The Chase (6 page)

Damn. She released a small sigh. 'Twas almost worth it to die for one night in his bed,
she thought, recalling what Helen had said about his plan to kill her.

Blake stared at the creature peeking around the edge of the tapestry and frowned. The
lighting in the chapel was poor and the Scot had only leaned his upper body partly out
from behind the tapestry, revealing one arm and one eye, but it was enough to tell him
this was no soldier. He was lean and sleekly muscled, but was lacking in the bulk that
identified a warrior. The fellow did not make his way by the sword. Blake supposed he
should have guessed as much when the man had chosen to hide rather than confront him in
battle. He shifted impatiently when the silence continued and the man stayed
half-concealed behind the cloth.

“I said come out,” he snapped, shifting his position threateningly. The Scot seemed to
give a start at his words, then glanced back behind the tapestry.

Seonaid was confused. While she had been hidden behind the tapestry, the man's words had
been muffled and she had not noticed his accent. It was English, not Scot. She glanced
back to Aeldra in confusion.

Aeldra too looked slightly surprised at his accent, then shrugged.

Seonaid peered back to the man, opening her mouth to speak, then paused. Mayhap he had
been raised in England. It wasn't at all uncommon for such a thing to happen. Many
Scottish heirs were raised there, either by rich relatives or at court itself. Shrugging
such considerations aside, she glanced toward Aeldra again, her hand rising behind the
tapestry to grab it higher up. She gave her an expressive look, then stepped farther out
from behind the tapestry even as Aeldra caught what she meant to do, raised her own hand,
and slid out from the other side.

Blake was about to repeat his order for the Scot to show himself when he suddenly did just
that. Or,she did, he realized with dismay, taking in the ice blue eyes and obviously
womanly features. Movement from the other side of the tapestry drew his attention, and he
peered at the petite woman slipping out from the other side. Short, blond, shapely, and
pretty. Blake was just turning his eyes back to the taller woman when Rolfe suddenly let
out a gasp of dismay behind him.

Blake glanced away to see the alarm on the other man's face, then turned quickly back, but
it was too late. As they moved out to the sides, both the small female and the taller one
had grasped hold of the tapestry and jerked it forward. The heavy rug was even now pulling
away from its position on the wall and crashing down atop them. Blake barely managed a
step to the side as the tapestry fell. It was not enough to save him completely and the
heavy ornament caught his shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.

As soon as the tapestry came loose from the wall and began to flap out over the men,
Seonaid yelled to Aeldra and raced toward the door, intent on escape. An enraged shout
from her cousin made her whirl around, dismay on her face as she saw the tapestry had not
come down to cover all of the men. One, a mountain of a man, had been a step or two behind
the bishop, guarding the other men's backs, and had entirely escaped the dusty old
tapestry entangling the others. He had also managed to catch Aeldra as she raced past him
and stood holding her off the ground from behind, his arms around her waist, seemingly
impervious to her scratching fingernails as she clawed at him and kicked her feet
furiously. She was caught.

Cursing, Seonaid glanced briefly around for something to help her cousin with, but she
couldn't find anything appropriate. Giving up the search as Aeldra screeched again, this
time in warning, she glanced around to see that the man in the plaid had made his way out
from beneath the tapestry and was moving toward her.

Seonaid grabbed up a pew and hurled it at him just as the chapel door opened and Lady
Helen and Sister Blanche hurried in. Excitement and victory were on their faces as they
entered, but dismay soon followed as they spied the chaos they had walked in on. Not
bothering to explain what should have been obvious, Seonaid grabbed up both swords as the
women held them out and ordered them to get out of

the room before turning back to confront the fellow in the plaid.

Blake slowed his forward impetus as he spied the two blades with which he was faced.
Surprise was his first reaction. She held the blades as if she were comfortable with them,
which drew his attention to the fact that they were smaller than the average sword and of
lighter weight. They had obviously been made specifically for the woman before him and the
one giving Little George such a rough time.

