Rivals for the Crown (45 page)

She would leave in the morning, she determined, as soon as the city gates were opened at dawn—which, since it was December, would be late. But at least there would be daylight when she determined where to go. She dared not book passage on a ship, for if she was being watched, the harbor would be one of the first places she would be sought. No, it was best to slip through the city gates, simply dressed, and melt into the crowds passing the guards.

How long, she wondered, did she have, before the old woman took the money Langton's men offered? Had she been a fool not to offer more money for the woman's silence, if even to buy only a day? But if she was correct, if someone was following her, it was already too late.

As she left the merchant's house at day's end, she told his wife that her own cousin was among the soldiers, and begged the next day to visit with him. The merchant's wife, her mood softened by the wine at the midday meal, granted Isabel's request, saying she could make up the time by attending another event at the castle. Isabel left then, smiling, taking one last look at the house where she had found refuge, thanking the merchant's wife more profusely than she should, knowing that when she disappeared the merchant's wife would remember this conversation.

She was not good at subterfuge and lies, she decided as she stepped outside. But she would have to do it all over again, have to create a new person, a new past, a new name for herself. No more French or Latin. Few people—fewer women—in England spoke and wrote both, and she was convinced that using her abilities there had led to her discovery.

Unless it was Edgar. But surely Rachel's brother-in-law, kind Edgar, who had been so careful not to give her away.. .surely Edgar had not betrayed her. But had he told someone, who'd told someone?.. .He had been going to Berwick straight away, he'd said, to tell Rachel. It had been more than two months, plenty of time for the message to reach London, for Langton to send men to Newcastle. What if it had been Edgar, inadvertently revealing her

whereabouts? That meant she could not even dream of going to Berwick. Nor London.

One step at a time. First, leave Newcastle. No, she corrected herself, first leave this doorstep, where the merchant's page watched her as though she'd been behaving strangely. It was dark already. The lanterns at the door of the merchant's house shed some light into the street but not beyond, and she stepped down into the street knowing that she was visible to those who watched, the ones she could not see.

She heard no footsteps behind her, and took a very circuitous route to her room, pausing often to look around her, to wait in a doorway, or just within an alley, to see if someone also paused. She saw no one. And at last she reached her street, then her house, where all was quiet. She could see a line of light under the older woman's doorway and hurried past, keeping her steps as light as she could as she climbed the stairs.

She paused again outside her door, her heart pounding as she fumbled for her key. In the morning, in the morning, she told herself. She put the key in the door and heard the latch click. And a noise from behind her, where the stairs continued to rise.

She turned, staring into the dark. Nothing.

Then a body, big, moving quickly, burst from the shadows. One large hand covered her mouth, the other wrapped around her waist, and she was bundled into her room. She struggled, but he held her fast, his chest hard against her back. He released her waist and quietly closed the door, then pulled her to him again. She kicked at his legs and clawed at his hand, trying to scream. His head leaned low, his mouth next to her ear.

"Isabel. Lass. It's me. Rory. I've come to take ye home."

She spun in his arms and faced him, putting a hand on his cheek. "Rory! Oh, Rory! Tell me it is really you!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her vision blurred. She threw both arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Whist, lass, shhh! It's me, true enough."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up to meet his mouth. One kiss, sweet and short, then another, longer this time. His lips were warm and she closed her eyes,
savouring
the feel of them on hers, of his arms holding her against him, his body long and hard. She could feel the moment he abandoned his restraint, lifting her higher against him, leaning her back over his arm, demanding that she open to him. She did, the feel of his tongue dancing with hers filling her with yearning, with a need she had suppressed for so long. His thigh pressed against hers, his chest meeting her breasts. His desire for her was obvious. And she melted, pulling him closer, devouring his mouth. His lips left hers, traced a line of kisses down her neck, then back to meet hers for another long moment. He pulled away far too soon.

"Isabel, ye are in danger. We have to get ye out of here."

"Rory, how is it ye're here?"

"I came for ye, lass, as soon as I heard where ye were. Edgar told Kieran. I would have been here sooner, but we've been in the north and only just came back to Lothian. Isabel, I thought I'd lost ye forever."

She strained to kiss him again, but he shook his head.

"Not now. But later, lass, and we'll make up for the time we've lost. We have to get ye out of here."

Her mind started to clear. She looked around the dark room, then stepped back from him, searching for the candle and flint she kept near the door. Her hands were shaking, but at last she got the candle lit and looked from it to him. He filled the small room, his head almost to the ceiling, his shoulders wider than she'd remembered. Edgar was right; Rory had changed. There were lines at the edge of his eyes and around his mouth. His lips were thinner, his jaw more defined. He had been lean before, but he was honed, like steel now. His hair, that glorious mane of gold, was braided at his temples and flowed past his shoulders, and pale stubble was just making its appearance on his cheeks. He looked dangerous.

She tore her gaze from his. "Rory, are you still outlawed?"

"Aye."

"It's dangerous for you to be here."

"Aye."

"I was followed today."

"Aye, ye were. I was one of them, lass, but yer neighbor, the one ye went to Mass with, she sold ye today. After ye came out from the church, she took money from one of the men who was watching ye."

Isabel put a hand over her mouth. "I didn't think she would do it yet."

"Yet?"

"I knew she would." Isabel told him of the conversations she and the older woman had had. "I was planning to leave in the morning."

"No telling what could happen before then. Hurry. Get yer things. I was followed as well. Come, lass, what d'ye need?"

