Love Above All (14 page)

“This will probably take some time.” She
gestured toward the cot, the only object in the tent that offered
seating space. “Would you like to sit down while we talk?”

“It would not be a good idea,” Quentin said.
“Anyway, I won’t be here long. You asked about our plan. It’s
simple enough, though you must understand that the exact details of
such a mission always change along the way as unforeseen
circumstances arise.”

“What kind of circumstances?” she asked.

“In most convents and abbeys men aren’t
allowed beyond the entry hall. If that’s the case at Abercorn, you
will have to find Janet on your own and bring her out to us.
Perhaps the abbess will object to Janet’s departure and we will
have to deal with her. I won’t go into all the possibilities
involving interference from your brothers. I’m sure you have
repeatedly considered those possibilities.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “That’s why I
can’t sleep. I do understand the need to make swift changes in the
plan if unexpected obstructions to it occur. Please, just tell me
what your intentions are.”

“We will ride directly to Abercorn, which
will take four or five days,” Quentin said. “Once there, Royce’s
men will surround the place. Then Cadwallon and I will accompany
you inside. We will be fully armed and we intend to remain with you
while you speak with the abbess and make arrangements for Janet to
leave.”

“You cannot imagine I will require an armed
guard in so holy a place,” Fionna exclaimed.

“I have known convents where assassins
lurked,” Quentin said. “We don’t know the loyalties of the abbess
or the other nuns, or of any priest who may be in residence at
Abercorn. I want you and Janet to walk out of the gate alive and
unharmed, preferably within an hour of our arrival there.”

“What about you?” Fionna asked, assailed by
sudden fear. She told herself she was only reacting to his remarks
about entering a religious house in full armor and bearing a sword.
Still, she couldn’t help what she was feeling, nor could she stop
herself from revealing her emotions. “Quentin, I don’t want anyone
to come to harm over this.”

“We will be as cautious as possible,” he
said. “I expect no great difficulty at the abbey. I still carry
with me the letter from King Henry in which he declares my status
as his personal ambassador. I also have a note bearing King
Alexander’s seal, which promises safe passage out of Scotland for
me and all of my companions. That is the document we’ll use if
anyone questions why a band of foreigners has come for Janet. Your
sister will be released. I swear it.”

“On your word of honor. I know.” She regarded
the firm line of his mouth as she stated the most outstanding
aspect of his character. “No matter what the danger, you will
fulfill the promise you have made.”

“I will,” he said.

“I am so sorry I involved you in all of
this,” she whispered. “Were it not for me, you would be well into
England by now and safe from any threat my brothers might offer.
Instead, you are about to ride back into danger.” Unable to stop
the impulsive gesture, she put out a hand, laying it on his chest.
Quentin caught his breath, then laid his hand over hers.

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?” he
asked. “Surely, you don’t want Janet to remain where she is?”

“No, never!” She was still whispering, but
her low cry held all the force of a loud wail of terror. “We can’t
leave Janet to my brothers’ mercy. They have no mercy. I only
meant, I don’t want you to be hurt. Oh, or Cadwallon, either,” she
hastily added.

“I am glad you mentioned Cadwallon,” he
whispered with a soft chuckle. “Dare I believe you honestly care
what happens to – well, to either of us?”

“Of course, I care. You saved my life and
Cadwallon has become like a brother to me – like the kind of
brother I always wished I had,” she quickly amended when she felt
his chest begin to quake with barely suppressed laughter.

“Who would ever imagine you could still long
for a brother, after the way your own kin have treated you?” he
murmured. “Ah, Fionna, I never know whether to trust you
completely, or tie you up to prevent you from causing more
harm.”

“I have trusted you from the first,” she
declared.

“Have you? I wonder.”

Before Fionna could declare that she was not
trying to deceive him, Quentin slid an arm around her waist,
drawing her toward him. He wasn’t wearing chainmail; he had washed
and changed into his blue woolen tunic and hose for the evening.
Without the usual metal barrier of his body armor between them, she
was instantly enveloped in his warm, masculine strength.