“Hold,” Blake said as the pieces fell together. He had first assumed the Scot in the
chapel a man, and no doubt the one who had broken into the abbey, but now that he knew she
was a woman and one who exactly fit Rolfe's description of his betrothed, Blake began to
realize he faced none other than Seonaid Dunbar. She fit the description far too well to
be anyone but her. Ice blue eyes, glorious blue-black hair, well-formed. Aye, he was
finally confronting his betrothed. And she was wearing braies.

“I mean ye no harm,” he murmured once he had her attention.

“Nor I you,” she answered sweetly, then lifted one of the swords and had at him.

The viciousness of her attack took Blake by surprise, and at first he was kept busy
fending off her blows. By the time he recognized that she was directing the battle so that
they shifted position, the two of them had already turned enough that she was approaching
the spot where Little George and her friend struggled. Before Blake could do anything
about it, she had closed the last of the distance between herself and his first and had
kicked out to the side with her right foot. Blake winced as her foot connected viciously
with Little George's left leg.

The giant grunted in pain and released the woman he held, reaching instinctively to brace
himself as he tumbled toward the floor of the chapel. The petite woman threw herself to
the side to avoid being crushed by his weight, but was on her feet and at the dark-haired
woman's side in a flash, reaching for the smaller second sword to arm herself.

“What goes on here?” Sister Blanche and Lady Helen straightened guiltily from their bent
positions before the door of the chapel. They had listened to Seonaid's order but hadn't
fully obeyed. They had gone so far as to leave the chapel, but it was as far as either of
them had been willing to go. Pausing in the hall, they had cracked the door open and
watched the commotion within as Lady Seonaid and her cousin faced off against the
plaid-clad man inside. Now Blanche and Helen whirled to face the abbess as she strode down
the hallway toward them, the skirts of her dark gown flowing out behind her.

“Mother!” Sister Blanche peered at the woman in dismay, then glanced guiltily toward the
door to the chapel before straightening her shoulders. “Scots have infiltrated the abbey.
Lady Seonaid and Lady Aeldra are fending them off.”

“What!” The abbess stared at her askance. “It was the English you were to let in, not the
Scots. My God, Blanche, what have you done?”

“What indeed,” Lady Helen muttered bitterly. “Just opened the door under your direction to
allow men to have at the women who sought protection within these sacred walls.”

Lady Elizabeth stiffened at the accusation, sending an accusing glare toward Sister
Blanche. She then

strode stiffly to the door and threw it open, surveying the battle taking place in the
heart of her abbey as Little George found his feet and joined Blake to face the armed
women.

“What goes on here? This is a house of God! Would you battle here as if 'twere a tavern?”

Seonaid froze at the harsh shriek, as did the other combatants. Still facing the two men
squared off against them, she cast a quick frown toward the abbess, her disdain obvious.
“Open the door to the devil and he's like to walk in,” she snapped impatiently. “Ye
ordered the door unbarred; do not now cry foul because the wrong suitor entered and we now
defend Lady Helen from the man who would murder her.”

The abbess glanced sharply toward the two armed men, her gaze quickly taking in the
fairer, smaller man's Scottish garb and the larger man's English clothes. She also noted
the confusion on the men's faces as they took in Lady Seonaid's words. “How know you they
are Camerons? One wears English dress.”

Seonaid glanced toward the larger man, for the first time taking in the English clothes he
wore. She had neglected to note that fact while in the heat of battle.

“And one wears the plaid,” she pointed out, then sneered at the woman standing so
self-righteous in the door of the chapel. “Howbeit, mayhap yer right. While I never would
have thought to see a Sassenach in Scottish garb, I also never would have thought to see
an abbess who cared so little for her God and her charges, she would be willin' to throw
them to the wolves as ye've done.”

Lady Elizabeth turned bright red, then suddenly paled as her eyes strayed past her to the
room at large. Curious about her reaction, Seonaid turned to find the other men had
struggled out from beneath the tapestry and were straightening their clothes. Her eyes
widened. She immediately recognized the bishop and Lord Rolfe, though she had never before
seen the prelate wearing the expression of mingled distaste and fury with which he was
eyeing Lady Elizabeth.

