Dangerous (17 page)

When she nodded, he opened the door and entered the chaos of the main hall. Dozens of eyes were drawn to the movement, and she gave in to a surge of exhaustion, resting her head on Miguel’s shoulder as Grant hastened over to them.

“Elisabeth! I’ve been so worried. Where have you been?”

“Down there,” she answered with a languid motion toward the catacombs.

“That bastard. When I get my hands on him–”

“My lord,” Miguel interrupted smoothly, “perhaps I should return the lady to her chambers while you continue your search.”

Clearly, Grant was torn between hunting for Eric and ensuring that she was securely locked away.

At last he agreed. With a kiss for her cheek, he said, “Miguel will stay and watch over you. I’ll join you when I can.”

He made no mention of the guard’s unsettling resemblance to Eric. Elisabeth couldn’t decide if he believed her to be a fool or assumed that his mind-numbing potion had left her incapable of noticing something so blatant.

Grant moved away from her, calling his remaining guards together. As Miguel strode toward the stairs, she heard the words “hunt” and “Jordanne” and shivered despite the heat from the fire.

Miguel offered a smile as they ascended the staircase. “Not to worry, Lady Elisabeth. All will end well.”

In the upper hallway, he came to an abrupt halt, and Elisabeth turned to see what had caused his reaction.

Sword drawn in a battle stance, Christian stood as if he’d turned to stone. “Who the Devil are you?”

“Miguel Santurio,” he replied easily, nodding his head. “And you?”

“This is my brother Christian,” Elisabeth answered.

As he sheathed his blade, Christian’s gaze remained fixed on the Spaniard. “By the saints, ye look just like Eric.”

“One of us as ugly as the other,” Miguel jested. “Since you’re here, perhaps we can tilt the odds a bit.”

“I’ve a feeling Eric’s legend will be growing this night. But you’ll want this.” Christian stripped off his Redmond plaid and offered it to Miguel before taking Elisabeth from him. “My men have orders to cut down anyone in Colton colors.”

“Where are they posted?”

Her brother hesitated, and Elisabeth said, “You can trust him. He won’t betray us.”

“Of course not,” Miguel added as he fastened the woolen mantle over his black leather tunic. “Had my hands not been full, I’d have run Colton through in the hall.”

Christian chuckled quietly. “I like you, Santurio. Our men are positioned just past your outer perimeter, awaiting my signal.”

A commotion sounded in the hall below, and they traded grim smiles.

“I think Eric’s plan is in motion.” Miguel led them down the servants’ staircase and paused at the bottom. “Go through the kitchens and follow the portico out to the stables. You’ll be within a few strides of a small stand of trees. Eric will meet us at the first road marker.”

“What about you?” Elisabeth asked. She had no doubt Grant would kill him on sight for his part in her disappearance.

With a rakish grin, he bowed and kissed her hand. “I’ll be with him, milady.
Adiós
.”

As he vanished down the lower corridor, Christian turned the opposite way, chuckling softly. “Aye, him I like.”

***

“Grab him!” one of the guards shouted while the head table crashed under the weight of the huge chestnut stallion. Pawing the air as he reared, he snorted at the men trying to catch hold of his mane.

“You grab him!” another retorted, knocked to the stone floor when the horse pivoted on his hind feet and galloped through the center of the hall.

Fortunately, no women were about, for it would be a terrifying sight for feminine eyes. Miguel leaned against an elaborately sculpted column, enjoying the spectacle immensely. Though the animal appeared wildly out of control, his eyes held a keen intelligence, and he seemed to know precisely what he was doing.

Apparently heeding some unheard command, the destrier wheeled and cantered back through the destruction he’d caused. Leaping down the wide steps that led to the courtyard, he easily cleared a stone trough, the ground thundering beneath him as he galloped under the portcullis that had been opened to accommodate Colton’s men.

“Jordanne!” Grant shouted into the night, his own mount prancing in a frantic circle. “Come out and face me, you spineless bastard!”

Silence met his challenge, and he swore violently. “Go into the woods and get him, but leave him alive. I want to have the immense pleasure of killing him myself.”

Miguel levered away from the shadowed corner and let himself out a narrow door into the rear courtyard, where he skimmed along the outer wall and found the postern entrance. The commotion of mustering soldiers covered the creak of the small gate. After a quick glance behind and before him, he slipped through it and made his way from the castle.

Not a dozen strides into the dense trees, he tensed as a massive forearm locked about his throat. Though he had very sharp ears, he’d not heard even a whisper of movement through the undergrowth.

“Where is she?” his brother’s voice hissed in his ear.

“With Christian.”

“You were to see her safely to the first marker,” Eric reminded him sternly as he shoved him back several steps.

“Was that your horse in there destroying Lord Colton’s hall?”

“It was.”

“Clever.” Chuckling, Miguel drew his sword and rested the flat of the blade over his shoulder. “What now?”

“That depends on Colton.”

“He’s furious. I’d wager his thoughts are quite confused.” A broad grin flashed in the darkness, and Miguel chuckled again. “That was your intent, was it not?”

“In part. But with you here, I’ve a new plan.”

***

Grant stared into the forbidding darkness, trying to outguess his opponent. With most men, it was a simple exercise. They’d been trained as he had, and he knew what they would do almost before they did. Jordanne thought like an animal, using the elements as if they were more weapons at his disposal.

Not long before, he’d discovered that Glenda had slipped away sometime during the evening, taking Andrew with her. Infuriated by her willful behavior, Grant had gone to confront Elisabeth, only to find her bed empty. Somehow, Jordanne had gained entry to the castle and spirited her away, but his escape was far from assured. Carrying Elisabeth would slow the Frenchman down, and even after he retrieved his accursed horse, their pace wouldn’t be quick.

