Knight Triumphant (37 page)

There would be no stopping. Every heavy piece of equipment had been abandoned. The charred hulk of the once mighty catapult had been drawn, at the end, across a trail, there to waylay the Scots, should they come in pursuit.

Though Robert Neville had insisted to Lord Danby that she must not have her own mount but should ride with him, Lord Danby had scoffed at his fears regarding her loyalty, and assured him that there was no way the lady was leaving her brother, certainly not after she had dared the swords, arrows, and trampling horses on the battlefield to come to his side.

And so, at first, she had ridden with Danby, and near Aidan. But by the second day of their continuing march, Niles Mason had convinced Danby that they might soon be ambushed from behind, and Lord Danby himself had given the order that Robert Neville and a small party of men should ride ahead, and thus bring Igrainia to the safety of Cheffington as quickly as possible. Igrainia protested that she would not leave her brother, but by then, Aidan had risen from the litter himself, and insisted that he had been winged, and was ready to ride hard. He didn't want his sister exposed to the danger of the road any longer. She had been a prisoner of the Scots for long months, and he wasn't about to let her out of his sight.

And so, with Robert Neville and her brother forever dogging her every movement, she reached Cheffington.

When they arrived, she begged exhaustion, and was brought to a handsome chamber in Lord Danby's fine fortified castle. Servants were quick to bring her water, food, a bath, fresh clothing, anything that she might require. What she wanted was time. She didn't want to be around Robert Neville until Danby arrived. She believed that Aidan would support her in her desires, but she couldn't be certain. Danby, a devout Christian, would be deeply concerned about the marriage vows she had already taken. He would defend her and stand between her and Robert Neville until . . . .

Eric had already suspected her of trying to reach Aidan with secret letters. Rowenna would tell him the truth, of course . . . and Rowenna was his dear friend, but . . .

She had deserted the castle and ridden out to the battlefield herself. She wondered if he would ever understand that she could not leave her brother in the dirt, abandon him to death.

The Scots hadn't the power to seize a place as grand and fortified as Cheffington, not even if they would have the desire to do so, if even a prize of war such as she would be worth the risk. Especially if Eric believed, even in the smallest way, that she had been willing to leave.

She was in a desperate situation. And probably on her own. But as yet, she didn't want Robert Neville to know that his bid to marry her had become more repugnant than ever, and that she would never consent to being his wife. She had never imagined that she would actually be afraid of him.

But then, when she had known him day by day before, Afton had been alive.

When she was at last alone in the chamber that had been given to her, she ate, bathed, and dressed, knowing that she had to keep her wits about her at all times. She sat by the fire in her close quarters, and thought carefully of every word she would say to Aidan, and then she rose and walked to her door, ready to discuss everything with him.

But when she reached the door, she found that it would not give. She pulled harder, and jerked at it, and still, she could not open it.

The door was bolted from the outside.

She had indeed left one prison for another.

Tomorrow, Lord Danby would arrive. And she would be indignant and furious, and demand to know how Robert Neville dared to lock her in, and keep her from the young earl, her brother.

She tried to still her growing sense of fear with the reassurance that Danby could, and would, protect her.

Until the time, at least, when she might be given over to the King of England.

There would be a way out before then, she assured herself. Edward would be very busy right now; the day was drawing near when all the men he had summoned to serve their feudal duty would arrive at the chosen meeting ground, and his great march to smash Robert Bruce would begin.

She was physically exhausted, and at last, with at least the illusion of assurance in her mind, she lay down to try to sleep. At last, she dozed, and then her sleep became deeper.

She didn't know what had wakened her, but her eyes flew open suddenly with a true sense of alarm.

“Igrainia.”

She bolted up. Robert Neville was in her room. Clean and shaven, elegant in an embroidered tunic. He was a handsome man with rich sable hair and smooth features, and he had apparently determined to look his best. He sat by the side of the bed, and was ready to set a hand upon her.

She skimmed back against the headboard, staring at him.

“What are you doing in here?” she demanded sharply.

“Igrainia, I've just come to see to your welfare. We are to be married, you know. You must be hurt, afraid, feeling very lost. I've just come . . . to be with you.”

“I was sleeping. Therefore, not hurt, afraid, or lost.”

“You have been in the hands of the barbaric enemy far too long. Forgive me if I want to put my arms around you, and comfort you.”

“Robert, you have to understand this—I wasn't hurt. And I can't marry you—I cannot marry anyone. I am already married.”

“Not by law!”

