Love Above All (19 page)

“But Mother Hroswitha is certain to tell
Colum everything I said to her,” Fionna pointed out.

“This letter!” Janet exclaimed, interrupting
the discussion. She had finished reading and now she brandished the
parchment as if it were a weapon. “Mother Hroswitha warns Murdoch
to be on guard against a pair of armed knights and a lady claiming
to be my sister, who are plotting to remove me from the abbey
against her will. To think I trusted that woman! She promises to
send Colum after the abductors as soon as he reaches Abercorn, and
she insists that Murdoch keep the bloodshed away from the abbey.
That is exactly what she says, ‘The bloodshed,’ as if she knows and
accepts that people are sure to be killed. Fionna, is this what you
guessed would happen, what you were trying to tell me when I
wouldn’t listen?” Looking a bit green, Janet turned to her
sister.

“I have reason to believe Mother Hroswitha
has received gifts from Murdoch, given to her so she’d consent to
the arrangement he wanted. I believe she agreed to keep you at the
abbey until Murdoch was ready to marry you off to Colum,” Fionna
said. Quickly she explained about the silver cup, and saw Janet’s
eyes go wide as she remembered the object. “I couldn’t leave you
there, to be Murdoch’s victim, or Colum’s,” Fionna said.

“And I fought you!” Janet cried.

“You didn’t know,” Fionna said. “Will you
trust me now, and trust these honest men, too, and go with us
without further argument, until we have time to stop and tell you
what was done to me and what we have learned?”

“Yes, I will,” Janet said. “But I expect a
complete explanation as soon as possible. And I will not ride on
the same horse with that man!” she added with a fierce glare for
Cadwallon.

“We have a horse for you,” Quentin said. “If
you had only stopped protesting long enough to listen, we’d have
told you so.”

“If we leave quickly, perhaps we can avoid a
meeting with Murdoch,” Royce said. “Janet, will you allow Sir
William to assist you to mount?”

“Ah, I am wounded to my very heart!”
Cadwallon exclaimed, clapping one large hand over his manly chest.
“I was about to offer my assistance to the lady.”

“You, stay away from me!” Janet shouted at
him.

“Cadwallon, behave yourself,” Royce ordered
sternly. With the set face and steady voice befitting a leader, he
gave the command to head south.

But as Royce rode to the front of his troop,
Fionna caught a glint of humor in his eyes, and she thought she
detected a softening of the harsh lines around his mouth. Perhaps,
she thought, Quentin’s hope for his friend was being realized and,
with the need for prompt action, Royce was beginning to set aside
his long grief and would soon find a new interest in life.

They rode into the Pentland Hills, moving as
quickly as they could. But nightfall came early in mid-October and
when darkness made them stop and pitch their tents they weren’t as
far south as Quentin and Royce wanted.

“I have been thinking that we may have missed
Murdoch,” Quentin said as they sat around Royce’s table eating a
simple evening meal. “Mother Hroswitha must have assumed he was
nearby if she sent poor Gwion off on foot to meet him. Perhaps we
passed him by without knowing it.”

“It is odd that we’ve noticed no sign of
him,” Royce agreed.

“As soon as Murdoch speaks to Mother
Hroswitha, he’ll come after us,” Fionna said.

“Which means we’d better move faster tomorrow
than we did today,” Cadwallon said, “or else prepare to fight.”

“No one has bothered to reveal where you are
taking me,” Janet put in, sounding greatly annoyed by the
lapse.

“To England,” Royce told her. “To Wortham
Castle first. There you and Fionna will have a chance to think
without violent distractions, so you can decide what you want to
do. You are welcome to remain at Wortham for as long as you
please.”

“England?” Janet exclaimed. “Fionna, you
should have told me that at once.”

“I haven’t had time,” Fionna said. “I’ve been
too busy explaining to you how Murdoch and Gillemore tried to kill
me, and how Quentin and his friends rescued me and offered to help
you.”

“Ha!” A world of rude contempt lay in Janet’s
exclamation. “I don’t want to live in England! Normans live in
England!”

“Your rescuers are Normans,” Quentin pointed
out with admirable restraint in the face of Janet’s insult.

“You will be safe in England,” Royce
said.