Quentin still kept his hand firmly over hers
on his chest, a position that meant the back of his hand was
pressed against Fionna’s bosom. She shook with sudden longing,
while she wondered if he would change his mind and decide to lie
down with her. She thought her cot was wide enough to hold two, if
they lay close together. She ought to be ashamed of a desire so
improper, but she couldn’t regret wanting Quentin to hold her.

Quentin’s arm tightened around her waist, and
his mouth came down hard on hers. Fionna didn’t fight him. She
opened her mouth, giving herself up to him, and to the delicious
heat growing inside her with every thrust of his tongue against
hers. Quentin released her hand, turning his own hand so his
fingers were stroking her breast. Pressed close to each other as
they were, she was aware of his growing physical need.

Suddenly, he pushed her back, breaking their
intimate contact, his hands on her shoulders keeping her from
renewing it. In the dim light she saw the dangerous glitter of his
eyes.

“Temptress.” His voice sounded remarkably
like an angry growl. “I’ll not be seduced by you a second
time.”

“I never seduced you!” she cried, forgetting
to keep her own voice low.

“Listen to me well, Fionna. I will not lie
with you; first, because I am no despoiler of maidens and, second,
because I do not entirely trust you.”

“Why are you accusing me? I am not
dishonest.” But he was, for he hadn’t mentioned the possibility of
his betrothal.

“Can you deny you are keeping secrets from
me?” he asked.

“Nothing important,” she whispered. “Not
now.”

“What an interesting choice of words. Am I to
assume you have been keeping secrets, but you no longer are? Or,
perhaps, the secrets you’ve been keeping no longer matter? Why is
that, Fionna? Have you successfully led me into your brothers’
trap?”

“No! I’ve been trying to keep you out of
their trap.”

“Oh?”

The chill in Quentin’s voice alerted Fionna
to her mistake. She must be more careful, and she must stop
thinking about the youthful Lady Eleanor.

“I am speaking of the trap Murdoch and
Gillemore set for me,” she said, “the test of my loyalty to them
that ended with me thrown into Liddel Water. Once you rescued me,
if my brothers had discovered me still alive and with you, they’d
have killed us and everyone with us. That’s all I meant.”

“Is it? Nothing more?” His voice was silky,
encouraging her to tell him the rest of it.

But she couldn’t tell him. What else she had
overheard her brothers saying was not Quentin’s concern, and
knowledge of it would place him in greater danger, for he’d assume
he ought to do something about it. She knew him well enough by now
to be sure he’d try. She also knew he’d fail, and likely lose his
life in the bargain, for from what she’d heard, no one could save
the man Colum had taken to France in shackles.

“I have nothing more to say,” she
whispered.

“Of course not.” Quentin removed his hands
from her shoulders. For a moment he stood watching her in the dim
light. “If I were not an honorable man I’d ride away and leave you
here, and I’d advise Royce to take his men and do the same.”

“But you won’t.”

“No. I will keep my word. But afterward—”

“Yes? Afterward – what, Quentin?”

He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t read his
expression. He turned on his heel and left her.

“What is that?” Fionna asked the following
afternoon. She pointed to a line of rough stones that lay directly
ahead of them.

They had been riding through hilly country
all day, in a drizzling rain and mist that hid their surroundings
and made some of the men grumble about the cold. Then, just at
sunset, the clouds broke and there before them lay wide-open,
rolling moors that were bathed in golden sunshine. The stones
Fionna had noticed were the remnants of a long wall that slashed
across the late autumn landscape, winding over hills and through
wide valleys, punctuated at regular intervals by crumbling stone
buildings. From Fionna’s vantage point she could see two such
buildings.

“Centuries ago a Roman emperor built the wall
and the guardhouses in hope of keeping the northern tribes out of
Roman territory,” Quentin responded to Fionna’s question. “When it
was first built, the wall extended from Solway Forth to the River
Tyne in the east. Most of it is in ruins now, as you can see.”

“I never noticed it at Carlisle,” she said,
frowning at the broken remains.

“We arrived at Carlisle after dark. You
couldn’t see much at all,” he reminded her.