“By the Church, and the law of Scotland.”

“There is no sovereign Scottish law!”

She was on dangerous ground. If there truly was a God, he knew all about the evil in men. He would certainly understand any half-truth she gave in her desperation to ward off a man she was beginning to believe might be just as evil as any other. “There is the law of God, and I don't care to imperil my immortal soul.” She spoke both sincerely, and passionately.

And, at first, she thought that he had taken her words to heart.

He rose, walked to the fire as if thoughtfully, then turned on her. “You whore!” he said very softly. “You barely buried my cousin before entertaining the most wretched and evil of the men who killed him in the very bed where he died.”

The gentle compassion and pretense of care he had given was swept away with the fury of his tone.

She fought to keep her temper. “Get out, Robert.”

He came back to the bed, sitting at her side again, and taking her hand. “I'm sorry. They terrified and abused you. You were a victim of force and rape. I will try to remember that, though it may be hard at times to forget that the filthy hands of such a brutal wild man were on your flesh.”

She snatched her hand away. “Robert, understand this. I was not abused or harmed in any way. Nor was I raped. I cannot, will not, marry anyone until my case has been thoroughly studied by the most learned men in the Church.”

She saw his knuckles grow white against the sheets. “Who do you think you're talking to?” he suddenly demanded. “And who do you think you are? The king has said that I will have you, and Langley, and so I will.”

“It doesn't seem to me, after today, that you will have Langley,” she couldn't help but reply.

It was a mistake. He lunged at her, seizing her shoulders so quickly that she was given no chance to fly or fight back.

“I will take back what is mine by right!”

“Yours by right! Langley was Afton's, as I was Afton's wife. Afton is dead, and no thing of his is yours by right. Certainly, not I!!”

“And you would spurn me, but accept a highland savage in my stead!” She remained dead still, jaw clenched, staring at him. “Maybe I've not been forceful enough. I've not simply seen what I want, and gone for it.”

His fingers fell to the lacing at the top of her borrowed nightdress.

She screamed, as loudly as she could, shoving away his hand, using all her strength against him. To her amazement, she managed to push him down to the floor. He fell with a plunking sound, and sprawled there. For a moment, he stayed flat, then he pushed himself up to where he sat, and stared up at her, still stunned at her force of power, rage contorting his handsome features.

She had pushed him off a bed. That didn't mean that she could fight him and win if he was determined on force.

Retreat, and finding help, seemed her only salvation.

Robert Neville was starting to rise.

She turned and fled for the door, screaming again, shouting her brother's name.

She reached the door.

Robert Neville's fingers threaded into her hair, jerking her back with such brute force that long strands tore away in his fingers . . .

And yet he held her firmly, still.

She shouted for her brother again. Screamed.

Neville's hand clamped over her mouth so tightly that, in a matter of minutes . . .

The room began to spin to black.

It was late at night when the defenders of Langley caught up with the remnants of the English invaders on the road.

Eric was deeply disappointed. He had assumed that the party would stay together, keeping their force and numbers full in anticipation of an attack from the rear.

But they had not. They had chosen the best tactic for eluding capture. They had deserted anything heavy that they carried, they had left their wagons behind.

As they had left behind their own people, those who could not keep up.

Eric and his men had caught up with the injured, deserted on the road save for three women and two priests. The priests were reluctant to give information, and acted the part of men ready to become martyrs to their cause. There was no reason to press for information from them—one of the women was eager to talk. She was contemptuous of the great lord and imperious knights who had so easily left the injured and dying on the road.

They had sacrificed those who could not ride, and those who could not so much as walk or stand, those with broken bones, those bleeding to death. They did so, according to the sharp-faced, sharp-tongued Sir Niles Mason, in honor of their king, Edward of England, the rightful lord of this domain. The woman called herself a laundress, and was obviously a camp follower, but in her disdain for men who would leave their fellows to die, she was noble in her anger.

Eric could ill afford the men to remain with their injured enemy. But he had discovered that men, abused by those they had served loyally, had a tendency to become avid followers of a different man, and, in their bitterness to one, find a lasting loyalty to the other. It was decided that Jarrett, with a group of five able men-at-arms, would take on the slow and tedious task of returning with the injured to Langley.

“They deserted them to slow us down,” Jamie told Eric, as they sat on their horses, having divided their numbers.

“Partially,” Eric agreed. “And partially to get themselves off the road before we could catch them. They were hampered by the litters they bore, and they knew that we would be riding unencumbered.”