“Of course, if you prefer, we can always
return you to Abercorn,” Cadwallon offered, “and we’ll drink a cup
of wine at your wedding feast.”

“I didn’t say I want to go back!” Janet
cried, fixing Cadwallon with a fierce look. “Despicable man, will
you kindly cease harassing me? I haven’t had a moment to think
since I first saw Fionna this morning.”

“You must be tired,” Fionna said kindly. She
laid a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Come away to our
tent. Tonight, you may sleep without fear.”

“I slept without fear in the abbey,” Janet
retorted, shrugging Fionna’s hand off her shoulder.

“Only because you were ignorant of what was
being planned for you,” Quentin told her with a frown. “Think, you
foolish girl! Consider where you’d be tonight, were it not for your
sister’s devotion.”

“Very well, Lord Royce,” Janet said, ignoring
Quentin’s remarks. “I will allow you to escort me to England, and I
accept your offer of hospitality – but only as a temporary measure.
A life in England is a fate just slightly more acceptable to me
than a forced marriage to Colum.” Janet rose from the dining table
and walked out of the tent.

“She’s just weary, and still a bit
frightened,” Fionna said to the men. “Thank you for every—”

“I am not afraid!” Janet cried from outside
the tent. “Fionna, come and show me where we are to sleep.”

Fionna made a deprecating gesture and
ventured a smile that included all of the men at the table. Then
she quickly followed her sister.

“I swear, I will strangle that ungrateful
wench before we reach Wortham,” Quentin muttered.

“No, don’t strangle her,” Cadwallon said with
a chuckle. “Leave Janet to me.”

“To you?” Quentin scoffed. “She hates
you.”

“I don’t hate her,” Cadwallon said. “In fact,
I admire a spirited woman. Janet needs a strong-willed man to tame
her. Besides, I like her freckles.”

Royce took up the wine pitcher and refilled
their cups. Quentin noticed how Royce sat smiling to himself while
they discussed the quickest route back to England.

By the time morning came Janet knew most of
the details of Fionna’s adventures, from the moment Murdoch shoved
her into Liddel Water until the hour when she reached the entry
door to Abercorn. Most of the details, but not everything. Fionna
hadn’t told Janet about her intimate moments with Quentin, nor had
she mentioned the way Quentin’s very presence quickened her pulse
and set her heart aflutter. Those were intensely personal matters
and, since she couldn’t see any future with Quentin, she thought it
best not to expose her deepest feelings.

What she attempted to do in her revelations
to Janet was convince her sister to be more polite to Quentin and
Cadwallon, and more appreciative of their efforts in Janet’s
behalf. As the two women left the tent they were sharing, Fionna
believed she had succeeded – until she heard Janet whisper an
imprecation under her breath. Fionna glanced around, seeking the
source of her sister’s irritation.

Cadwallon stood at the far side of the camp,
talking with Braedon. Without a word of explanation Janet left
Fionna and stalked across the campsite with fists on hips. Fearing
another altercation Fionna started after her.

“Let her go,” Quentin advised, catching up
with Fionna. “Cadwallon claims he can deal with her.”

“I am sure she will be calmer once she feels
safer,” Fionna said.

“Stop making excuses for her. Janet would
discover a reason to argue with the Archangel Gabriel.”

“I love her.” Fionna faced him with tears in
her eyes. “When we were little girls, Janet was all I had. And I
was all she had. I don’t understand what has happened to her. She
has changed.”

“Perhaps, she’s angry over having been left
at Abercorn for ten years. Having seen the place and met the
abbess, I could easily understand that explanation.” Quentin
glanced at Janet, then looked back at Fionna. In a softer voice he
asked, “Shall I help you to mount?”

“Yes, please,” she answered meekly. At the
moment she had no desire left for a quarrel with him.

The touch of Quentin’s hand on her back as he
guided her toward the horses was sweet to her, and the look in his
eyes when he lifted her to the saddle told her he did not hold
Janet’s continuing rudeness against her. Fionna set off that
morning with her heart lighter than it had been for days.

At mid-morning they left the forest behind
and rode onto a high, open moorland that was cloaked in heather.
And there, coming toward them across the moor they spotted another
troop of about a dozen horsemen.

“They aren’t showing banners. Can you tell
from here whether it’s your brothers?” asked Quentin, who was
riding next to Fionna.