When he picked up the sound of scuffling nearby, Grant headed south, eager to join in the fight. Another struggle began off to the east, and he reined in his mount, uncertain which fray centered about Jordanne.

As he listened to the confusing shouts of his men, a distasteful possibility formed in his mind. Should Santurio and Jordanne ever meet, it would be most unfortunate. If they were to join forces against him...

He was startled from his reverie by a towering silhouette emerging from the trees before him. Under the faint moon, he saw a flash of Redmond blue and the deadly glint of steel, and he drew his sword as he dismounted. “So, Jordanne, you’ve answered my challenge.”

“
Oui
.”

The terse reply amused him, and he tossed out several more taunts, all of which met with little or no response. As they circled one another at the edge of the forest, his rival moved in and out of the light, giving his face an eerie quality. Grant shook off the impression and focused on the task at hand.

The knight parried each thrust of Grant’s sword with confidence and strength, using only the effort necessary to repel the attack. Though Grant was breathing heavily and dripping with sweat, his opponent seemed unaffected by their battle. In truth, he fought like a much younger man.

“You two-faced bastard,” Grant raged through gritted teeth. “I wanted Jordanne.”

“One brother is much the same as another,” Santurio informed him in his native accent.

“Aye,” Grant snarled. “I think you’re right.”

***

Sheltered by the domed roots of an ancient willow, Elisabeth listened to the sounds of battle echoing through the forest. The fog was lifting from her mind, and though a blinding ache remained, she much preferred it to feeling less than half-witted. She glanced up when Christian rounded the giant tree.

“How fare you?” he asked, crouching down beside her.

“Well enough. And your men?”

“A few are wounded, but nothing serious.”

“They must need tending,” she said as she gradually stood to avoid losing her balance. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I won’t have ye out in the open for someone to run off with. We’ll get ye to Caileann, but ’til then ye must stay here, where I know you’re safe.” He motioned to the two men he’d tasked with guarding her, and she complied with a nod.

“Eric and Miguel?”

“I’ve not seen them.” He paused with a wry grin. “Then again, knowing Eric I’d not expect to. Remarkable to find his brother here, is it not?”

“It is. Have you found Grant?”

“No. I’d wager he’s gone to ground somewhere close by. His men are starting to pull away, as mercenaries tend to do. After we get ye home, we’ll come back with fresh men and find him if we have to burn down the forest.”

The vengeance in his tone chilled her more than the night air had done. Before she could caution him to patience, the alert sentries stiffened as a lone figure staggered toward the bower. They stepped before him in challenge, and he brushed them away like gnats.

“Miguel!” The guard’s right arm dangled uselessly at his side, and Christian helped him to a fallen log. “Who got hold of you?”

“Colton,” he grunted as he sat. “But not before I grabbed this.”

A plump money pouch dangled from his long fingers, and Christian chuckled. “I’d say he owes you at least that much.”

“He’ll owe me a great deal more should I lose my arm.”

Despite his protests, Elisabeth inspected the gaping wound in Miguel’s shoulder. Blood already soaked his tunic and continued to course down his chest. She used his knife to cut a large square from her dressing gown for a bandage. Christian took the belt from about his waist, and she used it to close the wound and slow the bleeding.

“Velvet. How fancy,” Miguel grumbled, leaning his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. “
Gracias
, milady.”

“Christian, I can’t care for him here. We must get him to Caileann immediately.”

“No,” Miguel croaked weakly. “I won’t leave my brother out there.”

“Of course not.” Christian turned to Elisabeth. “I’ll send you and the injured back with half a dozen soldiers.”

“The lady will be riding with me.”

With a delighted gasp, she raced toward the figure she still couldn’t see. She flung herself into Eric’s arms just as he emerged from the depths of the woods. He stank of blood and sweat, but she didn’t care. Burrowing against him, she reveled in the solid feel of him, the strength of his arms about her.

Grasping her shoulders, he gently put her away. “I lost sight of Colton, and I’ve no idea where he’s gone. We’d best be on our way before he rallies his men and sweeps the forest.”

***

While Elisabeth busied herself at her worktable, Eric eased his brother onto the padded bench beside the fireplace where she’d tended him so many months ago. Crouching before Miguel, he rested a hand on his uninjured arm.

“That blow was meant for me.” He fingered the slash that had severed Miguel’s leather torque. “Why did you seek him out and engage him that way?”

“You have someone who loves you. No one would miss me.”

“That’s not true,” Eric assured him. “I would miss you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I hope to change that. You’re most fortunate, Miguel.” He canted his head to smile over at Elisabeth. “She’s as skilled as she is beautiful.”

“I’m quite lovely in torn velvet,” she commented as she joined them.

“Beauty such as yours requires nothing more, Lady Elisabeth.” Miguel clenched his teeth as she removed the makeshift wrapping and began cutting away his ruined leather doublet and tunic. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” she replied absently while she cleaned his wound. “I hope you like it here in Caileann. You’ll be staying a while.”

Christian poked his head through the half-open door. “Lise, Father wishes to speak with Miguel.”

“I’ve laid his shoulder open! You’ll have to wait.”

“Perhaps it’s best to do it now,” Miguel said quietly.

“You’re not strong enough for an interrogation,” she protested.

“If I grow weaker, your father won’t have the proof he needs to take down Lord Colton. I want to do this for you.” He glanced to his brother. “For all of you.”

Christian cast a pitying look at the soldier’s arm. “Are ye right-handed?”

“It matters not. I can’t write.”

“Then I’ll write it for you.” He opened the door wide. “Miguel Santurio, my father, Gabriel Redmond.”