“They will have reached Cheffington long before we are able to do so,” Angus said. He looked at Eric, sympathy in his eyes. “And once they are behind the walls . . .”

“Once they are behind the walls,” Eric said. “We are ever more challenged to use our wits against them.”

“Cheffington is built of stone, and the walls are ten to twenty feet thick,” Angus reminded him.

“Angus, we can't ride through stone, no matter how thick,” Eric said. “There is only one way to make a fortress like Cheffington fall, and it's a tactic with which we should all be familiar.”

“And that is?” Jamie inquired, but looking at Eric he said softly, “When Nigel Bruce held Kildrummy castle, he had the strength and supplies to withstand a very long siege. But they were betrayed from within by the blacksmith who set fire to the stores of corn, and created an inferno, allowing the invaders in, and forcing the surrender.”

“Aye,” Eric said.

“We bring them down from within.”

Angus watched them both. “So . . . we must find a traitor among their ranks,” Angus mused. Then he grinned. “A traitor, or a host of loyal Scotsmen, afraid of Edward's power, but ready to cast their lot with a victorious force of their own countrymen. And . . . there may be many of them.”

“Exactly, Angus,” Eric said. “Exactly.”

Jamie was still watching him. “It is an ambitious undertaking,” he said. “Many men might see pure futility in it. And others might see certain death.”

“No man needs ride with me, if he fears I ask too much,” Eric said.

Jamie shrugged. “I have little else to do, except fight for country, in whatever fool way we find. But I am glad that you intend to force no man on such an errand. Especially when Edward's troops will soon amass, and our duty by right will be to find Robert Bruce's position, and defend him to the last.”

“I know that time is crucial,” Eric said. “In many ways.”

“Crucial, but still, you're going to have to give the men rest somewhere soon along the way,” Jamie pointed out. “And as eager as you are to reach Igrainia, we can't walk through stone walls. We must come to a halt until we've figured out how we're going to get the castle to crumble from within.”

He read the tempest in Eric's eyes.

“You must remember, Igrainia is with her brother, and he is young, and unproven—but he is an earl,” Jamie said.

“He was injured.”

“But not so severely—he was not among the wounded. Therefore, he can ride. Which surely means that he is fully conscious, and able to speak his mind regarding his sister. He is a peer of England, Eric, and can protect her.”

“It is just that I have been a prisoner of Sir Niles Mason, and I know how he treats those he despises—those he considers traitors. And I have come face to face with Robert Neville, a man eager for the butchery of “prescribed” execution. I have seldom seem a man so eager for power and glory.”

“It still remains that Igrainia is the daughter of a respected earl, though he may be deceased. And once again, she is in her brother's care.”

Eric nodded, and turned Loki. Angus and Jamie followed as they trotted back to the main body of men, waiting for their next command.

Eric announced that no man was obliged to follow him further, and he waited. No one left the ranks. Then he said, “We'll ride another hour tonight, make camp, and continue in the morning.”

“If any man can get us into Cheffington, Eric, it is you!” Timothy shouted. “And I will follow you to hell and back, if you ask it of me.”

A round of agreement rose.

“Let us hope we will not have to go so far,” Eric said dryly.

He saw that Gregory was watching him in silence. As he returned the boy's grave stare, Gregory lifted his hand, and pointed northward.

Eric turned his warhorse, and led the way in the darkness.

The door burst open. Despite his youth, Aidan made an imposing appearance. He was already very tall. Still slender, but well muscled. His eyes were the deep blue, almost violet color of her own, and as he burst into her room, they appeared almost black with indignation.

Robert Neville had disentangled himself from Igrainia the instant he had heard the door moving.

“She is so deeply distraught!” he said, as if greatly pained and hurt.

“Distraught! Robert Neville came into this room while I was sleeping, and intended rape!” she said furiously.

“Igrainia! Never would I lift a hand in force or violence to you!” Robert protested. But his tone changed slightly as he looked at Aidan. “Though she is to be my wife, and will be so, by the will and
power
of King Edward, she has been among those highland wild men far too long. I'm afraid she is suffering from it . . . in her mind.”

She had never known, or even suspected, that Robert Neville could be such an excellent actor. He stood behind her straight and dignified, and spoke as if he cared for her with the greatest tenderness in all the world.

She saw a flicker in Aidan's eyes, as if he doubted her word, and believed that under the circumstances, Robert could certainly be right.

“She may be in need of constant care and . . . observance,” Robert said.

