To Every Love, There is a Season Page 13

  * * * *

  Soldiers ran from the great hall to report to their posts. Muriel tried to stay out of their way and was startled when a young soldier grabbed her arm as she hurried past him. She was pulled to a sudden stop, and caught her breath when she realized who held her back. “Stay out of sight, lass,” Justin warned. “I do not know what these rogue Scots will do to an English woman, especially if she is a servant."

  "I worry about my lady. She has been gone for weeks and Lord David says nothing. She could be on her way back and ride into the battle.” Worry and resentment colored Muriel's words.

  "Lady Ellen is safe. Worry for yourself, Muriel. Go lass, I will find you when it is safe.” Justin began to release his hold on Muriel's arm, but pulled her close and kissed her hard. “I love you, Muriel, girl. Now go.” Justin released her and swatted her backside before running off to report to his post.

  Muriel had no one to look after and found herself running up the narrow staircase to the bedchambers. She would go to Lady Ellen's chambers and remain quiet. There was no reason why she should not be safe there. She sat quietly, listening to the fighting going on in the courtyard. Steel clashing, men screaming in pain kept her frozen where she sat. The temptation to peek out the window was great, but she feared being seen. Muriel prayed Justin would survive the battle.

  Muriel thought about Justin and the effect he had on her life. Serving at Ravencliff was the only family she had ever known, since she could not remember her parents. Justin gave her something special, something she never thought to have, and she did not want to lose it. Muriel felt blessed that a man like Justin would pay her any heed, let alone marry her.

  Voices in the hall disrupted thoughts of her husband. Muriel's breath caught with fear as one man shouted to others to search every room. Muriel glanced frantically about the room. She found a small dagger beside the basin of water and held it firmly in her grip. Where to hide? One of the chests by the window was empty. Muriel had a deep fear of close, cramped places, but this chest seemed large enough to hide someone who was not very big. The chest was made of sturdy oak, its brass fittings were dull with wear. Muriel slowly lifted the heavy lid, hoping it would not creak, then sighed with relief and climbed into the chest, quietly closing the lid. Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought down her fear. She brought her knees up to her chest, making herself as comfortable as possible in the dark interior. Her hands trembled as she gripped the dagger in a thrusting position. Her fist clenched the weapon against her shoulder.

  The bedchamber door was shoved against the stone wall. Muriel held her breath in her dark sanctuary. She listened carefully to scuffing footsteps on the cold floor, and heard the reeds being scattered about as they were kicked across the floor. The steps moved closer to her hiding place. Should she be discovered, she was ready to defend herself. Her heart raced as she listened carefully, trying to make out muffled sounds. Every noise brought the intruder nearer her hiding place.

  Muriel's breath quickened as the steps came closer. Her face was damp with sweat from fear and being enclosed within the chest. She heard water splash on the floor, followed by the basin breaking as it hit stone. She tried to turn a little without making a sound, and realized a bit of the hem of her dress stuck out from the lid, making her vulnerable. How could she have been so careless as to not tuck in her dress when she closed the lid? If whoever was in the room should spot the cloth...

  Fingers grasped the lid to her hiding place, raising it enough to let in a bit of light, If it was raised any higher, she would be seen. Once more, she held her breath, expecting to be discovered at any moment. Another voice called from the doorway, “She's no’ aboot. We best be gettin’ oot of ‘ere now."

  "Aye, we go. There be nothin’ of value aboot."

  The two men hurried out and Muriel sighed with relief. Better to wait a little longer, just to be sure they did not decide to return for another look around. Her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and she relaxed her grip on the dagger. Her muscles cramped with the lack of movement, and her hiding place was getting warm, but she dared not leave her retreat yet. She could not hear any sounds outside the castle and wondered how the battle was going. Muriel had no idea what she would do if the Rosses failed to defend their home. How long would it be, before someone came looking for her? Muriel's eyelids fluttered closed as heat within the small space, and worry, took their toll.

