The Chase (3 page)

“What the devil be ye doin'?”

Blake glanced up to see a mixture of dismay and disgust on Angus Dunbar's face.

“Ye doona wear a plaid like that, ye great gowkie! Ye insult me plaid in the wearin'.”
Finished tying the braies, he reached out and grabbed one end of the cloth. He tugged it
from Blake's hold, then dropped it on the floor and knelt to fold it in pleats. Blake
watched closely, amazed at the speed the man displayed in the action and wondering if he
would be able to replicate it himself. Doubtful, but if he did, it certainly would not be
with the same speed.

“There!” The Dunbar sat up straight and looked up at him. “Lay on it.” “Lay on it?” Blake
asked with confusion. “Aye. Lay on it.” Blake gaped. “Surely you jest?”

“Lay on the demn thing!” the older man roared impatiently.

Blake muttered under his breath and lowered himself to the ground to lay atop the pleated
plaid. As soon as he had, the laird began tugging at the material. A mere second or so
later, he stood and gestured for Blake to rise as well, then finished fitting the plaid
about him.

“There.” He peered over his handiwork, then shook his head. “I fear it doesna look as good
on ye as it does on me,” he announced, and there were mutters of agreement all around. “Ye
look like a Sassenach atryin' to look like a Scot. Ah, well...” Shrugging, he glanced down
at the new clothes he wore. “I daresay I suit your clothes much better. What diya be
thinkin', lads?” Holding out his arms, he turned in a circle to model the outfit. “Think
ye I'll be impressin' Lady Iliana's mother, the Lady Wildwood?”

There was a rumble of approval, then Angus Dunbar turned to take in Blake's sorrowful
expression.

“Doona fash yerself over it, Sassenach. Ye have enough on yer plate just now. Go fetch yer
bride.” He grinned, some of his grimness falling away as he added, “If ye can.”

Blake stiffened, his face flushing at the chuckles the last three words caused. He was not
used to being the butt of someone else's humor and did not care for it, but there was
little he could do about it at that moment, so he whirled on his heel and strode toward
the door, Little George at his back.

Angus Dunbar pursed his lips and watched Blake stride away. He waited until the men had
left the keep, then moved back to his seat and took a long swallow of ale as he glanced
around at his men. His gaze finally settled on Gavin, one of his finest fighters and most
trustworthy of men. He called the soldier to his side.

“Aye, me laird?”

“Take two men and follow them, lad,” he instructed. “The young Sherwell's just fool enough
to get hisself killed, and then his fool English father and the English king would blame
us. See he finds his way there without gettin' lost.”

“I cannot take it! I simply cannot!” Lady Elizabeth Worleyabbess of St. Simmian'ssnapped
the words with frustration as she dropped onto the cushioned seat behind her magnificent
oak desk.

Biting her lip anxiously, Sister Blanche grabbed up a piece of parchment and fanned the
woman's face as she searched her mind for the correct words to calm her superior. Lady
Elizabeth's short temper was well known, as was her tendency toward precipitous action
when she lost that temper. It was always best to soothe her if one could.

“Forbear, Mother, we must forbear,” she said at last, adding hopefully, “God has seen fit
to trial us thusly and he would not trial us with more than we could bear.”

“Poppycock!” Elizabeth waved her efforts away with irritation. The abbess was an
Englishwoman through and through. She had become a nun to avoid marriage to a particularly
odious English nobleman over twenty years earlier. Unfortunately, the nunnery was a
popular escape for women unhappy with their marital options, and there had been few
positions in England at the time that she had not felt beneath her. Hence she had ended up
an English abbess in a nunnery in the center of savage Scotland. 'Twas better than a
position as a mere sister in an English abbey, or so she had thought back then. She no
longer thought so. The speech of these heathens grated on her nerves like sand in her
slippers. Lady Elizabeth was heartily sick of their barbarous ways and language. After
twenty years of living here, she was fresh out of the patience needed to deal with the
Scottish female who now sought sanctuary, and she would in no way believe it was the will
of God that she should.

“ 'Twas by no will of God Seonaid Dunbar was sent here.” She slammed one hand flat on her
desktop. “ 'Twas the devil!”

Sister Blanche's eyes widened, her worry deepening. “Oh, surely not!”

“Aye.” The abbess nodded firmly. “She is the spawn of the devil, I tell you. Sent to
trifle with our goodness and lead us unto temptation.”

“Temptation?” Sister Blanche didn't bother to hide her doubt. “Aye. To break one of the
commandments.” “Which of the ten commandments, my lady?” “Thou shalt not kill.”

Blanche's jaw dropped, her eyes near popping out of her head. “Oh, sweet Jesu! You should
not speak so!”

“ 'Tis true.” The abbess smiled grimly at the fear and anxiety in the other woman's face.
“I would delight in spilling her blood.”

“My lady!”

“Aye, well...” Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Let us just hope her Englishman follows quickly and
saves me from my sinful thoughts.” Reaching into her desk, she searched out a skin of
whiskey as she added in a mutter, “ 'Ere I actually do the deed.”

