“It is true,” I said clearly to my people and held up the evidence. “We have been eating our own fortunes, though we have done so in innocence, never guessing the deception in our own hall.” I spun and flung a handful of shells at Alasdair. “We never guessed the treachery of the MacLarens!”
Anger erupted then in the crowd. Furious cries rent the air, fists were shaken and feet stomped.
“We showed them compassion and gave them shelter while they planned our downfall!” Tarsuinn cried. “The MacLaren clan has ensured that your bellies were empty, that we had naught with which to trade, that Inverfyre’s fortunes dwindled to naught—all the better that they might steal Inverfyre.”
Alasdair stepped forward, his manner unexpectedly composed. Indeed, he smiled. “This is all terribly interesting, and truly, I do hope that the falcons prosper in the first year of my lairdship. The treasury of Inverfyre has dire need of the coin.”
“But you will not be laird!” I said, marveling at his audacity.
“Of course I will be.” Alasdair insisted. “Inverfyre will be mine and you will all be the richer for it.” He offered his hand to me. “Here is your last opportunity, Evangeline, to be the Lady of Inverfyre, as you were born to be. Wed me on this day—save yourself and your child.”
“Never!” I shouted, much to the approval of the villagers. They began to stamp their feet and to hoot.
“A most unfortunate choice,” Alasdair said with a sad shake of his head. He stepped back, then lifted his hand as if to beckon to someone. I feared suddenly what preparations he might have made.
His kin had shown, after all, a tendency to prepare for all eventualities. I pivoted in time to see scores of armed men slip from huts and shadows, pour through Inverfyre’s gates, and appear seemingly from every corner. They were men I did not know, men garbed for war, men who unsheathed their swords and began to slaughter the peasants who had come to see me wed.
The square of Inverfyre filled with blood as I began to scream.
I was knocked from behind and fell on the stone steps, barely curving my arm beneath my belly in time. The battle swept over me, spattering me with the blood, then moved on. The wind was knocked from me and I lay there for a moment, watching madness unfurl in my home and powerless to do anything about it. I had solely a small eating knife hung upon my belt, no match for swords and daggers of these men. I had lost track of the people who had stood alongside me, and indeed, it was difficult to pick out individuals in the slaughter that confronted me.
The fallen, however, were almost all the people of Inverfyre. I was sickened. They had been betrayed by surprise as well as a greater arsenal of weapons. As I watched, several of the assailants shoved torches into the huts of Inverfyre and the village began to burn.
Panic rose within me at the ease with which the flames spread. I could not stay here, indeed any soul would be fortunate to escape alive. Just then, one of the monks who sang the offices in our chapel fell heavily before me.
He was dead. Before I could avert my gaze from this travesty, I spied the brass key tied to his belt.
I knew then what I must do. Indeed, the key glinted in the sunlight, daring me to do what I must. If I survived this day and my son survived, he would have need of one item to prove his birthright.
I would not leave without the Titulus.
I rolled until I lay against the stone wall of the chapel, beside the dead monk. I surveyed the mayhem through my lashes and saw that I had been momentarily forgotten. I lingered there for a moment, ensuring that I was not observed, then seized the key. I leaped to my feet and lunged through the chapel doors, the key held fast before myself. I bolted them behind me and leaned back against them in relief.
It was dark and cold in the chapel, quiet as only a sanctuary of worship could be. My gaze trailed over the stones in the floor, stones marking the tombs of my forebears. Magnus Armstrong lay beneath my very feet, his six sons laid head to toe before him. My own father lay closest to the altar, with but one spot left betwixt his stone and the high table itself.
I took a step forward then, reassured by the embrace of silence, then took another and another. I moved more quickly toward the reliquary with every pace until I was nigh running. I fumbled with the brass key, a key brought to the chapel only that the Titulus might be lifted high for the celebratory mass of my wedding. I rounded the altar, lifted the key and a gloved hand snapped out of the darkness to seize my wrist.
I gasped even as Alasdair smiled. He unfolded himself from his hiding place behind the draped altar, his grip upon me relentless.
