Rivals for the Crown (48 page)

man, on hating him, on the way he watched Isabel's every movement.

She rinsed the cloth out again, then pulled the shirt all the way open. It fell to his sides and she put the cloth against his stomach. Then his hip, then slid it lower. She moved the cloth again and he could not speak for a moment.

"Ye dinna have a knife in yer hand, do ye?" he asked her.

She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise, then laughed. "No. That was a special occasion. But mind that you do not anger me in the future."

"I'll remember that." She smiled softly, pulling the shirt closed across him, then stepped back and let the cloth fall into the water.

"Thank ye, lass," he said quietly.

"I love you, Rory."

"And I ye."

"Right," Henry said briskly, taking her elbow. "Let us go, Isabel."

"Keep her safe, Henry," he said.

"I intend to."

Isabel let Henry lead her out, pausing to look back at Rory through the bars while the guard locked the cell door. She gave him a wave of her hand. And then was gone. He could hear her footsteps echo on the stone, in step with de Boyer's.

TWENTY-ONE

Rachel handed Kieran both letters. Her father stood, arms
crossed, watching as Kieran read Henry de Boyer's letter first, then Isabel's. Kieran read both again, then lifted his gaze to meet hers, his beautiful eyes filled with grief.

"Ye were right to send word to me. I thank ye for that. I kent I should have gone with him." He looked at her father. "Sir, I ken ye dinna want me here, but Rory has been taken by the English."

"I know that," her father said. "And Isabel, fool of a girl, has no doubt gone back, thinking that she can do something about it."

Kieran and Jacob looked at each other for a long moment. Rachel's mother watched the two of them, then stepped forward.

"You'll be needing something to eat before you go," Mama said.

"I must get word of this to the others," Kieran said.

"You'll eat first," Mama said. "You'll think better on a full stomach."

Kieran almost smiled. "Aye. And I thank ye for it, madam."

"Will you go to Newcastle?" her father asked.

Kieran nodded. "I had half a mind to go before this, but now, aye, we will."

"If you find her, bring her back here," her father said.

Rachel looked at him in astonishment. Papa shrugged.

"She needs a home. We have one again. She should never have done what she did."

"You know why she did that," Rachel said.

Papa nodded. "I don't need a slip of a girl protecting my family. She needs us to protect her." He met Kieran's gaze. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Kieran's surprise was obvious. "I thank ye greatly, sir, but I canna accept yer offer. Ye risk death by going into England, and I canna ask that of ye. I would rather ye stayed here and make sure Rachel is safe. And all of ye, of course."

"Of course."

"If King Edward comes to Berwick, ye canna stay. I ken my family would welcome ye. My parents and brother and my sisters would make ye welcome, and Skye is far from England. Ye'd be safe there."

Papa pressed his lips together in the way he always did when he was trying not to show emotion. "Thank you, Kieran. We will keep that in mind."

He reached out his hand. Kieran shook it. Then cleared his throat and nodded to Rachel, then to her mother.

"Let's get you fed," Mama said. "All of you."

Rachel watched while Kieran and the others ate. The extraordinarily tall one was William Wallace, Kieran told her, the man who had made a name for himself by uniting the resistance in the south of Scotland. The man, who had been ignored by the nobles but was followed by the ordinary people. The man who he and Rory had been with for years now.

Kieran was polite, nothing more. There was no undue warmth in his tone when he spoke to her, no words that could not be overheard. There was a heaviness in his manner now—because of Rory, of course, she told herself. But she knew there was more. He watched her every movement. He seldom looked away from her, even when others were speaking to him. Nor she from him.

And Mosheh watched it all. Her husband, for he still was her husband despite their living apart, stood quietly near the wall, speaking only to her father. Mama welcomed him calmly, but Rachel had only nodded, not sure of her emotions. Did he think she would break their vows? Here, in her parents' home? Surely he must know her better than that? But perhaps he did know her and knew how thoroughly she regretted marrying him. It was not his fault that she'd wished she had not. The only one to blame for her pain now was herself.

The door banged open and was shut at once by a big burly man wrapped in fur and leather. "Brutal weather. Is your wife still cooking that good food, Jacob?"