  When Muriel awoke, she heard someone calling to her. She tried to climb out of the chest, but was too stiff to move, having remained in a cramped position for so long. She had no idea what hour it was. She recognized her husband's voice. “Justin ... Justin. She realized the thick walls of the chest muffled her voice, and she pounded against the side. The lid was thrown open and she gulped in fresh air, then wept with relief.

  "What were you doing in there, woman?” Justin asked as he helped her out.

  Muriel fell against him, when her legs refused to hold her up. Her skin stung like a thousand bites while circulation began to restore itself throughout her arms and legs. “I hid. Someone came in here looking for Lady Ellen. They almost found me instead."

  Justin held her close and said a quick prayer of thanks that his wife was safe. “I was out of my mind with worry, afraid someone had found you. But you are safe and well.” Justin held her tightly, as if someone would snatch her away if he loosened his hold. “They are gone, Muriel. When they could not find what they wanted, they withdrew."

  "Will they come back?"

  "I do not think so. They lost too many men in the field beyond the castle. Come, there is much to be done below."

  * * * *

  Daylight was quickly disappearing, and the battle was nearing an end on the field beyond the Ross’ castle. The surviving McDougal men fought half heartedly while searching for a means of escape. David's men kept pushing them back, keeping them on the defensive, until they finally turned and ran. Most scattered in different directions, but the leader and two of his men headed straight for the forest.

  David and Gordon used the flat of their swords to urge their horses to a gallop, and pursued the three men into the woods. Moments later, they were surrounded by thick growth, slowing their pace. They hacked at the bushes, then David slowed his horse and brought it to a halt.

  The McDougal men stood in the middle of the trail, swords in hand, ready to resume their battle. They grinned, a demented look in their eyes. One man glanced up, and a dozen men jumped from tree branches overhead. The riders looked up, too late to protect themselves from the unexpected attack. Both were knocked from their horses by their attackers.

  David and Gordon quickly regained their feet and tried to use their swords, but lacked the room to maneuver. David cursed his own foolishness at being caught in such a trap, as he and Gordon defended themselves in the close quarters. The two knights stood back to back as they wielded their weapons against their attackers. Their fighting space grew tighter as their opponents moved in. They stood silently for a moment, chests heaving from the exertion of the fight, and knew they were defeated. Forgive me, Sprite, I only wanted to keep you safe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The tavern was poorly lit, but the drinkers did not care. Ale sloshed about on dirty tables. Tallow candles left milky puddles of wax, which hardened quickly as it dripped onto the cold tabletop. Raucous laughter flowed as easily from the occupants of one table, as the ale from the cups. A man drunkenly grabbed at the serving maid and fell off his stool. Rather than attempt to get up, he sluggishly laughed, slumped against the wall and promptly began snoring. His companions roared with laughter, and made feeble attempts to grab at the girl as she quickly escaped their clutches.

  The patrons barely glanced at a lone man, sitting with his back to the wall. His heavy cloak remained closed, hiding his clothing, making it impossible for the other customers to guess his rank. The wall torch failed to illuminate his face. The stranger's hood was pulled forward, casting a shadow across his features. He leaned back again
st the wall and kept his arms folded across his chest, within the folds of his cloak. His posture seemed to dare anyone to approach him. He stared back at the customers who curiously looked his way. It was apparent he was waiting, but no one would hazard a guess who he was waiting for.

  The stranger listened to the rain pouring down on the thatched roof, as if from a wrung out cloth. He watched three men step through the door, laughing loudly, and shaking themselves like a pack of mongrels. Water droplets sprayed off their long scraggly beards and matted hair, wetting nearby drinkers. The newcomers’ insidious looks quelled any angry complaints. The drenched men laughed again, then made their way to the back of the room, tugging at their wet clothing as they moved.

  His view of the room was blocked by three large, solid bodies. The hooded patron casually looked up in disgust, his features remaining in shadow. A serving maid approached with caution. “Three more ales,” he ordered quietly, never looking away from the men. As the maid left, he gestured for the new arrivals to be seated. He said nothing more until after the drinks were served and the girl had left.