“How accommodating of you to bring me the key,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. “Unlock the reliquary, Evangeline, and surrender the prize of Inverfyre to me. We shall celebrate our own investiture of the lairdship afore you die.”
I gaped at him, my heart racing. “Then the accusations were all true.”
Alasdair smiled without regret. “Open it.”
My hand was shaking, my thoughts spinning, as I lifted the key to the lock. “But what of the child I bear? You yourself said it was your duty to provide for your brother’s get.”
“That was before his widow was proved a liar, before I knew for certain that the child was a bastard.” Alasdair shook his head at me. “You cannot bargain for your life, Evangeline, not now that you have declined your sole chance to survive. And do not imagine that you can delay the matter—if you take overlong to surrender the Titulus, then I shall dispatch you and take it myself.”
I regarded him for a moment, letting him see how I despised him. I then turned the key in the lock with resolve, flung open the door and reached for the Titulus within. My hands closed over its familiar shape as Alasdair watched avidly.
“It is oft poor judgment to leave a captive with no hope,” I said quietly.
“I shall take the chance,” he said, not disguising his conviction that he feared nothing a woman might do.
I moved with haste then, hauling the relic from its sanctuary, and jabbing Alasdair hard with my elbow in the same moment. He cried out and tried to grab me, but I darted backward. With the relic in both hands, I brought it down hard on his head.
There was a resounding crack. I hoped for the blink of an eye that I had dealt him a fatal wound, but the Titulus fell in two fragments in my hands.
And Alasdair snarled as he snatched at me. “Whore!” he shouted.
I ran, but stumbled over my full skirts. He caught the end of my veil but I let it tear, spinning out of his grasp for a hopeful moment.
But Alasdair was taller than me and faster than I had hoped. He lunged after me and caught the back of my kirtle, his expression cruel as he hauled me back toward him. I struggled and twisted, I tried to escape his relentless grip, but to no avail.
He tore away the last of my headdress and flung it aside, grasping my mother’s crucifix. He coiled the chain around his gloved fist and holding me captive before him, the gold biting into my throat. I panted in my desperation but there was naught I could do, even when he drove his knife into the soft flesh beneath my chin.
“My lady?” came Tarsuinn’s cry from the other side of the chapel doors. I cried out and the son of my father’s falconer tried to force the doors. A hammering began as Tarsuinn was joined by another.
But the lock was doughty, I knew it well.
Alasdair smiled. “What foresight you showed, Evangeline, to ensure that we could not be disturbed.”
I closed my eyes and looked away, heartsick at the fullness of my failure. Here before my slumbering forebears I lost the estate they had labored to build. There could be no greater disappointment to any of our ilk.
They might witness that I was doomed, but they also would see that I fought valiantly to my last breath.
“Do your worst,” I told Alasdair. “I regret nothing. I will never endorse your suzerainty. I would rather be dead than see you on Inverfyre’s high seat.”
“You are almost too proud to kill so secretly,” Alasdair had tim
e to say before the stained glass above the altar shattered into a thousand pieces.
We both looked up in astonishment as Gawain leaped through the space. He landed on his toes with untold agility, a dagger gripped in his teeth. He plucked the knife from his teeth, twirled it and grinned.
I know that I smiled, so delighted was I to see him here, so reassured was I by his confident swagger.
“How fortunate to find you here, Alasdair,” Gawain said with cocky ease, sparing a conspiratorial wink for me. “I have a missive for you that must be delivered afore you die.”
“You have no missive for me,” Alasdair snarled.
“Indeed I do,” Gawain said amiably. “This dagger”—he twirled it so that the blade flashed silver and I recognized it with astonishment—“this blade commands me to avenge its owner.”
“You speak nonsense.”
“It is Niall’s blade,” I said breathlessly. “My father granted it to him when Niall pledged his loyalty to Inverfyre. It is an old blade, a blade that belonged to my grandfather.”
