Immortal Love (21 page)

Memories of the cave came flooding back.
Dominick’s warm lips on hers. Her passion rode on the currents of
desire. Then the painful memories came crashing down on her like a
cold wave from the ocean, drowning her in fear.

“Damn you, McPhearson!” She struck her
mattress with her fist.

More than anything she wanted to escape from
her past. She thought she could put all of the pain behind her and
build a new life. But that was not to be. She was still trapped by
the bricks and mortar of fear.

The next morning anger sent her into action.
Quickly she dressed, throwing a light mantle over her shoulders.
Storming out of the castle, she ran to the stables. She needed to
expend some energy, and she’d had her fill of cleaning and
gardening. Not waiting for a stable hand, she saddled White Wind
and rode out of the bailey at a full gallop.

Eleanor rode through fields and meadows to
the forest, where she slowed White Wind to a quiet walk. Eleanor
immersed herself in the sounds of the woodland creatures. Birds
singing their spring song lightened the weight of her heart.
Lifting her head to the sweet sound, she examined the new leaves
sprouting from their tiny buds. Sunlight peeked through the
branches, forming a lacy pattern on the ground. White Wind’s hooves
made soft crackling sounds on the crisp dry leaves beneath her.

It eased the tension in her body. Her mind
cleared, she would not allow any memories to intrude on that
moment. Riding through the woods she took in its vast beauty. Like
a child she explored it as a new world. She hadn’t been this far
from the castle before. Excitement encouraged her to move on. Never
had she experienced this kind of freedom. Nothing was demanded of
her. She could go wherever her whim took her.

Imagining herself a great explorer, she
discovered new hills and streams. A euphoric giggle bubbled up
inside her as she watched the antics of two squirrels at play. In
the distance she spotted a doe and her fawn eating the new grass.
Lightly she tugged on the reins of her horse so as to not frighten
the deer away. She sat there for some time watching them chewing on
the green foliage. Suddenly the doe picked up her head, twitching
her ears. In the next moment she and her fawn bounded over brush
and fallen trees, disappearing into the forest.

Eleanor wondered what had frightened them
away. White Wind bobbed her head and stamped her hoof in agitation.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor spotted two men on horseback
charging toward her.

“Go! Girl go!” She and White Wind bounded
deeper into the forest, with the two riders coming fast behind
her.

Eleanor leaned forward, giving White Wind her
head. The mare jumped gracefully over fallen trees and bushes. The
two assailants’ horses were no match for White Wind’s speed.
Quickly she pulled away from them, even as Eleanor realized they
were heading away from Godwin. She had to circle back.

Looking back she saw that she had gained
considerable ground. Her heart pounded furiously, but not from
fear. Only anger brewed in her chest. These were McPhearson’s men.
That man had the audacity to send his men so close to Godwin. If
they thought her to be easy prey, she was going to make them think
differently.

Knowing she couldn’t outrun them forever, she
looked for a place to hide.

Directing White Wind to some brush she
realized the Arabian’s snow white coat would give them away. Her
heart leapt with joy when her horse understood her encouragement to
lie down behind the bushes. The horse bent down on its hindquarters
and tucked its front legs under. She quickly covered them both in
her brown mantle, hoping to blend in with the surrounding
leaves.

“Good girl,” she whispered in the horse’s
ear.

She froze when a twig snapped close by.

“Where did she go?” one voice shouted.

“She can’t be far. I’ll move ahead. You keep
looking in this area.”

One rider rode off. It took all of Eleanor’s
will not to jump out and give away her hiding place. Her fingers
grabbed the metal hilt of her dagger, and cold resolve settled in
her heart. If this man found her, she’d no choice but to defend
herself, even if it meant killing him. The thought sent a prickly
chill down her spine. Wrapping fingers around her dagger tightly,
pulling it slowly from her girdle, she readied herself for
battle.

Another twig snapped and a movement near
their hiding place forced her and White Wind out. As they bounded
forward an arm came around her waist, pulling her from her saddle.
Eleanor’s struggles caught the man off guard, unbalancing him and
knocking them both to the ground. She was the first to gain her
wits and was up in an instant and running for White Wind.