Though it was late in the day, they didn’t
stop at the wall, but rode through a wide gap in the stones. They
continued northward, heading toward the Cheviot Hills, and they
camped in an open field that night.

“I find I can travel more rapidly when I
don’t avail myself of the hospitality of castles or abbeys,” Royce
told Fionna. “Without the need to be polite to any host, I can
begin and end the day’s riding whenever, and wherever, I want.”

“And you can avoid having to answer prying
questions,” she noted.

“This mode of travel also means I cannot ask
any prying questions,” Royce said, laughing, “and that is a sad
situation for a king’s agent.”

The next day they reached Liddel Water at a
spot far east of the place where Fionna’s brothers had cast her
into the cold river. Still, she crossed the water with a shiver of
memory. Quentin had been in the vanguard of their troop, but he
dropped back to ride at Fionna’s side as they forded the river. He
said nothing. Quentin seldom spoke to her during that journey, but
his mere presence was a comfort to her.

The appearance of a large troop of armed men
led by Norman nobles could not pass unnoticed by the local folk.
Whenever they came to one of the rare villages and stopped to
purchase bread if there was a bakery, men and women gathered to
stare at them. The Scots kept their distance and they seemed
surprised when Royce or his men paid for what they needed, rather
than simply seizing the supplies.

“They’ll be passing the word of our coming,”
Fionna said to Royce.

“So they will,” he responded. “No doubt,
before we reach Abercorn all the lowlands south of the Firth of
Forth will know we are conducting a lady to the abbey there, to
take her holy vows. It’s likely the abbess will be expecting you.
That belief should provide us with an easy entrance.”

“Don’t forget,” Cadwallon said to Fionna,
“that Fionna of Dungalash is dead. It’s Lady Ursula who wants to
enter Abercorn.”

Quentin said nothing. He just looked
grim.

In one of the villages through which they
passed, Royce paused to buy a dark woolen shawl, a length of undyed
linen, and a small wooden box containing straight pins. He gave the
items to Fionna, telling her to make a wimple from the linen and
the pins.

“Bring the shawl to the dining tent tonight,”
Royce ordered. “It occurs to me that you will need a few lessons in
spying before we reach Abercorn.”

That evening Royce dismissed his officers and
the servants just as soon as the meal was finished. When only
Fionna, Quentin, Cadwallon, and Braedon remained, Royce leaned
forward, elbows on the table, and addressed Fionna.

“Am I correct in assuming that you have seen
nuns often enough to know how they walk?”

“Walk?” Fionna responded, laughing a little
at the question. “Nuns walk like everyone else, of course.”

“You are no fool, Fionna. With a bit of
tutoring, I do believe you can make a good spy. Now, think about
what you have observed whenever you’ve looked at nuns.” Royce
paused to let her consider his words, then said, “I have noticed
the way you walk with a determined stride, as if you will challenge
anyone who tries to stop you.”

“That’s because I watched the way my
sisters-in-law behaved,” she said. “My brother, Murdoch, has had
three wives, each of whom tended to cringe before him, probably
because Murdoch believes in beating his wives. I learned as a girl
that, if I stood up to him, he’d leave me alone or confine himself
to a single swipe at me. Though standing up to Murdoch didn’t
prevent him from trying to kill me,” she added.

“Murdoch will pay for mistreating you,”
Quentin promised.

“Let us return to the original subject of
this lesson,” Royce said. “Fionna, I want you to try to recall the
way nuns walk.”

“Slowly,” Fionna said, obeying the order,
“with bowed heads and clasped hands. Nuns always appear meek. They
walk as if they don’t want to be noticed.”

“Exactly. They walk like this.” Royce rose
from the table. He folded his hands together at chest level, bent
his head and shoulders as if to examine the ground, and took a few
short steps around the tent.

“Yes!” Fionna cried. “That’s it; that is a
nun’s walk. How clever of you to have noticed. Royce, with the
right clothing, you could pass for a nun.”

“I have done so, once or twice,” Royce said,
breaking free of the impersonation to grin at her. “Unfortunately,
a man can appear to be a woman for only a short time, no more than
a day at most.”