Gawain arched a brow, no doubt surprised that none of us had guessed why my father granted it to Niall. “And this family blade calls for blood in vengeance. It calls for your blood, Alasdair. Niall of Glenfannon may have been many things, but like his father, he was a man of honor, a man who demanded that justice be done.”
“Lies!” Alasdair roared.
While Alasdair’s attention was diverted, I drove my knee into his crotch. His grip on me loosened even as his eyes bulged. He swore, but that instant was all I needed. I leaned toward him so that the chain fell slack, then ducked my head through its loop. My mother’s crucifix remained locked in his fist, the chain swinging empty, but I chose to live without it.
Tarsuinn pounded on the chapel doors with renewed vigor. I raced for the back of the chapel, my heart quailing at the clash of steel on steel behind me. I gathered the Titulus pieces against my chest with one hand and opened the latch with the other.
The doors were cast open with such vigor that I was flung back against the wall. I caught my breath, certain that I had aided Gawain as best I could, then gasped in horror at what I had done.
It was not Tarsuinn who thundered into the chapel, nor indeed was it anyone I knew. Four of Alasdair’s troops ran down the aisle, their mail clattering and their blades held high.
“No!” I shouted in dismay.
The mercenaries bellowed as one, ignoring me as they joined the fight. I had a fleeting glimpse of Gawain when he glanced up at my cry and saw the multiplied number of his opponents.
I had betrayed him!
But Gawain cast no accusing glance my way. His lips set with such resolve that I knew he would fight to the most bitter end. Indeed, the sunlight gilded his hair as he leaped to the altar and swung his blade in a battle he was destined to lose.
XIX
“My lady!” Tarsuinn hissed.
I spun to find him on the threshold on the chapel, blood running from the shoulder of his sword arm. He was pale, but he relinquished his grip upon his wound to offer me his hand.
“Come, my lady, we must seize this chance to flee.”
I glanced back as a man groaned and fell. It was Alasdair, Niall’s knife lodged in his chest. Gawain must have no blade! I took a step just as Alasdair lunged to his feet with a snarl.
“No!” Tarsuinn seized my hand and pulled me back.
Gawain kicked Alasdair in the chest and Alasdair fell, hitting his head and moving no more. Gawain seized Alasdair’s sword without hesitation and spun to face his assailants.
“The specter of Niall of Glenfannon demands vengeance!” Gawain cried with wicked glee. I was fascinated and thrilled by his boldness. “How fearless are you, now, my friends?”
“We must leave,” Tarsuinn urged.
“A man gives his life to ensure yours,” Malachy insisted. I turned to find the smaller man panting with his own exhaustion, blood spattered across his face and garb. “Do not make his sacrifice a worthless one, my lady.”
I looked back, torn, to see Alasdair’s men fall upon Gawain with renewed vigor. They quickly obscured him from my sight.
Tarsuinn tugged my sleeve anew. Only the knowledge that a babe relied upon my survival made me turn. I would save myself that I might save Gawain’s child—had I not carried the fruit of his seed, I would have aided him, even died without remorse.
But I could not think only of myself. I took Tarsuinn’s hand, my vision veiled with tears. They cast a cloak over me, these men so loyal to my father’s hand, and led me nigh blind through the market square. I could see little with the hood of the cloak pulled over my face, but knew that if I were recognized, I would breathe my last.
I put my trust in these men who had earned it time and again.
We nearly tripped over the fallen, our cloaks were singed by the flames that swept through the village. A shout echoed when we drew near to the shadowed gates. Tarsuinn and Malachy flung me ahead of them, but I could not abandon them wholly. I cast back my hood to better defend myself just as Dubhglas dove toward me.
I buried my eating knife in his eye. He fell back, screaming. My companions dispatched their attackers and we turned to flee, just as the portcullis rope began to groan.
“Run!” Malachy cried.
His cry prompted half a dozen men to turn. A shout rose from the square behind us, the iron gate began to lower toward the earth with relentless speed. We raced for the narrowing portal, and I saw that the gate descended too fast.