Sister Blanche frowned at the sight of the abbess partaking of spirits. “She will not go
to her betrothed willingly. 'Tis why she is here.”

“Nay, but he can fetch her out.”

“Fetch her? But how? 'Tis a house of God. Men are not allowed here.”

The abbess took a large swig of whiskey, then recapped the skin before commenting dryly,
“Men often do things they are notallowed to do.”

“Aye, but the gate is metal and always barred. And the wallHe will not be able to breach”
“You will unbar it.” “W-what?” Blanche stammered. “When they are spotted coming, you will
unbar the door.”

“I? But” Blanche peered at her, at a loss. She simply could not believe what she was
hearing. “But you promised Lady Seonaid sanctuary. She paid a”

“She did not pay nearly enough. The coins she gave may have covered what she broke on her
first day here, but no more.”

“Surely you exaggerate, my lady,” Blanche argued quickly. “ 'Tis true she overset one or
two things at first, but that was because her sword knocked them as she passed. Now you
have taken it away, she has broken hardly a thing.”

“I would not call Sister Meredith's foot, 'hardly a thing.'”

Blanche grimaced at the reminder of poor Sister Meredith's foot. “Oh, aye, but Lady
Seonaid never meant to harm Sister Meredith. It was an accident.”

“Everythingis an accident with Lady Seonaid.” Lady Elizabeth grimaced her disgust.

Unfortunately, it was true. Lady Seonaid did seem particularly accident-prone, so Sister
Blanche tried a different approach. “She has a good heart, Mother. 'Tis just she is so
uncomely tall, and not very comfortable with it, and having grown up in the company of her
father and brother she is unsure in a female environment.”

“I swear by my faith in the holy God, Blanche, you would have a kind word and a pint of
sympathy for a viper,” she muttered, then glared at the woman. “You have my instructions,
Sister. When the Englishman is seen to be approaching, you will send the workers from the
gardens. Once everyone is indoors, you are to unbar the gate.”

“But”

“Do not 'but' me, Blanche! I have given you your orders and you shall carry them out, else
I will send you back to England in disgrace.”

Blanche went still. She too was an Englishwoman, though she had joined the order on a
calling, not simply to escape an unpleasant marriage. As the daughter of a lesser baron,
she had not been given a choice of where to serve her Lord. She had been sent to Scotland
because it was where she had been needed. Blanche had served her Lord and the people here
as well as she was able. Unlike the abbess, she found the Scots colorful and brave and had
made many friends among the other sisters, most of whom were Scottish. She had no wish to
return to her family in England in disgrace. However, neither did she wish to betray Lady
Seonaid. Despite the woman's rough ways and clumsiness, Blanche found she liked her. In
her opinion, there was a certain feistiness and honor about Seonaid Dunbar she found
admirable. The Scottish maiden also had a rough charm and good sense of humor.

Perhaps there was a way to do as she was ordered without betraying the woman.

“Diya hear that?”

Aeldra paused and cocked her head. “Someone's aweepin'.”

“Hmmm.” Moving forward, Seonaid followed the soft sobs until she reached the chapel door.
She paused briefly, hesitant to intrude, but found she couldn't just ignore the
heartrending sounds. Heaving a sigh, she opened the door.

The chapel was where all the nuns and lay sisters met to recite Matins and Lauds, which
Seonaid had sat through dutifully for two weeks. Five hours a day of prayer in this huge
cave of a room lit only by an array of candles on the altar and along the side walls. The
amount of candles used would have lit up the average chamber to the brightness of
daylight, but only ever seemed to give the chapel a soft glow.

'Twas probably a good thing, Seonaid thought, averting her eyes from the walls as she had
since the first time she had entered and dared to glance at them in the dim light. From
the brief perusal, she knew she would not wish for better lighting to look at the
tapestries. They were all religious in nature, depictions of Christ and several saints.
Unfortunately, they seemed to portray the more gruesome aspects of their lives

or, more to the point, their deaths. There was the crucifixion of Jesus, the beheading of
Saint Barbara, the massacre of Saint Ursula along with 11,000 virgins, and a portrayal of
Saint Catherine being broken on the wheel.

The making of the tapestries was what the sisters occupied themselves with while not
praying. Seonaid knew they were presently working on a piece depicting the stoning of
Saint Stephen. Finished with the most gruesome martyrings of the female saints, it seemed
they were moving on to the men.

Ah, well, 'twas not her concern, she supposed; then her eyes widened in surprise as she
finally spied the woman kneeling before the altar. She had expected it to be one of the
sisters, weeping over a punishment by the abbess, but instead it was the only other woman
presently seeking sanctuary besides Aeldra and herself. Lady Helen. The woman was English
and had arrived just the evening before. Seonaid had heard little about her. No one had
told her why Lady Helen sought sanctuary, but she suspected it was something to do with a
nasty, overbearing husband or some such thing. Had it just been an untenable marriage she
was avoiding, the woman surely would have sought sanctuary in an English abbey rather than
run all the way up here to the middle of Scotland.

A nudge from behind told Seonaid she had tarried too long in the door and Aeldra was
becoming impatient to see what was about. Seonaid stepped into the chapel, aware that the
smaller woman followed as she walked up the center aisle toward the altar and the woman
kneeling there.