“Bishop” the abbess began faintly, but the bishop cut her off.

“I heard it all, madam, every word as I struggled to get out from beneath that accursed
tapestry. Do not further your sins by spouting lies at me now.”

“But I...”

“Unbarred the gate so all and sundry may enter?” he finished when her voice faded
helplessly away.

“Nay!” she cried at once, reclaiming her wits enough to try to defend herself. “ 'Twas
Sister Blanche who unbarred the gate.”

“At your order,” Seonaid stated, unwilling to see the woman escape her fault by pushing it
onto another. Resheathing her sword, she turned to glance at the bishop. “Sister Blanche
didna wish to unbar the gate but couldna refuse a direct order. She did it only because
Lady Elizabeth threatened to return her to England in shame did she no do as she was told.
She came to warn us as soon as the deed was done.”

The bishop nodded his head in silent understanding. “Sister Blanche has naught to fear;
she will not be the one returning to England in shame.”

No one mistook the meaning behind his words, least of all Lady Elizabeth, who gasped as
she hurried forward to fall on her knees before the prelate.

Seonaid grimaced at the undignified display, then glanced at Lord Rolfe before turning to
peer at the two other men. Both of them had resheathed their own swords, though they
remained tense and alert. It did not require much effort to work out who the man in plaid
was. Her betrothed. Who else would be traveling with Lord Rolfe? Besides, Lady Helen's
description of the man had been most apt. Fair-haired and handsome as an angel, or some
such rot. He was all of those things and more. A fine specimen of a man. With excellent
knees, she noted again, then frowned at her own wayward thoughts. He was the man who had
neglected to collect her for so long, the man who had made it obvious he had no interest
in marrying her. It took an order from the king to bring him to her, and she wanted no
such man, especially an Englishman. Especially a Sherwell.

Besides, even had she been able to overlook everything else, there was no way to avoid the
fact that he would no doubt find her sorely lacking as a wife. It took only one look at
his handsome visage to realize it. Her betrothed was heavenly, perfect, and no doubt used
to heavenly, perfect women. Seonaid suffered no delusions regarding herself. She was too
tall, too thin, too unfeminine both in manner and in knowledge to even manage being
average. She knew naught about being a lady and doubted she could even pass herself off as
a true woman. She'd spent too many years in the company of only men. Men and Aeldrabut
then, Aeldra was as lacking in the softer refinements of a lady as herself.

Nay, she thought sadly, he would not want her... and she had no desire to hear him say so.
While she might lack the finer requirements of a lady, she had more than her fair share of
pride, and her pride was unwilling to wait about and hear his refusal. Gesturing for
Aeldra to follow, she turned her back on the man and strode toward the door of the church,
then paused to swipe up her plaid. She picked up Aeldra's as well and tossed it to her,
then started forward again, only to pause when fingers closed around her upper arm.

“Where do you think you are going?”

Seonaid paused in her steps, eyes snapping as she glared at the hand on her arm. She had
known the moment she'd felt his touch who stopped her, even before she heard the smooth
velvet of his voice with its clipped English accent.

“Unhand me or I shall unhand you,” she commanded. Her lips curled up with satisfaction
when he released her at once, though a glance at his face showed only surprised amusement
and no fear. When he bowed to her with mock civility, Seonaid found the gesture most
irritating.

“Forgive me, my lady. 'Tis poorly done of me to touch you without at least first
introducing myself. Lord Blake Sherwell at your service.” The introduction was followed by
another of the mocking bows.

Seonaid shifted, her expression darkening before she forced a sickly sweet smile to her
lips. “Am I supposed to ken the name, m'laird?” she asked at last. “Should it mean aught
to me?”

Blake blinked in surprise, some of his self-confidence slipping. “What? Do you not
recognize the name of your betrothed when you hear it?”