“I can’t see their faces clearly from this
distance,” she responded, “but I do believe that is Gillemore’s
grey stallion.”

“Then I am glad you are wearing your wimple,”
Quentin said. “It’ll serve as a disguise. Keep your head down and
we’ll hope they don’t recognize you.”

“They won’t.” Fionna sounded surer than she
felt. “They think I’m dead.”

“Let them continue to think so,” Quentin
said.

As the two troops moved closer together,
Royce’s men shifted their positions so Fionna and Janet rode in the
middle of the group, surrounded by men-at-arms. Royce rode in the
forefront with Braedon at his right side displaying the tall lance
from which flew Royce’s red and blue personal banner. Sir William
was on Royce’s left. Farther back, Cadwallon was riding next to
Janet, with Quentin staying close by Fionna.

“If they notice you at all,” Quentin said to
Fionna, “they will probably think from the quality of the cloak you
are wearing that you are Royce’s lady, and that Janet is your maid.
Don’t say or do anything to draw attention to yourself and we may
be able to pass by and continue on our way. I’d take great pleasure
in killing both of your brothers for what they did to you, but this
is not the time, not with ladies present. It’ll be far better if
they learn later that they inadvertently let us slip out of their
grasp. That knowledge, when they receive it, ought to infuriate
them,” he finished with a wolfish smile.

Dreading the possibility of bloodshed, Fionna
did as Quentin advised. She scarcely dared to raise her eyes, let
alone raise her face, when Royce greeted the approaching
warriors.

“Well met, my lords,” Royce called, slowing
his horse as the leaders of the two troops drew abreast of each
other. “A fine day for travel, is it not?”

“Who are you?” a rude voice responded to
Royce’s polite greeting. “Where are you bound?”

Fionna recognized Murdoch’s loud and abrupt
manner of speech. A quick upward glance revealed his bulky shape
and dark hair and brows. Gillemore’s slighter form, with similar
features and matching dark hair, was next to that of his older
brother. Though she was trying to keep her face down, Fionna was
aware of Quentin’s head turning briefly in her direction when her
hands tightened on the reins.

“I am Royce, the baron of Wortham, returning
from an embassy to King Alexander,” Royce answered in a cheerful
tone. “A fine man, your king.”

“D’ye think so?” asked Murdoch with a sneer.
“And what were ye doin’ wi’ wee Alex?”

“In the name of King Henry of England,” Royce
said, “we’ve made an agreement not to war against each other. You
may look forward to years of peace along the border.”

“I’m sure I’m delighted to hear it,” Murdoch
said, still sneering, making plain his personal disinclination for
peace.

“So should we all be pleased,” Royce told him
with no diminution of his cheerful manner. “If you are riding to
Edinburgh, will you carry my repeated thanks to your good
king?”

“I’m not for Edinburgh,” Murdoch said. “I’m
goin’ to a family weddin’, and I am a day overdue.”

“In that case, I wish joy to the happy
couple,” Royce said, “and a safe journey to you and your men. I’d
offer to share a cup of wine with you, but I am also overdue, in
England.”

“Good day to ye, then,” Murdoch said.

Fionna took a long breath and held it,
praying, daring to hope Murdoch and Gillemore and their people
would ride on and the danger would end.

It would, indeed, have ended there, if
Gillemore, who had an eye for the ladies and especially for girls
of lower rank who wouldn’t dare refuse his advances, had not tried
to get a better view of the girl he apparently supposed was no more
than a maidservant. As Murdoch took his leave of Royce, Gillemore
looked hard at Janet, taking in her uncovered, bright red braids
and her blushing cheeks.

“Well, now!” Gillemore exclaimed. “Here’s a
likely lass. My lord Royce, I’ll trade ye a horse for her.”

Fionna, still with her head resolutely
lowered, saw out of the corner of her eye how Quentin’s hand went
to his sword hilt. An instant later a similar movement from
Cadwallon’s direction told her he, too, was preparing for a
fight.

“The girl to whom you refer is a distant
cousin to my lady,” Royce said stiffly. “Such a transaction is
utterly unthinkable.”

“Judging by her clothing, she’s only a
serving wench, not a relative,” Gillemore argued. “Let me borrow
her for an hour or two and I’ll give her back only a little the
worse for wear.”