“Roll!” Tarsuinn shouted. Malachy tripped me and I fell behind him, tumbling through the narrow aperture. For a heart-stopping moment, I stared directly upward into the descending spikes, fearing I would not be through in time. Malachy seized my hand and tugged, and I pulled my legs through. Tarsuinn rolled through the gap behind me.
The points of the portcullis buried themselves in the ground with a resounding thud. Tarsuinn gasped, for the points had barely missed his flesh and pinned his tabard into the ground. We pulled upon his hands, I heard cloth tear, but we ran, not a one of us looking back. The mercenaries gathered shouting at the gates, demanding that it be raised with haste.
Indeed, we ran as if the hounds of hell were behind us, scattering into the welcome haven of the cool green forest.
When we crested a distant hill, the forest holding us in its embrace, I dared to look back. I groaned when I saw that Inverfyre burned with unholy vigor. The blaze was as bright as a beacon, the flames consumed hut, village, and wall.
My legacy was lost.
As I watched, the roof of the chapel was devoured by flames. The cross upon its roof was illuminated with a corona of fire, then it tumbled along with the crumbling roof. It fell burning into the chapel and the ground seemed to shake with its impact even where we stood.
My heart sank at the sight. Even if Gawain defeated his foes, I could not imagine that he would escape the chapel alive.
My love was lost. I knew this to be the truth as soon as the thought came to me. I loved Gawain, loved him as I could never have believed a woman could love a man. Without him, without the prospect of hearing his laughter, without knowing that he plundered and pillaged abroad, without knowing that the man I loved lived boldly somewhere, my own life was as dust in my mouth.
I had realized the truth too late to share it with him.
At Tarsuinn’s urging, I turned reluctantly away from the scene of destruction and we began to put distance between ourselves and Inverfyre. I did not know where we went, I did not care. I but followed their lead and grieved.
I wept at the blood that stained my slippers, blood of the people I had failed. I wept for Niall, who had been killed because I sought his aid. I wept for the forebears I had failed, for my parents, whose pledges I had broken, for my son whose legacy I had lost. And I wept for Gawain, a man who professed to care for nothing or no one but who had died ensuring my survival.
I had failed in every way that mattered, failed in ways that I had not dreamed ex
isted. I could not imagine how I would continue in the face of these facts. I walked with these two loyal men, respectful of my turmoil in their silence, and gradually my tears spent themselves. The air cooled, the screams faded behind us and the shadows of the evening began to fall. We walked until we could walk no more, then Tarsuinn touched my elbow.
“There is a glade here, my lady, a sheltered hollow that cannot be readily discerned by any who might pass. I would suggest that we halt for the night.”
“I can walk to Edinburgh,” I said, though the exhaustion in my bones belied my words.
Tarsuinn smiled. “I do not doubt it, my lady, for you have your father’s strength of purpose. Think of the child you carry, though, afore you tax yourself too much.”
I did think of the child, for I wished to put a thousand miles betwixt we two and the ambitious MacLaren clan who assailed Inverfyre. All the same, there was some merit to Tarsuinn’s argument. We could not get so far this night, and Tarsuinn needed care for his wound. I realized how tired these two men must be and found the truth of it in their faces.
I smiled in my turn. “Forgive me, both of you. In my haste to be away, I have forgotten the battles you have faced this day.”
“Not only us, my lady,” Malachy said quietly. He raised a hand, though did not touch my throat. I was aware suddenly the burn upon my flesh and raised my hand to the welt wrought by the chain of my mother’s own crucifix.
I refused to dwell upon the fact that I had lost that, as well. “Let us halt then, as you suggest. You must have your wound tended, Tarsuinn.”
There was a tranquility in this glade, a caress in its welcoming shadows. It seemed our hearts were lightened even as we stepped within it, as if this place belonged out of time. The hues of green seemed richer here, the burble of the stream more merry. The cool shadows embraced us, a light breeze coaxed our cares away. Tarsuinn took a deep breath and seemed to drop a weight from his shoulders, even Malachy seemed less dour.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 59