The Chase (5 page)

“What for?” Helen peered from one woman to the other when Aeldra nodded. “Me sword.” She
grimaced. “The abbess took it away. Aeldra's too.” “But if she took them away” Aeldra
shrugged. “We took 'em back. Pinched'em while she snored away in drunken ignorance.” “In
drunken? Nay! The abbess drinks?”

“Aye.” Seonaid did not appear the least concerned by the fact. “She can toss it back like
the best of warriors.”

“Aye.” Aeldra grinned.

Helen shook her head at the raw admiration in both women's voices.

“Come along, then.” Seonaid followed Aeldra toward the door, then suddenly stopped and
wheeled on Helen. “Mayhap ye should wait here. We could come back for ye.”"

“Nay.” The Englishwoman shook her head firmly. “I feel safer in the company of you two
ladies than I have since overhearing Lord Rollo's plans for me. I wish to stay with you.”

Seonaid pursed her lips and considered her for a moment, then nodded. “All right, then let
us go.” She gestured to Aeldra, who still stood by the door. The smaller woman pressed her
ear to the wood surface, then frowned and turned quickly back. “Someone comes.”

Cursing roundly, Seonaid grabbed Helen's arm and hurried her back to the tapestry. She
paused there just long enough for Aeldra to slide behind it, then shoved Helen in and
quickly followed just as the door opened.

Seonaid pressed herself against the wall and cursed the fates for allowing this to happen
when she didn't have her blade. She held her breath and tried to listen to what was
happening in the room but could hear no sound over the pounding of her own heart. When the
silence seemed to go on interminably, Seonaid opened her mouth and took a cautious breath,
remembering well what had happened the last time she had breathed in through her nose.

After several minutes of silence, she decided whoever had opened the door must have merely
peered in and moved on. Seonaid was about to tug the tapestry aside and slip out when a
scuffling sound reached them. Someone's foot had knocked against one of the pews. Had
their hiding place been discovered?

“Lady Seonaid?”

She stiffened at the whispered query from the other side of the tapestry, then tugged it
aside as she recognized the voice.

“Sister Blanche!” Her gaze shot about the empty room; then she grabbed the woman's hand
and tugged

her behind the tapestry with them. “What do you? There are men in the abbey.”

“Aye, I know.” Sister Blanche sighed. “I have been looking for you for near half an hour
to warn you. The Englishman is come.”

Seonaid blinked in the darkness behind the tapestry. “Nay. They are Scots.”

“Nay. I saw them when they crested the hill; 'twas Englishmen. They carried the king's
banner. 'Tis sure I am.”

“Ken you many Englishmen who wear plaids?” Seonaid asked, and sensed the woman's shock in
the darkness.

“Plaids?” “Aye, the man I saw wore a plaid.” “A plaid? Nay.” She shook her head fervently,
stirring up the dust. “You must be mistaken.”

“He stood not ten feet away, Sister. His knees were naked, I tell ye. 'Tis Scots who have
breached the abbey; 'tis why we've hidden Lady Helen. 'Tis the Cameron, I'm sure. We must
see her out of here. Ye ken what'll happen to her if she falls into Cameron's hands.”

The silence following her announcement was long and thick; then Sister Blanche began to
move. She was out from behind the tapestry in a heartbeat. Following her, Seonaid watched
with amazement as the woman began to tug at her clothes, dragging the habit off with
little thought or warning.

“What are ye doing?” she asked with amazement.

“I left the door unbarred,” was Sister Blanche's grim answer. “Mother Elizabeth ordered
it. She hoped your Englishman would take you away. She is still upset about her crystal.
And Sister Meredith.”

Seonaid cursed. She had knocked the abbess's crystal decanter from her desk on her first
day here. She had tipped her scabbard backward to avoid hitting a glass on a table beside
the desk only to knock over the decanter instead. As for Sister Meredith, Seonaid had been
kneeling at the altar saying her prayers when the good sister had walked by, tripping over
her feet, whichin truthdid stick out farther than anyone else's. Sister Meredith had
broken her ankle as she fell.

“Iam sorry,” Blanche said with obvious distress. “She ordered me to watch for your
betrothed's arrival, empty the garden, order everyone to the big chapel, and unbar the
door. I could not refuse her order. She threatened to return me to England in shame. I did
think to warn you, but I could not find you.” She glanced at Helen as the woman slid,
white-faced, out from behind the tapestry. “I thought they were Englishmen,” she said
plaintively, guilt flushing her own face as she took in the other woman's fear. Then she
shrugged her own feelings impatiently aside and pushed her dress into Helen's hands.

“Put on my gown.”

Seonaid's eyebrows rose at the snap of authority in the sister's voice. She wasn't at all
surprised when Helen responded to it and immediately began removing her own clothes.