She threw a look around the room. After the first conversation with Florine, when the soldiers had arrived in Newcastle, she had begun to prepare. Her clothing, what little there was, was folded in readiness. Her hair combs, the boar bristle hairbrush her grandmother had given her when she was a child, her cloak, and the few small treasures she had were already inside the leather satchel. She had spent the day thinking of what she needed to do.

There was cheese and bread on the board, quickly wrapped in cloths. A stone bottle of wine, thrown into the satchel. She left the rest. The sheets, threadbare and patched many times, were not worth taking. She'd found the rug on the floor at the side of the road; the same with the cloths she'd sewn to cover the shuttered window. One candlestick, made of wood. Nothing to mark her time here, nothing to tell anyone who she was.

She picked up her satchel. "I'm ready."

He took the satchel from her hand and leaned to kiss her again. "I love ye, Isabel de Burke. Let's get ye out of here and start to ken each other someplace where it's safe, aye?"

She smiled, her heart singing. "And I love you, Rory." She put her hand on his cheek and stroked his
jaw line
. "I cannot believe you are here."

"Nor I, lass. Now blow out the candle. I'll go first."

He led her through the streets as though he had been the one living here, his pace quick, but not so quick as to draw attention. The churches were full, and they passed many revels. It was Yuletide, and Newcastle was celebrating both the season and the arrival of so many of Edward's men. He led her close to the castle, down a narrow street and then into a dark corner across from a squalid inn.

"Stay here," Rory said. "I have to get my horse and my things."

"But it's dark. The city gates will be closed already."

"They open with the right number of coins, lass. Shhh."

The night seemed to close in as soon as he was gone. She shivered, both from the cold and from her awareness of the danger they were in. Two men lurched out of the inn, obviously well into their cups. One staggered to the side of the building, and a moment later she could hear the sound of urine hitting the wall. They left at last, telling each other disgusting jokes and bragging about their prowess in bed. And still Rory did not come.

Three soldiers, still in uniform, came down the street, stopping not far from where she hid, arguing about which tavern to enter. The argument intensified and one left, still shouting obscenities to the others, who laughed and went inside. The street grew quiet, but she could hear laughter and voices from the inns around her. A rat ran across the street, disappearing into the shadows not far from her.

And then, at last, Rory rode out of the darkness, riding a tall bay, and leading a smaller dark horse. He dropped to the ground and without a word helped her atop the horse, strapping her satchel onto the rear of his horse, then returning to her, gesturing her to lean close to him.

He kissed her, then let her go, his hand cupping her cheek for a moment. "Say nothing, lass, if ye can help it. We're going to bribe the guards at the gate. I want ye to hide that face best ye can. If they see how bonnie ye are they'll remember ye. We want to be forgotten, aye?"

She nodded. He leapt atop the horse and led the way.

At the city wall the gate was closed. Rory slid from the horse and knocked at the gatekeeper's door, talking in quiet tones when the man answered. She saw Rory fill his hand, and a moment later the gates were opened and they were outside Newcastle.

He gave her a wide grin and danced his horse in a circle, giving the city a mock salute. She laughed, throwing her head back and taking a deep breath of the cold night air. They had done it. And now it was time to face the future. Together. She laughed out loud and he grinned again.

They rode northwest, riding quickly as soon as they were clear of the city. They rode for what seemed like hours, and might well have been, for she watched the moon cross the sky. Her ebullient mood had faded with the moon's progress. She was exhausted and aching from the cold and her fear. Rory seemed unaffected, cheerful even. At last he slowed their pace, gesturing to her to be silent.

"We're almost there, lass. I've been there before, but it's been a long time. There's a place I'm thinking we can try. A'right with

ye?"

She nodded.

It proved to be a cluster of small cottages atop a small hill overlooking the river below. Rory woke the owner, who grumbled but, wrapping his
night robe
about him, led them to a cottage a bit apart from the others. He unlocked it, disappeared inside, and lit a candle, the light glowing from within. He handed Rory the key with a nod. And was gone.

Rory pushed the door open and looked inside. "He said I can put our horses in the stable, lass. I'll be back."

She nodded and watched him walk away, then she went into the cottage. It was clean, a box bed in a corner, a fireplace, a flint nearby, two chairs, and a table that held the candle and a vase with a sprig of holly stuck in it. Holly. But she would not think of Henry now.

There was a door in the rear of the cottage that led to a small lean-to full of stacked firewood. She carried wood in and lit a fire, then roamed the room, trying to put her hair to sorts. One bed. Two people. There was a barrel of water in a corner and a basin nearby, with thin cloths in it for washing. She filled the basin and set the kettle on the fire to warm some water.

"It looks right, ye ken," he said as he closed the door behind him. "To see ye thus, Isabel, waiting for me. I have dreamed of this." He pulled off his cloak and tossed it on the chair.

She straightened with a smile. "And I as well. Now tell me everything."

He shook his head. "There's time for that later." He crossed the space between them, holding out his arms. "Come to me, lass."

She did, sliding into his embrace and raising her mouth for his kiss. He took possession of her mouth, lunging into her with his tongue, exploring every portion of her. She returned the kiss with all the passion she possessed, pressing closer to him, wishing to meld with him, to be one.

He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. "I was afraid ye wouldna want to see me, that ye'd tell me to leave ye alone."

"Never," she said breathlessly, reaching to pull his mouth back to hers. "I want you, Rory. Now. Forever." She slid her hand along his collarbone and under the opening of his shirt. "Take it off. I want to see you."

He held her gaze as he unpinned the brooch that held his plaid over his shoulder, then unbuckled his belt and let it slide to the floor with the plaid, a puddle of wool at his feet. He smiled.