  "Is it done?” He looked from one man to the next. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats, turning away from his gaze. “Well? Is it done?” He did not like having to repeat himself. Other voices in the tavern seemed to fade away as he stared at the three sitting before him. Their tense silence indicated something had definitely gone wrong with his plans.

  "The girl was gone. We got into the castle and searched everywhere. We didna find her."

  "Could not find her? You could not find her?” Nicholas kept tight control of his voice and temper. “Lady Ellen could not have vanished into thin air. She had to be somewhere in the castle. I doubt that Scotsman rarely let her out of his sight unless one of you revealed my plans to the wrong people.” He looked from one man to the next, searching for some sign of betrayal, and decided there was only one way to assure the completion of his plans. “I will see to the missing Lady Ellen myself. What of the other matter?"

  "We disposed o’ the two o’ them, just like you wanted. Made it look like they was attacked by robbers.” The boldest of the three men avoided Nicholas’ eyes and took a gulp of his drink.

  "Two of them?” Nicholas would have preferred not to know how these bunglers had further fouled up his scheme, but if something else had gone wrong ... He stared at them with disgust. Would nothing go right with the execution of his plans?

  "Aye. They was riding together. The followed us tae the woods where the trap was set."

  Nicholas’ hand tightened on his mug. His face reddened with barely concealed anger, making the scar on the right side stand out thin and white. “What did this other rider look like?"

  The nervous man scratched at his beard, as if deep in thought. His ale sat before him, ignored for the moment. “He sat tall in the saddle, had yellow hair, and coldest blue eyes I ever seen. He followed Ross into the woods, swung a sword like he was the devil hisself, when he had the room to move."

  "We made sure they didna ha'e room for fightin',” the second man chimed in, proudly. The third companion kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to provoke Nicholas’ anger any further.

  Nicholas sat back in his chair and a tight smile formed on his thin lips. The description pleased him. If it truly had been Gordon caught with David, then his scheme would be complete that much sooner. “What did you do with the bodies?"

  The second man shrugged and drank his ale. After rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, he looked up at Nicholas. “We took them oot to the middle o’ the loch and tossed them overboard. Nobody be finding ’em there."

  "Aye,” the third man smiled with pride as he described the details. “We stuffed the bodies in burlap bags with a bunch o’ rocks to drag them down. There be no one to find them for a long time, if ever.” He leaned back from the table and flashed a broken toothed grin at Nicolas.

  Nicholas tossed a small bag of gold onto the table, and sat back as the men eyed it greedily.

  "That be only half what ye promised us,” the first of the trio complained, and gave Nicholas a dark warning look, but failed to intimidate the man.

  "That be for only half a job done.” Nicholas mimicked their speech as he suddenly sat forward. “I do not pay full rate for unfinished work."

  "We can go back and find the lass for ye,” the second suggested hopefully.

  "No. I do not have time to wait for another plan to be botched. I will do this myself. Perhaps it is for the best it turned out this way. Go. If I need you again, I know where to find you."

  Nicholas listened to the incoherent mumbling, as the first man grabbed the pouch of coins, and the three ambled off to find another table. The night would last longer than the coins. He finished his ale, gave his hood a tug forward to assure his identity was still hidden, then stalked out of the tavern into the wet night.

  * * * *

  The rain had let up by the time Nicholas reached Fair Haven, but not before it had soaked through him. After changing into dry clothing in his chambers, he held up his hands to the brazier, then rubbed them together briskly, trying to restore their warmth. He dismissing his manservant, then helped himself to a goblet of quality wine—at least it was quality compared to what the tavern offered. He gulped it down and refilled his cup, aware someone entered his room. “I said I did not want to be disturbed,” he warned menacingly. “Can you not obey a simple command?"

  "Does that order include me?"