“We will switch clothes, then I shall show you a secret way out of here.” Sister Blanche
helped Lady

Helen disrobe as she spoke. “Should we run into them, the habit may keep you safe. Men do
not even really look at nuns. We may fool them with the switch.”

Turning away as the women set about exchanging clothes, Seonaid moved to the door and
listened for sounds in the hall. Aeldra followed, and they stood silent for a moment,
listening. Then Seonaid suddenly glanced down at herself and frowned at the long gown and
plaid she wore. Her outfit would hamper her movements if they encountered trouble, and it
did appear trouble was brewing.

Gesturing for Aeldra to take her place at the door, Seonaid removed her plaid and used her
dagger to cut a slice into the plain white shift she'd worn beneath the plaid. She cut a
couple of inches below waist level, then tore the cloth all the way around her body until
the bottom of the gown fell away to land in a soft pile around her feet. She then tucked
the much shortened shift into the top of the plaid braies she had been wearing beneath the
gown and plaid. Seonaid and Aeldra usually ran around in the plaid braies and a short
tunic at home. They had only donned the gowns for their stay at the abbey to keep from
shocking the abbess and nuns. But now that trouble had arrived, the nuns' sensibilities
were less important than practicality. Should they need to fight or run, they could do
both much easier in braies than long gowns.

Finished with her own garb, Seonaid quickly used a bit of cloth to tie her long black hair
back, then took Aeldra's place at the door. She would keep watch while Aeldra made the
same alterations to her own dress.

“Where the devil is everyone?”

Blake shrugged at Rolfe's muttered question. The gardens had been empty, as had the entry,
the hall, and every other room they had peered into thus far. The abbey was as silent and
vacant as a tomb. It was downright eerie, he thought, as he came to an empty side hall.

Pausing, he turned and peered at the men following him. Rolfe, Little George, the bishop,
and twenty men-at-arms, curiosity and concern on every face as they peered about the inner
sanctity of the abbey. He could not blame them. 'Twas not a place they were likely to see
again.

Sighing, he shook his head and peered back toward the main hall. “What is it?” Rolfe
asked, looking back the way they had come. “The chapel,” Blake said. “I swear I saw the
door close as I stood at the end of the hall.” “Aye, but we looked in there. It was empty.”

“Hmm.” He continued to stare up the hall. His instincts were telling him to check it
again. A warrior quickly learned to rely on his instincts. Turning abruptly, he headed
back the way they had come, pausing after only a few steps to order the men-at-arms to
continue searching the passage for any of the abbey's inhabitants. When he continued on,
he was aware Rolfe was following him, with Little George and the bishop close behind.

Seonaid straightened from peering into the hall when her cousin nudged her. Aeldra had
finished repairing her clothes so that she too was no longer hampered by skirts, and
Sister Blanche and Helen had

finished exchanging garments and were moving to join them.

“Your gowns,” Lady Helen said with surprise as she saw that they had changed their
clothing as well. “You look so... different in braies.”

Seonaid smiled at the comment as she eased the door closed and turned to properly examine
the two women. She could have said the same to them. Both of them had been transformed by
the switch. With her hair hidden beneath the nun's habit and every inch of her body hidden
as well, Helen had an ethereal beauty. She had been attractive before, but her beauty was
somehow transformed to a pure and innocent sweetness. Sister Blanche, on the other hand,
looked a perfect mess, her usually serene expression tense and pinched, her shorn head odd
without its covering.

Seonaid glanced about, then moved toward the front of the room to snatch the pristine
white cloth off the table holding the candles.

“What are you doing?” Sister Blanche hurried after her as the candles tumbled to the floor.

“Should anyone see the two of ye together, they would recognize the switch at once,”
Seonaid pointed out. “We must cover yer head.”

“Oh.” Sister Blanche reached up to self-consciously feel her own shorn head, but Seonaid
brushed her hand aside and draped the cloth about her head. She then tied the fine linen
beneath her chin, and paused to frown over her handiwork. Unfortunately, her efforts
revealed how little knowledge she had of primping and fashion. Muttering under her breath,
she fussed a bit, relieved when Helen nudged her out of the way and took over the duty.
Once the Englishwoman had finished, Seonaid eyed the sister and nodded her satisfaction.

“Let us go. We must gather the blades from our rooms, then find the exit you speak of.”

“The blades from your rooms?” Sister Blanche peered at her, bewildered. “But Mother
Elizabeth took them.”

“We took them back an' we needs must have them to escape.” “Nay, we cannot risk it,” the
sister protested at once. “Would ye send us out with naught to protect us?” Biting her
lip, Sister Blanche peered unhappily about, then sighed. “I shall fetch them for you,
then.” Seonaid shook her head. “I'll no let ye risk yerself for us.”

“ 'Tis my fault you are at risk,” Sister Blanche argued. “Besides, they would not dare
harm a bride of God.”

Seonaid smiled slightly. “Ye look little like a sister right now, Sister.”