Her eyes widened. “Surely ye jest, sirrah? My betrothed died ages ago, at least ten years
ago by my count.”

Now he truly looked dismayed. “Died? Who the devil told you such nonsense?” "Told me? Why
no one, m'laird. I reasoned it out fer mesel' when he didna arrive to claim me...ten

years ago when I came of age ." The man had the grace to color at her words, though he
regained himself and his quick smile swiftly

enough. “I fear your reasoning was wrong. Tardy I may be, but I am certainly not dead.”

“Nay. I fear ye're wrong an' me reasonin' was right,” Seonaid retorted. “Me betrothed is
dead. To me,” she added harshly, then turned away and continued out of the chapel.

Blake stared after the woman in amazement. No female had ever dared to speak to him so,
nor had any woman yet turned her back on him and walked away. Good God! Women were more
like to sigh and swoon in his presence than to show him their back. He did not know what
to do about it. Part of him wanted to order her to return to him at once. He had every
right, she was his betrothed, and within a short time she would be his wife and under his
order. Yet another part reasoned that he did not wish to marry her anyway. Why not let her
walk off and hide herself in the abbey somewhere, refusing him? It would set him free.

Oddly enough, Blake quite suddenly no longer wished to be free, at least not this way. He
was the one who was supposed to be reluctant to marry her, yet here he was, hesitant about
angering the king and his father and unwilling to break the contract and give up rich
lands. His would-be bride appeared not to suffer the same concerns. Losing her betrothal
lands didn't seem to worry her. Impossible. He was the Angel; she should have been
grateful he had come to claim her, no matter his tardiness. He was here, was he not? Who
the devil was she to refuse him? A bloody Dunbar.

“All does not go well, I see,” Rolfe murmured behind Blake as Lady Seonaid slammed out of
the chapel.

“All does not go well?” Blake turned on him irately. “Well! She is... she is a barbarian.
My God, she is wearing braies! And just look at the way she had at me with her sword!”
Gaze narrowing, he glared at him. “Did you know she was trained in battle?”

Rolfe shifted uncomfortably. “ 'Tis a valuable skill here in the Highlands, where” “She is
an Amazon!” Blake interrupted. “God's toes! She is near to as tall as myself.” “Aye, she
is quite statuesque,” Rolfe began soothingly, only to be interrupted once again.

“She is also as flat as a door. Where are her breasts? And what is she doing in a man's
braies? I swear I thought her a man when I first saw her.” Frowning, he shook his head,
saying aloud what he had thought but moments before. “She should be grateful I even
bothered to follow her here, yet she insults me and walks away. Who the devil does she
think she is?”

Sighing, Rolfe shook his head for answer and returned to the bishop to see what he
intended to do with Lady Elizabeth.

“Lady Helen, please doona take on so.” Seonaid tried for a soft tone but feared she
sounded more

annoyed than anything. She was uncomfortable with strong emotion, and there was no other
description for what Helen was presently exhibiting. The Englishwoman wasn't exactly
sobbing, and she did try to staunch them, but tears continued to flow down her cheeks in
silent testimony to her exhaustion and fear. The worst part was, Seonaid could not blame
her. The lass had done nothing but run and hide and suffer the fear of capture for days,
and now, when she had thought she'd found a safe haven until her father could come to her,
she had been shown the error of such a belief.

“Cameron will find me here. I knew he would eventually. I even left a trail for him to do
so, thinking I would be safe within these walls. But I will not be safe. Lady Elizabeth
will let him in and he will force me to leave with him. If so, I shall be dead.”

Seonaid frowned as she paced the small cell she had occupied since arriving at the abbey.
They were all there: Aeldra, Lady Helen, and a rather glum-faced Sister Blanche. Seonaid
and Aeldra had come across the other two women outside the chapel and led them here.

“Did ye no hear the bishop? He as good as said Lady Elizabeth'll be sent away. She'll no
be in a position to allow anyone into the abbey.”