“How do you plan to get her out of the abbey?”

Blake gave a shrug of unconcern. “The moment she sees me she will come out.”

“She will?” Rolfe sounded dubious.

“Certainly.”

“I see.” He pondered the idea briefly. “Then why ever did she flee to the abbey in the
first place?”

“She had yet to see me and had no idea what I looked like,” Blake responded promptly.

“Ah.” Rolfe nodded. “So, as soon as she sees your fair visage”

“She shall drop to the ground like a ripe plum and prostrate herself at my feet.”

“Of course, she will,” Rolfe agreed with amusement.

“Women have always reacted with favor to my looks.”

“So I have heard.”

“ 'Tis a curse, really.”

“Hmm. You have my sympathies,” Rolfe said dryly, then added, “There is just one thing that
concerns me.”

“What?”

“How is she going to see your fair visage and be overcome? She will be within the abbey
walls, and we without. Only holy men are allowed past the gate.”

Blake scowled. “I do not yet know. I have been thinking on it since leaving Dunbar Castle,
but” He shrugged before glancing at the man riding beside him. “ 'Tisn't really my problem
anyway. You are the one who was supposed to arrange everything. I was simply to travel to
Dunbar for the execution.”

Rolfe's lips turned up in amusement. “An execution, is it?”

“It might as well be.”

“ 'Tis sure I am Amaury thought 'twas something similar he was traveling to as well,”
Rolfe said with a shrug. “Yet look how happy he and Emma are now.”

A reminiscent smile claimed Blake's mouth as he thought of his friend, Amaury de Aneford,
his little wife, Emmalene, and their fond farewell to him. “Aye, 'tis happy enough he is.
He was sure Emma would be a hag. Did you know?”

“Nay.” “Aye. He swore her first husband killed himself rather than go home and perform his
duty.” “Really?”

Rolfe sounded irritated. Glancing at him sharply, Blake noted the tightness around his
lips and reminded himself the man was little Emma's cousin. “Of course, that was afore he
set eyes on her. Once he saw how pretty she was, he was fair relieved. Howbeit, that was
Amaury and Emma, Lady Seonaid is hardly the same tankard of ale.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes. “You have not yet even met her.”

Blake shrugged. “She is a Scot. And a Dunbar,” he added tightly. “ 'Tis all I need to
know.”

Gaze curious, Rolfe asked, “What caused the falling out your father had with Angus Dunbar?
I understand they were as close as brothers at one time.”

Blake was silent for a moment, then admitted, “I am not sure. Father would never speak on
it. Howbeit, it must have been a fair filthy deal, for he has, as far back as I can
recall, called the man horrid names and slighted him at every turn.”

“Hmm.” Rolfe stared at the trees they passed through, then shrugged his curiosity aside.
“As to gaining your bride from the abbey, mayhap Bishop Wykeham could be of some
assistance there.”

“What was that, my son?” Catching mention of his name, the bishop urged his mount up
between the two men and peered from one to the other expectantly.

“Blake and I were just discussing how to get the girl out of the abbey. I thought mayhap
you could aid in the endeavor?”

“Hmmm.” Bishop Wykeham's gentle face turned thoughtful as he considered the problem, then
his bushy

gray eyebrows rose and a wry smile came to his face, tugging upward at the wrinkles
residing there. “ 'Tis true that as a man of God, they would allow me in where the gates
'twould be barred to you. I suppose I could talk to the chit, but 'tis all I can do,” he
warned. “I cannot force her from her sanctuary.”

“Thank you, Bishop,” Blake said, and wondered if he might yet escape the marriage. If he
did, he would owe the little Scottish wench his thanks. Mayhap he could send her some
bonbons, or a bolt of fabric.

“There 'tis.”

Blake glanced up at Rolfe's announcement as they rode out of the trees. They were only
about fifty yards from the stone wall surrounding the abbey. Tensing in the saddle, he
nudged his horse and urged him forward. In the next few minutes he would either gain his
bride or fail and continue to be a happy man. It was time to determine his future.

Reaching the gate, Blake dismounted and moved swiftly to the bell pull. He was about to
give it a tug when a crack between the door and the wall caught his attention. Frowning,
he reached up and gave the wooden door a tentative nudge. It gave a squeal of protest but
slid an inch open. Blake stilled, little currents of unease running up the back of his
neck. This was not right, and it brought a grim frown to his face as he reached for his
sword. “The door is unbarred.”

“What?” Rolfe dismounted to join him.

“Nay.” The bishop shook his head. “You must be mistaken, Blake. The gate is always barred.
There are too many who seek sanctuary within to” His words came to an abrupt halt when a
gentle push from Rolfe sent the door sliding open a little farther. The prelate stared in
amazement, then muttered with disgruntlement, “Well! That is not very secure.”

Blake pushed the door the rest of the way open. His gaze ran over the empty flower and
herb gardens before turning to the building beyond. “Nay. 'Tis not safe at all.”

“Damn me!” The bishop scrambled off his own horse and joined the other two men peering
through the opening.