  The feminine voice was soft, unexpected. Nicholas turned, goblet in hand, to stare at the woman. Meredith's black gown emphasized the pale beauty of her golden hair and fair skin. She looked like a wraith, on the verge of disappearing at the hint of a false step. Her eyes were overly bright, as if she anxiously sought his pleasure, but was desperate not to seem anxious. Her teeth bit into her lower lip, reddening it.

  Nicholas sensed her hesitance. “May I offer you a cup of wine? He stared at her as she shyly stepped forward to accept the cup he offered.

  "You are scheming again, my lord."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "I know you, Nicholas. You have almost everything you ever wanted.” She sipped from her cup.

  There was something different about her. Since his father's death, his young stepmother had kept to her rooms, not seeing anyone after the burial. Now she was here in his chambers, uncaring what gossip would say about the young widow. Nicholas cocked his head as he studied her, and wondered what she was about. Could it be she was worried he might send her away? Could he send her off to a convent for the rest of her life, and free his own life of her? With his father gone, there was no reason, beyond decency, to keep here. What did he care of decency if it did not fall within his plans? Nicholas stared at her a moment longer, knowing he made her uncomfortable, but enjoying the sensation. At the same time, another sensation assailed him. He thought of another way she could earn her keep at Fair Haven, and a lecherous smile spread across his face as he slowly advanced on her.

  Nicholas was drawn to her movements, which were slow and deliberate, meant to entice. A pretty blush crept up her throat and spread across her cheeks. He was not sure if it was the wine or his own stare causing the color to stain her pale skin. He gulped his drink, trying to hide his discomfort as he watched her gaze at him over the edge of her cup. What she intended was obvious, and he was rather amused, given her reaction the last time he approached her. She was wasting no time securing her position in Fair Haven. It would be a fitting punishment of sorts, if he decided to send her away. Had she married him instead of his father, she would have everything she wanted now, rather than waiting on his mercy.

  Nicholas took a step closer to her, his eyes darkened with her invitation. He grinned as she stepped back, wary of his intentions, as if she were having second thoughts. Every step he took had her taking a matching one backward, until she was pressed against the wall. The goblet fell from her hand. He watched her gaze scan his features. Nicholas took pleasure in the timidi
ty emanating from her, and was surprised when she reached up to touch the scar on his face. He swooped down over her for a demanding kiss and felt her arms circle his neck, her fingers toying with his hair. Mayhap he would keep her around a while.

  * * * *

  The tallow candle had burned itself out, leaving the chamber in darkness, except for the red glow from the braziers. Nicholas glanced over at the sleeping Meredith. He felt sated for the moment, but another hunger made itself known as his stomach rumbled ominously. He quickly, but quietly, dressed, then made his way below to the great hall.

  A pageboy cautiously set a tray of bread, cheese, some roast chicken, and wine before Nicholas, then scurried away. Nicholas chuckled. It paid to keep the servants on their toes, wary of their lord. Meredith's ‘gift’ to him earlier, put him in a good mood. His father would most assuredly be turning over in his grave if he knew what his young widow had done. The idea of Meredith becoming as jaded as he was pleased Nicholas no end. He would have to instruct her further in her new behavior. She could prove to be a valuable asset to his plans.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ellen went about her duties as if she had never left them, but the lightheartedness was no longer a part of her spirit. Her husband was a sore spot to her thoughts, like a bad tooth. She tried to avoid the subject, but the pain she felt was subtle and never ending. If she thought about it too long, it festered into anger.

  She said little to the servants she had known and been friendly with all her life. Since her return, they were keeping a respectful distance, leaving no doubt in her mind that word of David's reasons for sending her home had traveled quickly. Why else would they look at her strangely? Ellen could not bear the humiliation of being called ‘boring’ and ‘unwilling to fit in', but how did a person fit in with a group of people who disliked them from the start? Why had Gordon not returned to support her? She would never forgive her brother for taking David's part, sending her home like a child being punished for committing a wrong.