“Aye, he says that now. Howbeit Lady Elizabeth is clever; I could tell that during our
interview when I first arrived. I think she would promise him anything to avoid such
shame. What if she offers something he cannot refuse? What if he changes his mind and lets
her stay? Then she may grow tired of my presence as well and allow the Camerons in. I fear
I angered her when she came upon us in the hall. I was most rude and she will most like be
happy to hand me over to the Camerons when they come.”

Seonaid's frown deepened, but she shook her head. “He will send her away. He's a good man
an' she has nothin' to use to convince him to let her stay.”

“She has you.” When Seonaid stiffened, Helen nodded grimly. “They are here to return you
to Dunbar. By rights, they should not even have been allowed to step over the threshold,
but the damage has been done. She may agree to turn her head the other way while they
steal you out of here in return for being allowed to stay.”

Seonaid glanced sharply toward Sister Blanche. The good sister appeared worried. Her
doubts made Seonaid decidedly uncomfortable. “Bishop Wykeham's a good man; honest an'
gentle an'... good,” she finished lamely, then shook her head. “He'd no stoop to such to
remove me.”

“He's under order of the king to see the marriage done,” Aeldra reminded her. “An' yer
father signed the marriage contract. It's no as if he'd be stealin' ye to kill ye. His
conscience may be salved by that.”

Seonaid turned away with a curse, her gaze going absently out of the window in the small
cell as she tried to think. The other women were silent as they waited. When she whirled
suddenly back, only Aeldra did not start in surprise.

“Helen, go to yer room an' gather yer things.” “Why?” the redhead asked hopefully. “We
leave here at once.” “But your betrothed and the others”

“They'll be busy fer a bit dealin' with Lady Elizabeth, I think. Long enough at least fer
us to make our escape. Aeldra an' I'll see ye safely home, then seek shelter elsewhere.”
She paused, her gaze running over the flowing nun's gown. “Ye should keep that on in case
we come across the Cameron along our way. Hopefully it'll fool him.” Her gaze shifted to
Sister Blanche. “Ye may come with us if ye wish. If Lady Elizabeth convinces them to let
her stay, she'll make it difficult fer ye here.”

Sister Blanche hesitated, then shook her head. “Nay. I will stay, but I shall help you to
escape. I shall fetch some provisions from the kitchens.”

“We'll be in the stables,” Seonaid told her as the other woman slipped from the room. A
glance back and a nod were enough to tell her she'd heard.

Seonaid turned back to the two remaining women. “Quickly, Aeldra, go help Helen gather her
belongings. I'll go to the stables to saddle the beasties.” She started toward the door
even as she spoke, only to be brought up short by Helen's words.

“I have no belongings.” When Seonaid turned to peer at her in surprise, she shrugged
slightly. “I sent everything with my maid so I might travel faster.”

Seonaid's eyebrows rose, then turned down in disbelief. She had yet to know a woman
besides Aeldra and herself who did not carry about at least two or three trunks with her.
“Ye brought nothin' at all with ye?”

Helen shrugged. “Just one sack, but I left it in the stables last night. I brought no
clothes or anything else.”

“Incredible,” Seonaid marveled. “Well, lucky us, a woman with some wit. We'll travel like
the wind. Come along.”

“Did you not bring any belongings with you?” Helen asked in hushed tones as they eased
cautiously out into the hall.

“Only what we always carry with us,” Seonaid heard Aeldra answer quietly from behind. “Our
plaids an' our steel, 'tis all we need to travel.”

“Oh. I see,” Lady Helen murmured doubtfully as they moved stealthily down the hall.

“Is he not finished yet?”

Rolfe glanced up at Blake's question and shook his head on a sigh. “He feels he must
interview each of the nuns here 'ere he decides what to do about the abbess.”

“Eachof the nuns?” Blake asked with dismay. “Do you mean to say he intends to
interviewevery single one of the nuns in this blessed place before making a decision?”

“He can hardly banish her without a fair hearing.”