"Of course," Papa said. "Any news, sir?"

"Nothing new," the man said. "It's two months since King Edward ordered Balliol to relinquish Berwick, Jedburgh, and Roxburgh, castles and boroughs all, and two months now that Balliol has not done so. And you have heard that Robert Bruce the elder has been appointed governor of Carlisle Castle?"

"Yes," Papa said. "Some time ago. And the younger Robert is with him."

The man nodded. "But what am I thinking? There is news. Edward has just ordered two hundred of his tenants in Newcastle to form a militia by March. There are knights and soldiers from his army already there."

Kieran and William Wallace glanced at each other.

"Looks like he plans on coming north," the man continued. "They caught a Highlander and paraded him through Newcastle." He nodded at Kieran and the others with him. "Lots of folks traveling just now."

Papa nodded and turned his back to the man, glancing at Mama, and putting his finger to his lips. Rachel looked at the traveler more closely. He was dressed as a Scot, as a Highlander even, but he was certainly no Highlander.

"Let's get some food for our guest," Papa said, then turned back to the man. "We have fine fish today, and chicken and beef as well. Take your choice, sir."

The man nodded but did not move. Kieran glanced at him; then, fishing coins from the purse at his waist and tossing them on the table, he stood. William and the others rose with him, thanking her parents for the food.

"Safe journey, sirs," Papa said with a wave of his hand.

"Going north or south, sirs?" the man asked.

"North. And you?" William Wallace asked, coming to stand before the man. The difference in their height was noticeable.

The man took a step back. "West for me."

"Too bad," William said. "We would have looked for you on the road." He went out the door and the others followed him.

Kieran lifted his hand in farewell and nodded to Mosheh as he passed. Ignoring her parents and Mosheh, Rachel hurried after Kieran. He was just outside the door, standing with the others as she hurried down the steps, stopping on the bottom one.

"Safe journey, Kieran," she said. "I will pray for your success. And for you."

Kieran nodded and looked behind her. She glanced back to see Mosheh coming to stand next to her, and Papa on the top step.

"Keep her safe," Kieran said to Mosheh. "If Edward comes, ye'll get her out of here, aye?"

Mosheh put a hand on her shoulder. "I will decide what is best for my wife and me, MacDonald."

"I ken ye are her husband, Mosheh, and I respect that. All I'm asking is that ye keep her safe from harm. Ye will not be safe here either if the English take over Berwick."

"I will decide what is best for us."

Kieran's eyes flashed. "If ye dinna keep her safe, I will."

Mosheh's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Do not come here again."

"Mosheh...," Rachel said.

Kieran nodded at Mosheh. "Good to ken the war is not lost then, sir. Rachel, take care of yerself. Jacob, thank ye for the meal."

"Bring us news when you can," Papa said.

"Aye, sir, we will." Kieran gave Rachel a half smile and joined the others.

Rachel and Mosheh watched them out of sight.

"Rachel," Mosheh said, "you need to come home."

She gestured at the inn. "I am home, Mosheh."

"No," Mosheh said. "Your home is with me."

"I am sorry," Rachel said. "More than I can ever let you know, I am sorry."

"We are married, Rachel. We'll work this out."

She looked down the street, where Kieran had gone, then patted Mosheh's arm. "I am sorry."

"It will pass, Rachel. This feeling you have for him, it will pass. And I will be here, waiting."

Her eyes filled with tears. "From your lips, Mosheh. Would that it were so."

"Do you wish it, Rachel?" She did not answer at first, then nodded. "Yes," she said. And knew she was lying.

Isabel paced the small room. The day was almost over and still she had not decided what to do. Henry had brought her the word this morning: Walter Langton was coming to Newcastle. To find her.

The news was all through the court and the king's army that Langton had found the woman who had maimed him, Henry said. Langton had had men searching for her since Berwick. When they'd found her in Newcastle with Florine's help, they'd sent word to Langton. He had started north at once, using King Edward's troop buildup in Newcastle as his excuse for the journey.

It terrified her, the thought of being in his power. Here, even more so than in Berwick, he would be able to do what he wanted. And she knew he would want revenge of the most foul sort.