The nun glanced down at her clothes with a start. “Oh, aye, well, but if I had any
difficulty I could remove this.” She gestured to the cloth on her head. “They would know I
was a sister then.”

Seonaid opened her mouth to argue, but Sister Blanche shook her head. "I will not argue
with you. I am

going and that is final.“ ”I shall go as well,“ Helen announced, hurrying to follow the
sister as she moved toward the door. ”Nay!“ Sister Blanche turned on her at once. ” 'Tis
not safe for you."

“They would not recognize me dressed in your clothes,” Helen pointed out. “In truth, I
shall probably be safer than you yourself. Besides, Sister, you surely cannot carry the
swords by yourself. They will have to be concealed beneath your skirts, and two would be
too awkward for one woman.”

The words were true, of course, and Seonaid's lips twitched with amusement as Sister
Blanche realized it herself and gave an unhappy nod.

Admonishing them to be quick and quiet about it, Seonaid told them where to find the
swords and led them to the door. After pausing to listen for anyone approaching, she
opened the door to let them out, then watched until they had turned the corner at the end
of the hall. She had started to close the door again when a sound from the other end of
the hall drew her eyes. 'Twas the first man she had seen, the fair-haired Scot. He had
come around the corner at the end of the hall even as Helen and Sister Blanche disappeared
around the other. She didn't think he had spotted the other women, but he had definitely
seen her.

Cursing her bad luck, Seonaid slammed the door and turned to warn Aeldra.

Reaching the hall in question, Blake stepped into it, then paused in surprise. The hallway
was as empty as it had been the first time he had walked down it, but a long-haired Scot
now leaned out of the chapel door, his back to them as he peered toward the opposite end
of the passage. Curious, Blake glanced along the hall himself and missed his opportunity
to get a look at the fellow's face. The sudden slamming of the chapel door told him that
his presence had been discovered.

Cursing, Blake pulled his sword from his scabbard and charged toward the door just as
Rolfe reached his side.

He half expected the door of the chapel to be barred when he reached it and was surprised
when it gave way abruptly beneath his touch. Turning the knob, he crashed into the room,
sword at the ready, aware the other men entered behind him.

For a moment they all stood staring blankly about, for as before, the room appeared empty.
“Empty.” Rolfe frowned around the room. “What did you see to make you hie back here?” “A
Scot standing in the doorway. He saw me and slammed the door.” “Hmm.” Rolfe glanced around
again. “Well, he is not here now.”

Blake paused by the pew nearest the door and picked up one of the two plaids that had been
left there. “Aye. But I didn't imagine him.”

The bishop frowned at the sight of the plaid. “Well, where did he go?”

Blake dropped the cloth. “Could there be a secret passage in here?”

The bishop frowned over the possibility, his gaze moving to the walls and the tapestries
hanging there. “I do not know. Of course, 'tis possible one of the tapestries hides a
secret passage or”

Blake raised an eyebrow when the prelate suddenly stilled. Following his wide-eyed gaze to
the image of the crucifixion of Christ, he stared at it curiously for a moment before he
realized what had caught the other man's attention. The tapestries in the room all reached
from floor to ceiling, as did the one the bishop was staring at, almost. It fell an inch
or so short of the floor due to the way it bulged out from the wall. Beneath it, two sets
of boots showed.

Blake raised his sword and gestured to the other men, then moved toward the tapestry.
Pausing a foot or so before it, he waited until the other men had arranged themselves
around him, then spoke. “Come out of there, you.”

Seonaid cursed under her breath. She had feared the hiding place might not bear up well
under close inspection, but there had been little time to find a new one after closing the
chapel door. Glancing toward Aeldra, they shared a grim glance, then stepped to the side,
half-revealing herself to the enemy and getting her first really good look at them. Well,
one of them. Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the man who stood in front, so
she did not notice the others accompanying him. The one in front was enough to keep
anyone's attention.

Seonaid had never met the Cameron, but if the man before her was Rollo, God had been truly
kind when fashioning him. His hairas she had noticed earlierwas blond, but 'twas truly a
poor description. A touch shorter than her brother's darker tresses, it hung to his
shoulders in golden waves that caught and reflected the candlelight in the room. It was
glorious, a shade of spun gold she was sure only an angel could possess. His face was
equally impressive, with wide, deep blue eyes, and long gold lashes brushing his cheeks as
he blinked. A straight strong nose, firm full lips, and a short golden beard and mustache
made him as attractive a man as Seonaid had ever seen. She almost expected to see wings
sprouting from his back and a halo above his head, but she supposed angels did not have
quite so wondrous a body. At least not any of the images of angels she had seen. In the
paintings and tapestries sporting visions of angels, they were a thin, small-boned crew.
The man before her could never have been so described. He was taller than her own six
feet, his shoulders twice the width of her own, his upper arms probably as big around as
her thigh. Nay, bigger. And his legs were strong and well formed where they were revealed
by the short plaid he wore.