Blake grimaced and began to pace the room again, his mind in an uproar. He wanted out of
this place; he had never been in an abbey before and much to his surprise he wasn't
enjoying the experience. Blake loved women, all women, in every shape and size. Well,
almost all, he thought, as the most annoying

image of Seonaid Dunbar came to mind. Still, a building inhabited by at least a hundred
women was almost a dream to a man like himself, or at least he would have thought so.
Howbeit, it seemed he had been wrong. He'd never been so uncomfortable in a place in all
his born days. These women were all so pious, so pure-looking, he felt like a wolf let
loose among the sheep. A wolf with a conscience.

Amazing, he thought on a sigh. He'd seen very little evidence of a conscience in himself
in this life when it came to women. If they were willing, he usually saw no reason to deny
them the pleasure of his attentions. After all, were it not him, it would be someone else
enjoying their offerings. At the moment, however, he was almost afraid to look at the
women moving about around him. They were God's brides after all. 'Twas one thing to
cuckold a man, quite another to try some such thing on God.

Seonaid managed to lead the other two women out to the stables undetected. All three of
them worked at saddling and preparing the horses, accomplishing the task just as Sister
Blanche returned with a sack of provisions.

“I fetched as much as I could, which is more than I expected, since the kitchen was empty.”

Seonaid's eyebrows rose as she accepted the food. “Empty? The kitchen's never empty.”

“Rarely,” Sister Blanche agreed. “Howbeit, the bishop is questioning all the nuns,
servants, and lay sisters. He is taking an accounting of the abbess's behavior. I think he
may actually dismiss her.”

Seonaid and Aeldra shared a glance, then Seonaid sighed. “We canna take the chance.”

“Nay,” Aeldra agreed, leading her horse and Helen's out of their stalls as Seonaid hooked
the sack to her saddle.

Sister Blanche followed as they led their horses out of the stables, worry plain on her
face as she said, “You must be most careful. Never forget Cameron is out there somewhere.”

“We'll be fine,” Seonaid assured her with a smile, then mounted her horse as Helen hurried
forward to hug the woman.

“Thank you, Sister. For everything.”

Nodding unhappily, Sister Blanche hugged Helen back, then stepped out of the way as the
woman mounted her own mare.

“I will try to hide the fact that you have gone.”

“Thank you, Sister, but doona do anything that'll see ye in trouble. We'll send ye word
when Helen's safely home.”

Sister Blanche watched them urge their horses through the gate and race toward the trees.
She was a forlorn figure in Helen's gown, with the white cloth over her shorn head. She
waited until they had disappeared within the woods before turning and moving sadly back
through the abbey gate to find out her fate. Either she or Lady Elizabeth would be
banished by day's end, and neither fate cheered her much. Sister Blanche had a kind heart,
and despite Lady Elizabeth's condescending air and shabby treatment of the nuns, it
saddened her to imagine the other woman's shame. It might also be better were

she herself to return to her home in such a circumstance than Lady Elizabeth. While her
own family loved her and would show great understanding of the situation, she was not so
sure Lady Elizabeth could make the same claim. There must be some reason she could be so
coldhearted.

Blanche's thoughts came to a stumbling halt as she found herself colliding with a large
male body. Glancing up in surprise, she gaped at the warrior before her, then took a
quick, nervous step back. “My lord.”

“You must be Lady Helen.” When Sister Blanche's eyes widened, Lord Rolfe smiled slightly.

Sister Blanche stared at him wide-eyed. She still wore Lady Helen's clothes, which
explained the confusion.

“Ahem.” The bishop cleared his throat, drawing her attention to the fact that Lord Rolfe
was not alone. “We were just searching for Sister Blanche. You would not know where we
might find her?”

Sister Blanche glanced quickly over the array of men before her. The bishop, Lord Rolfe,
Lord Blake, the large one she had heard them call Little George, and at least a dozen
other men stood there, all waiting expectantly. Having spent most of her life in a
nunnery, Blanche was not used to being the center of attention of so many men. Swallowing
nervously and feeling herself flush, she shook her head helplessly and took another
nervous step backward.