She should never have come to this inn, full of soldiers. She'd heard multiple versions of her attack on Langton, some so detailed that she'd wondered at the story. But someone, she'd realized, had had to repair the damage she had done, and although certainly Langton must not have wanted it known, the story would not have been held in confidence. Some of the versions were so extreme as to be amusing. Or would have been if she had not been one of the players involved. And, of course, there were myriad ribald comments associated with any version of the story. The men who talked within her hearing had no idea that she was the woman who had attacked Langton, and she was well aware that they would gladly hold her prisoner for him if they got wind of who she was.

She had to leave Newcastle. But.. .How could she leave Rory? But how would it help Rory to have her in Langton's clutches? She had asked herself the questions all day.

"Madam." Her landlady's voice was almost a welcome interruption.

"Yes?" Isabel called.

"Another of your 'brothers' is here. He awaits below."

Another?

She kept her voice calm. "Thank you," she said through the door and heard the sound of her landlady leaving.

Only Henry knew where she was, for he had accompanied her here after their visit to Rory. The landlady had snorted when Henry, who knew some of the men in the inn, had introduced her as his sister. And Henry had given Isabel a glance as though to say he'd known her idea would not work.

She'd told Henry of seeing his former squire, and of him recognizing her. Henry had assured her that the man had no interest in betraying her, but how could he know what was in another's heart? Money did strange things to people, and every new knight had many expenses, some unexpected. Had he told

someone that she'd been in Newcastle? But so many knew that already, which was why Langton was on his way. She shook her head to clear it, knowing that she was on the edge of hysteria.

Dear God, let It not be Langton.

She leaned her forehead against the wooden door, trying to calm herself. There was no choice. She could not continue like this. She straightened and took a deep breath, making sure her dagger was tucked in the garter on her leg, and that the coins were still sewn in her hem. Fewer now, for she'd had to use some to pay for her lodgings and travel here. She wrapped her cloak around Rory's. She was ready to flee if necessary. She threw a glance at her satchel, never unpacked, standing near the door. She'd leave it if she had to.

She slowly crept down the stairs to the ground floor, looking into every dim corner, listening for every creak of wood. The sound of male voices floated up from below, the normal jovial chatter, which cheered her. She'd been afraid there would be silence there, while the soldiers waited for the infamous Isabel de Burke to be apprehended.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, in the foyer. The door to the outside was ten feet away, the door to the tavern room to her right, open. Was this her chance to escape? She took one step, then another, her heart pounding.

"Isabel."

The voice was a whisper. Male, but not Langton's voice, and she closed her eyes, breathing a prayer. She turned to see a figure step out of the shadow at the far end of the corridor. Tall. Dressed in a dark tunic and leggings.

She whirled around and ran for the door. One step. Two. Her hand on the door latch. And another, larger, male, placed over it.

"Isabel. It's me," he whispered.

For the briefest of moments she thought it was Rory, but she turned to look into the eyes of a man who was almost as welcome. Kieran MacDonald nodded.

"Aye, lass, it's me. D'ye have any things here?"

"Rory's sword. My satchel."

"Go and get them."

"Was it you, waiting for me?"

"Aye. We're getting ye out of here now. We'll talk later. Hurry."

She scurried back up the stairs and down again, hiding her satchel behind her skirts when two men, far into their cups, passed her in the narrow hallway. One leered at her, the other just looked, but mercifully neither stopped. And then she was with Kieran again. He took her satchel, nodded to someone behind her, and

opened the door. No one seemed to notice as they left, she, Kieran, and somehow two other men whom she had not even seen. A reminder, she told herself, that she was not good at this sort of thing.

They did not speak as they hurried down one dark street after another, turning so many corners that she became completely disoriented. At last, after what seemed like far too much walking to still be in the city, Kieran opened the door to a narrow house and walked into the dark.

There were eight of them altogether, Kieran said. He, William Wallace—the impossibly tall man who watched her silently—and Edgar Keith, who embraced her warmly, had come into Newcastle. Five others waited outside the city walls. She embraced both Kieran and Edgar, and shook William's hand.

"I am sorry for all your troubles," William said, his sincere tone undoing her.