forgets that Brian Chatworth released me from your brother’s clutches. I wouldn’t have harmed the boy.”

  “I think Stephen was more concerned about Miles—that he might harm Brian.” Elizabeth leaned forward and caressed Alex’s silky head.

  Bronwyn’s keen eyes missed nothing. “And when is your child due?” she asked evenly.

  Elizabeth met Bronwyn’s eyes.

  Bronwyn stood, carried her son to his cradle. “Morag told me you’ve had no flow since you’ve been here. You’ve not been ill?”

  “Not at all. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me at first, but it didn’t take long to understand. Who have you told?”

  “No one. Not even Stephen. Especially not Stephen. No doubt he’d want to celebrate. Are you planning to marry Miles?”

  Elizabeth tucked the soft plaid around Alex’s feet. “He hasn’t asked me, but even if he did, there is more between us than marrying and having babies. Roger won’t give up merely because I become a Montgomery. He’d have to know I go of my own free will and that I wasn’t forced.”

  “And would Miles have to force you?” Bronwyn asked quietly.

  Elizabeth smiled. “You know as well as I that he’s forced me in nothing. But I don’t think Miles would like marriage to me. I’d demand fidelity from my husband and Miles Montgomery doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate any of the Montgomery men,” Bronwyn answered. “They may seem to be an arrogant, inflexible lot but there’s more to them than pretty faces and virile bodies.”

  “They are indeed that.” Elizabeth laughed as they left the room.

  The next day Bronwyn returned to the hunt and it was while Elizabeth was being a helpless maiden in distress and Kit was saving her from a three-headed, fire-breathing dragon that Elizabeth suddenly stopped.

  “Elizabeth!” Kit said impatiently, wooden sword brandished over his head.

  She couldn’t explain what was wrong with her but chills were covering her body. “Miles,” she whispered. “Here!” she said to the woman holding Alex. “Take care of Kit.”

  With that she tore toward the stairs, down and out into the courtyard. When she reached the stables, she had her hand on a saddle before Douglas was beside her.

  “I can’t let you leave,” Douglas said, regret in his voice.

  “Out of my way, you fool,” she spat at him. “Miles is in trouble and I’m going to him.”

  Douglas didn’t waste time asking her how she knew this since no messenger had come from the hunting party, but he stepped out of the stables, gave three low whistles and in seconds two of his brothers were there.

  Elizabeth wasn’t used to saddling her own horse and it was a slow process, but the men didn’t help her. Douglas checked the tightness of her cinch before catching her foot and practically tossing her into the saddle. Elizabeth didn’t even flinch when he touched her.

  As they started off, Elizabeth gave no thought as to where she was going but cleared her mind, visualized Miles and set off at a frightening pace, Douglas, Jarl and Francis behind her. The four horses thundered down the narrow, steep-sided road out of Larenston, turned right and headed along the cliff.

  Elizabeth had no fear of the road nor did she worry about the men behind her. Once she was again on flat land, she paused only seconds. To the left was the MacGregors, and to the right was unknown territory. She kicked her horse to the right, somehow knowing this was the way.

  One of the men yelled at her in warning once and she flattened herself against the horse’s sweaty neck as she barely missed being hit by a tree branch. Other than that, the men were silent as they rode hard to keep up with her.

  After a long time of riding, Rab came bounding from the underbrush, barking hard. He seemed to expect Elizabeth and had come to guide her the last part of the way.

  Elizabeth was forced to slow her horse to a brisk walk as the four of them and Rab made their way through thick undergrowth into a clump of trees so dense the sunlight was hidden.

  Rab began to bark again before the people came into view. Bronwyn and her men were standing in a group, looking down at something on the ground. Sir Guy was kneeling.

  Bronwyn turned at her dog’s bark and lifted surprised eyes to Elizabeth.

  Her horse was still moving as Elizabeth slid to the ground and ran forward, pushing through the people.

  Miles lay on the ground, eyes closed, his entire body covered in blood. His clothes were torn and she could see great gashes in his flesh, in his left thigh, in his right side.

  She pushed Sir Guy away, knelt, pulled Miles’s head into her lap and began to wipe the blood from his face with the hem of her skirt.

  “Wake up, Montgomery,” she said firmly with no sympathy or pity in her voice. “Wake up and look at me.”

  It seemed an
eternity before Miles’s lashes fluttered. When he did look at her he gave a little smile, let his eyes shut again. “Angel,” he whispered and was silent.