The attacker quickly regained himself and
pursued.

Fear and anger spurred her on. Lifting her
skirts she ran, dodging behind trees and bushes, slashing at him
with her dagger. It never connected with flesh. He bobbed and
weaved out of its path. Dodging behind another tree, she tripped
over a log and sprawled face first on the ground. The assailant
flipped her onto her back, but before he knew what she was about
she had plunged her dagger into his chest. Air whooshed out of his
lungs, and his wide eyes turned vacant. He became very still. Not
until she felt the blood running down her arm did she realize what
she’d done.

He collapsed on top of her, and she struggled
out from beneath his hulking dead weight. The sound of a rider
heading toward her released her adrenaline and with one great shove
she rolled him off her.

She had the presence of mind to pull her
dagger free and run to her waiting horse. She mounted in one leap
and bounded toward Godwin Castle, the second rider in pursuit.

Swallowing hard she tried to calm herself and
keep her mind clear. Any mistake now and she would become
McPhearson’s captive. Then her real nightmare would begin.

There was a clearing ahead, but her attacker
was Riding by her side. His fingers tore at her sleeve, pulling it
away from her shoulder. Eleanor lashed out with her dagger, cutting
the man on his forearm. He cursed as he pulled it away giving her
the advantage to move ahead.

Breaking through the forest, they were in a
flat out race toward Godwin. Riding beside her, his arm reached out
to pull her off her horse. With a downward thrust she planted the
dagger into her assailant’s thigh.

“You bitch!”

He pulled the dagger free, then backhanded
her with his fist. The blow caught her in the shoulder, nearly
unseating her, but she quickly regained her balance.

Leaning forward, she plastered herself
against White Wind’s neck, and soon they were pulling ahead. By the
time she reached the black fields of the castle, her pursuer turned
back, and she continued to ride headlong over the drawbridge and
through the gatehouse. It wasn’t until she reached the stables that
she came to a halt.

Her heart continued to pound against her rib
cage. Her throat raw from the exertion of the ride. She trembled
uncontrollably. Sitting on White Wind she tried to regain some
sense of control. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, taking
deep breaths. The pounding in her ears began to lessen in volume.
The world was quiet in that moment.

It wasn’t until she heard Dominick call her
name that she broke out of that silence and turned to the sound of
his voice.

“God’s blood, what happened?”

Suddenly, emotions exploded to the surface.
She leapt into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. Her feet barely
touching the ground.

“Shh, my little dove.”

Finally, his soothing voice calmed her fears
and she pulled away. His eyes widened in alarm. She looked down to
see herself covered in blood.

His hands frantically ran over her body.
“Where are you hurt?”

Before she could answer, she was swept up in
his arms and carried inside the castle.

“Martha!” his voice bellowed.

“Dominick,” she grabbed his tunic. And
struggled against him. “Dominick, I’m not hurt.” He stopped
abruptly to look down at her. “This is not my blood.”

Putting her down he asked “What happened?”
His tone was dark.

Weakly she sat into the nearest chair.
Dominick left for a moment, but quickly returned with a cup of
wine. Pulling up a chair in front of her, he sat with his spine
ramrod straight. She wondered at his pose. Was he going to chide
her foolishness for wandering the forest alone?

After what she’d just been through she could
not stop her run of thoughts. Eleanor shook her head. Dominick was
nothing like her father. If he had proven anything to her, he
proved that he did not abuse women. “I rode out into the forest
today and encountered two of McPhearson’s men.”

If it were possible, he stiffened more. “Go
on,” he said quietly.

“I killed one of them.” A tear slipped down
her cheek. Bringing the wine to her lips, she took a long swallow
“I stabbed him with my dagger. The other one I managed to wound and
got away.” Another long sip. “White Wind is a very fast horse. She
saved my life.”

She’d expected outrage from Dominick, but
there was none. No outside indication that he was angry. His face
was a mask she couldn’t read. He rose out of his chair, towering
over her. His hand grasped her elbow pulling her out of her
chair.