“I am not in need of anything, except a night's sleep!” she snapped. She stared at Aidan. “I was married by a priest, Aidan. And I swear to you, this man risks his immortal soul and mine. I beg you, as my brother and head of my family, to protect me.”

“There is nothing she needs protection from!” Robert said, as if he were offended to the core that she could even imply any wrongdoing on his part.

Aidan spoke slowly and carefully. “Robert, I believe my sister is upset tonight; it has been a long and trying ride. Have patience. There are matters which must be brought before King Edward and the Church. As she may well be extremely distraught, I will watch over my sister tonight.”

“Naturally, as you say, Lord Abelard.”

He walked by Aidan, accepting his logic, but Igrainia saw his face as he passed her. She turned after him, ready to close the door as soon as she could after his departure.

He caught the door before she could press it closed against him and spoke softly, for her alone to hear. “Take great care, Igrainia. You will be my wife, and then you can scream until your throat closes, and there will be no one to help you. I will not forget your betrayal of Afton, or me.”

She forced the door closed and turned, leaning against it, meeting her brother's troubled stare.

“Sir Robert surely came to talk to you, and ease your mind after all that has happened,” he told her. “Igrainia, you know that the king has promised you to him. You will be his wife.”

“Aidan, I screamed for you because he was attacking me!”

“Are you certain that he wasn't just trying to com—”

“Yes, I'm certain!”

He turned and walked toward the hearth near the bed. “I had thought that it would be the most natural thing in the world for you. He is Afton's kinsman. He would regain Langley for the king, and for you. The home you had come to know would still be your own.”

“He was Afton's kinsman, yes, and as such, I cared for him. I did not realize until this occurred just how covetous he was of Afton, and all that was his.”

“You're against the marriage?”

“Aidan, I am married!” she insisted quietly.

“But King Edward can and will see such a marriage annulled.”

She wasn't sure that she wanted her brother to know just yet that she didn't want her marriage annulled.

“Aidan, I don't want to marry Robert Neville.”

He lifted a hand in a gesture of futility. “Igrainia, you're well aware of the working of the world. It was arranged that you should marry Afton.”

“Once again, I am already married.”

“You were forced into an unholy alliance.”

“Aidan, we may have been on opposite sides, but you're mistaken if you believe that I was cruelly used in any way. Eric is not a heathen, a wild man, or a barbarian. I have seen him be far more just than any of the English invaders in Scotland.”

Aidan turned away from her, studying the flames. She walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Aidan—”

He turned and studied her eyes, still troubled. “I wish that Father were still alive.”

“But he isn't, Aidan. You are the earl now.”

“An earl . . . and yet too often, these men think they can treat me as a boy. And the king thinks that I am his to mold. Igrainia, I don't know what to believe, or even what to say to you. King Edward considers you his ward to bestow as he sees fit. He has said that he will act as a father for you, since your own dear parent is dead and gone. I don't think that Edward even imagines that you might protest Robert Neville as a choice; and, as I did, he probably assumes that Robert Neville is already your friend, and would fill the void of the lord of Langley and husband to you better than any other man. But frankly, I don't think he'll care what your feelings are about the matter. Perhaps you had better reconcile yourself to Neville.”

“All right, Aidan, all I ask is this—until the matter is solved, I beg of you, and this you can demand as my brother—keep him out of my bedroom.”

He smiled at her, a slightly wicked smile that reminded her both of his youth, and of the wisdom he was rapidly gaining. “I'm here, aren't I? And Neville is out.”

“Yes. Thank you, Aidan.”

He was taller than she by several inches, and already, his physical stature demanded a certain respect. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep. I won't leave you. I'll be in the chair through the night.”

“Bless you, brother!” she told him. He took the chair by the fire, watching the flames. Igrainia crawled back into the bed, grateful to feel so safe.

But before she could drift into sleep, she said, “Aidan, I swear to you. Eric is a uniquely honorable man. He has never hurt me, and would not do so.”

She thought that Aidan hadn't heard her, or that he simply didn't have a reply, but after a moment he turned to her. “I suppose that I must believe that.”

“Why?” she asked, his tone causing her to lift her head from the pillow.

“We met, in the woods.”

“What?”

“We had a glorious assault planned. We even had word that there would be men staked out to ambush us, and we knew where they were supposed to be waiting. They found out that the information had slipped, and they ambushed us before we even neared Langley. We were fighting . . . and I wound up in combat with him. My sword was broken. He could have taken my head, then and there. But he recognized the Abelard crest and knew I was your brother. And he walked away.”