  “Water,” Elizabeth said to the stunned faces over her. “I’ll need water to wash his wounds, and is there a crofter’s house near here?” Bronwyn only had time to nod before Elizabeth continued. “Go and clear the place out. Take the crofters to Larenston but leave me alone with him. Send Morag and her herbs and I’ll need sharp steel needles and thread. Guy! Fetch a big plaid and we’ll carry him to the hut. Well!” she snapped. “Get busy, all of you.”

  Instantly, men went off in all directions.

  Bronwyn flashed Elizabeth a quick grin. “Are you sure you aren’t a Scot?” With that she was off toward Larenston.

  Elizabeth, alone for a few moments, held Miles. ‘You’ll be all right, Montgomery,” she whispered. “I’ll see to it.”

  She wasted no more time on sentimentality but took the dagger that lay on the ground beside him and began cutting away his clothes in order to examine his wounds. There seemed to be more blood on him than a man’s body could hold.

  Rab came up to her as she was slicing away Miles’s shirt. “Where’s the blood from, Rab?” she asked. “Go and find what did this to Miles.”

  With two great barks, the dog left them alone.

  To Elizabeth’s relief there was only the one gash on Miles’s upper body, and that wasn’t deep but would have to be sewn. There were several long bloody cuts on his left arm but nothing serious. His legs were another matter. The wound on his thigh was deep and ugly and there were more cuts on one ankle.

  She shifted him once to try to see his underside to look for wounds.

  With a groan of pain, Miles opened his eyes, looked at her. “You’ll have to get on top, Elizabeth, or else I’ll bleed all over you,” he said with a glance down at his bare body.

  “Quiet!” she commanded. “Save your strength to get well.”

  As she spoke, Rab began pulling the carcass of an enormous, long-tusked boar into the clearing. The dead animal’s face was covered in blood and there were several knife wounds in its side.

  “So you won a fight with a boar,” she said in disgust, tenderly wrapping him in the plaid she wore about her shoulders. “I don’t guess it occurred to you not to ride out alone.”

  Before she could say another word, Rab dragged another boar carcass to lie beside the first one, this one also slashed.

  Elizabeth began to wipe Miles’s dirty face. “We’re going to take you not far from here where it’s warm and where it’ll be quiet. Now I want you to rest.”

  Sir Guy with a man and woman came thrashing through the undergrowth, their arms slung with great heavy plaids.

  “There’s a strong barely broth on the fire,” the woman said, “and oatcakes on the hearth. Bronwyn’ll send more plaids if ye need them.”

  Sir Guy, kneeling, pulled the plaid off Miles’s body and studied the wounds, looking up in surprise when Rab pulled a third boar carcass into the clearing.

  “How many of them are there?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Five,” Sir Guy said. “His horse must have thrown him into a family of them. He had only his sword and the little dagger but he killed all five of them and managed to drag himself here. Rab led us to the boars but ran off before we found Lord Miles.”

  “He came to get me,” Elizabeth said. “Can you carry Miles?”

  Without much show of effort, Sir Guy carefully picked up his young master as if he were a child. Instantly, his wounds began to renew their vigor in bleeding.

  “Careful!” Elizabeth half screeched, and the look Guy gave her made her quiet.

  Sir Guy led the way as he carried Miles through the trees toward the crofters’ cottage, and laid him gently on a cot against one wall. It was a tiny, dark, one-room hut, the open hearth the only source of light. There was a crude table and two chairs and no other furniture besides the cot. A pot of water simmered over the fire. Immediately, Elizabeth dipped clean cloths that had been left for her in the water and started washing Miles. Sir Guy lifted him, helped her remove the shreds of his clothes from under him. To Elizabeth’s relief, there were no more wounds on the back of him other than minor cuts and bruises.

  She had him almost washed when Morag and Bronwyn arrived together, Morag carrying a big basket of medicines.

  “I can’t see as well as I used to,” Morag said, looking down at Miles, nude, the two wounds gaping redly. “One of ye will have to tend to him.”

  “I will,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Tell me what to do and I can do it.”

  Sewing a man’s flesh was far different from sewing on cloth, Elizabeth soon discovered. The muscles of her body tightened each time she slid the needle inside Miles’s skin.

  Miles lay still, not moving, barely breathing, his body pale from the loss of blood as Elizabeth stitched. Bronwyn threaded the needles, cut and helped to knot.

  When Elizabeth finished at last, she was trembling.