“You must rest now.” He escorted her to the
stairs. “I will send Martha up with a hot bath and some tea.”

Confused by his reaction, she climbed the
stairs toward their chamber. . When she looked back, she found him
watching her. His eyes were dark. She saw a murderous rage brewing.
It stirred her fear and she ran.

She could no longer endure the clinging of
her bloodied gown. It was a ghoulish reminder of what had happened.
She quickly unhooked the mantle and pulled at the gown’s laces.
Puddled at her feet, she kicked the garment into the hearth along
with her chemise, and the embers soon consumed them. Naked, Eleanor
stood watching them burn.

A knock on the door reminded her of her state
of undress. She quickly wrapped the mantle around herself and bid
whomever to enter.

Martha walked in with a tray of tea. “His
lordship said for me to bring you some tea and ready you for a bath
. . . Oh, my dear, what has happened? Are you ill again?”

Eleanor bowed her head, the truth too painful
to voice at that moment. “No, Martha, I’m not ill.” New tears
pooled in her eyes.

Martha reached out and touched her face. “If
you’re not ill, what then?” She saw the dried blood on Eleanor’s
hands and drew back in alarm. “What is this?”

Eleanor shook her head. “It’s not mine.
McPhearson’s men attacked me in the forest.” She turned away not
able to look at her maid. “I managed to kill one of them.”

“Oh, my lord, Eleanor.” Martha’s hands flew
to her chest. “I’m so sorry. I should have gone with you.”

“No Martha, don’t blame yourself. You had no
idea that I was leaving.” She took the older woman’s hand. “I’m all
right. I managed to get away. I will just have to be more careful
in the future.”

Martha hugged her. “My poor lamb. You have
had too many adventures these last few weeks.”

There was a knock at the door. Martha pulled
it open for two men carrying a tub and others who followed with
buckets of steamy water. Once Eleanor settled in the tub, Martha
left her to soak and think. Eleanor scrubbed her hair and body,
washing away the evidence of her attack.

The water grew cold and pulled her out of her
thoughts. She dried herself quickly and dressed near the fire. She
plated her hair down the back, then sat down heavily in the window
seat. The weight of the day’s events pulled at her newfound
confidence. Would there ever be a day when she would be safe from
McPhearson? As long as he threatened Godwin, this castle was still
a prison.

Sounds of horses and the grating of chainmail
in the bailey rose to her window. Looking down she saw Dominick and
his soldiers dressed in full armor. Panic filled her lungs, and she
ran from the chamber and down into the bailey.

He was about to mount his horse when she
called out to him. Hitching up her skirts, she ran toward him.
“Dominick, you can’t do this.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what I can and
cannot do, my lady.” His voice, though low, bore a steely edge.

Eleanor’s fear turned to anger. “You forget,
these are my people, and you cannot plunge them into war.”

“McPhearson can’t be allowed to attack what
is mine and expect no reprisals.”

He turned back to mount his horse, but
Eleanor was not finished. Grabbing him by the scabbard that
sheathed his sword she pulled hard, forcing him back to the ground.
“I’m not one of your men or your cattle. I’m your wife.”

Leaning toward her, he whispered, “You have
not been a wife.”

Anger grew to a boiling point in the pit of
her stomach. “Dominick, come with me. I would like to show you
something.”

“Not now.” He turned away.

“Right now!”

A murmur rose among Dominick’s men, but he
paid them little mind. His furious black eyes bored into hers, but
she was too angry herself to care.

His hand snaked out to grab her upper arm and
he led her away from his men. “Show me what it is you have to show
me. We will discuss your behavior in front of my men later.”

“Don’t make the mistake that I’m one of
them.” She pulled out of his grasp and stalked out of the bailey
and left him to follow. A small corner inside the castle walls,
shaded by trees, was a cemetery. Wooden crosses stood in rows.

Eleanor’s voice spoke low and reverent.
“These are the graves of my people. People who have died at the
hands of war. Young men--and women.”

Dominick looked around. “People die in war,
Eleanor.”

She detected sadness in his voice, but his
face gave away no such emotion.