  “Drink this,” Bronwyn ordered.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Lord only knows. I learned long ago not to ask what Morag puts into her concoctions. Whatever it is, it’ll taste vile but it will make you feel better.”

  Elizabeth drank the brew, leaning against the wall, her eyes on Miles. When Morag started to hold a cup to Miles’s pale lips, she thrust her mug at Bronwyn and went to him.

  “Drink this,” she whispered, holding his head. “You must get your strength back.”

  His eyes moved, his lashes barely parted as he looked up at her. “Worth it,” he whispered as he drank Morag’s brew.

  Morag gave a derisive snort. “He’ll stay on his back for a year if ye pamper him.”

  “Well, let him!” Elizabeth snapped back.

  Bronwyn laughed. “Come sit down, Elizabeth, and rest. I want to know how you knew Miles had been wounded. We’d only just found him when you rode up.”

  Elizabeth sat on the floor by Miles’s head, leaned back and shrugged. She had no idea how she’d known he was injured—but she had.

  Her moments of rest were short-lived. Seemingly seconds later, Morag had something else for Elizabeth to feed Miles.

  Night came and Bronwyn went back to Larenston. Elizabeth sat beside Miles, watching him, knowing that he didn’t sleep, while Morag nodded in a chair.

  “What…” Miles whispered. “What is Raine’s wife like?”

  Elizabeth thought he was delirious since she’d never met Raine or his wife.

  “Singer,” Miles said. “Pagnell.”

  Those words were enough of a key to make her understand. She was surprised that one of the Montgomery lords would marry a lowly little singer. Elizabeth told Miles the story of meeting Alyxandria Blackett, of hearing her extraordinary voice and later her attempt to rescue the singer from Pagnell’s clutches—which led to Elizabeth’s own capture.

  Miles smiled at that and searched for her hand. Still touching her, he fell asleep just as the sun began to rise.

  Morag woke and began to mix another batch of herbs, dried mushrooms and several things Elizabeth didn’t recognize.

  Together they changed the bloody bandages on Miles’s wounds and Morag applied warm, wet, herb-filled poultices over the sewn cuts.

  Miles slept again in the afternoon and Elizabeth left the little cottage for the first time. Sir Guy sat outside under a tree and only looked up in question when he saw her.

  “He’s resting,” she said.

  Sir Guy nodded and stared off into space. “Not many boys could fall into a pack of five boars and come out alive,” he said with pride.

  There were tears in Elizabeth’s eyes as she placed a trembling hand on the giant’s shoulder. “I will do all in my power to see that he gets well.”

  Sir Guy nodded, not looking at her. “You have no reason to help him. We’ve treated you badly.”

  “No,” she answered. “I have been given more than courtesy; I have been given love.” W
ith that she turned away toward the stream that ran through the MacArran land. She washed, tidied her hair, sat down for a moment’s rest, wrapped in her plaid, and when she woke it was night. Sir Guy sat not far away from her.

  Sleep-dazed, she hurried back to the cottage.

  Miles was awake and the frown he wore disappeared when he saw her.

  “There she is,” Morag scolded. “Now maybe you’ll drink some of this.”

  “Elizabeth,” Miles said.

  She went to him, held his head while he drank nearly a cup of the brew and continued to hold him until he fell asleep.

  Chapter 13

  “YOU WILL NOT WALK,” ELIZABETH SAID TO MILES WITH steely firmness. “I have lost too many nights’ sleep in trying to heal your wounds without watching you break them open.”

  He looked up at her with meltingly soft eyes. “Please, Elizabeth.”

  For a moment she almost relented, but stopped herself with a laugh. “You are a treacherous man. Now be still or I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  “Oh?” he said, eyebrows raised.

  Elizabeth blushed at what he was obviously thinking. “Behave yourself! I want you to eat more. You’ll never get well if you don’t eat.”

  He caught her hand and, with surprising strength, pulled her down beside him. Or perhaps it was that Elizabeth had no will to resist him. He was half sitting up, propped on pillows against the corner of the room, his legs on the cot before him. Carefully, she stretched beside him. It had been four days since Miles had been gored but his youth and natural resistance had made him recover quickly. He was still weak, still in pain, but he was starting to heal.

  “Why have you stayed with me?” he asked. “One of Bronwyn’s women could have tended me.”

  “And have her jump in bed with you and tear your stitches?” she asked indignantly.

  “I’ll tear my stitches if you make me laugh. How could I have touched another woman when you’re so close?”