Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) (14 page)

DUGALD’S EYES DARTED
from Alex to Elayne and back again. “’Tis fortunate Maud and Geoffrey are not with the army sitting outside your gates. Off on some misbegotten mission to drum up support. Maud would know as soon as she set eyes on Henry and Claricia they weren’t who they’re supposed to be. She was beginning to get suspicious anyway.”

Alex breathed a little easier. It was unlikely Geoffrey would
allow an underling to lead an attack against a castle such as Montbryce, but what did the Scot have in mind?

The color had drained from Elayne’s face.

Dugald lumbered to his feet. “It’s only a matter of time before she uncovers the subterfuge. What was my father thinking?”

“He was angry Maud asked for hostages, seemingly not satisfied with his sworn oath to support her,” Elayne explained wearily.

The despair in her voice kicked Alex in the gut.

“So, here’s my plan. My
family will accompany me to our encampment. Everyone will congratulate me on a fine job of extracting the hostages safely, and in less than a day. When they’re all well into their cups and I see the time is right, I’ll spirit them away.”

“How can you be sure the mercenaries will drink themselves into a stupor?”

“Because you will provide the ale, and mayhap a cask or two of your famous apple brandy.”

Alex bristled. Was it not enough they’d destroyed the orchards? But he saw the wisdom of
Dugald’s plan. “Very well. Bonhomme will see to it. Where will you take them?”

“T
o Caen.”

Some winged creature with sharp talons flapped around inside Alex. Caen was where his father had been incarcerated, where he’d been born. He’d sworn never to set foot in the town. “Caen?” he exclaimed.

“Aye,” Dugald replied as if speaking to an imbecile. “The town is loyal to Stephen. They won’t be safe anywhere that Maud can get her hands on them. You’ve declared for Stephen. Can you get a message to Caen? Arrange our passage back to Scotland?”

Alex would never see Elayne or her children again. The light that had penetrated
the darkness of his lonely existence would be snuffed out.

But what choice was there? He
had to let them go. It was Dugald’s right to take them.

“I’ll not go with you.”

All eyes turned to the door where Henry stood, glaring at his father, his dog at his side.

Elayne gasped.

Scowling, Dugald made a move to approach his son, but Alex held up a hand to stop him. He hunkered down in front of the boy and took his hand. “I know you want to stay here, Henry.” He swallowed hard, stricken by the despair in the boy’s eyes. “I would like nothing better. But it’s not to be. It’s your duty to accompany your mother, to protect her and your sister.” He hoped the boy understood the hidden message behind his words.

Henry stared at Alex’s hand. “Can I take Faol?” he whispered.

Alex rubbed the dog’s head. “Of course,” he rasped, straightening. “Go with your mother now. Claricia is feeling much better and will be glad to see you. I’ll speak further with your father.”

The lad took hold of his mother’s hand and led her out of the Chart Room. She walked
as if she’d fallen under an evil spell. Alex watched them go, wondering how he remained on his feet when Elayne was leaving with his heart.

~~~

BY LATE AFTERNOON, all was in readiness. Elayne was relieved Alex had made no attempt to see her alone. It would be hard enough saying goodbye in the bailey. She’d packed only the belongings they’d brought with them, not wanting any reminders of what might have been.

Claricia had made a miraculous recovery and was agog at the prospect of accompanying her
Dadaidh
. She rode atop his shoulders as they gathered in the courtyard to begin their journey.

Henry sulked.

Faol looked as mournful as a wolfhound can.

She was afraid of what lay ahead in the Anjou camp, not for
herself, but for her children, though she had no doubt Dugald would defend them to the death.

She bade goodbye to a stone-faced Bonhomme, and a weeping Micheline.
Romain only nodded. He’d said his farewell earlier, his eyes filled with tears. She’d never seen him so bereft. “Alex loves you, you know,” he’d rasped. “My brother—”

“I love him too, but it’s not to be.”

Alex entered the courtyard just as a dark cloud stole the warmth from the afternoon sun. How to part from this vulnerable, cautious man who’d captured her heart and allowed her into his? Her throat constricted and she feared her knees might buckle.

Though Dugald was somewhat dimwitted, sh
e suspected he was aware of the feelings Elayne and Alex shared. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He would taunt her with it later.

Alex held his hands up to Claricia. She leaned down from her father’s shoulders and fell happily into his arms. He hugged her. “Farewell, little one. Stay well. I’ll miss you.”

“I love you, Lix,” she murmured, hugging his neck.

Elayne swayed, wishing she had something to hold onto.

He handed her back to Dugald, his face betraying none of his emotions. But she recognized the firm set of his jaw, his determination to get through this ordeal.

He bent to whisper something in Henry’s ear. The boy nodded, then threw his arms around Alex’s neck. Alex picked him up, hugging him to his chest. Faol
whimpered. Elayne’s agony threatened to choke her.

Slowly, Alex peeled Henry’s arms
from around his neck and set him back on his feet.

Dugald suddenly took the reins of his horse from the stable lad and mounted, sitting Claricia on his lap. He held out his hand to Henry. “Mount behind me, boy.”

Henry looked at Alex, nodded, then accepted his father’s hand and was pulled onto the horse.

“
Get your goodbyes over with, woman, and get in the cart. Time’s going by,” Dugald growled, setting his steed in motion. Riding with two children, their small iron chest strapped to the side of his saddle he looked more like a wandering pedlar than a prince of royal blood.

She eyed the cart. She would not leave Montbryce wedged amid barrels of ale and casks of brandy. “I will walk.”

Dugald rolled his eyes.

She
eased the strap of the travelling bag over her shoulder and across her body and somehow put one foot in front of the other. Alex caught her hand, as she’d hoped. “I want to kiss you goodbye, Elayne, like a man kisses the woman he loves, but I suspect he’d make you pay for it later.”

He brushed his
lips across her knuckles, stealing the last breath from her beleaguered lungs. “I’ll not say
adieu
, only
au revoir
,” he said softly, his blue eyes hooded, his mouth a tight line. “If there is ever a way to make you mine, I’ll find it and come for you—and your children.”

She nodded
woodenly, knowing what his promise had cost this man who she suspected had never bared his heart to anyone.

Unable
to speak, she pressed the token she’d made for him into his warm palm, relieved when his hand closed on it.

Determined not to look back, s
he walked out of Montbryce Castle behind her husband’s horse. Faol loped at her side. She raised her eyes to her son’s rigid shoulders, then beyond to the blackened and gnarled remains of the smoldering apple orchards. They were headed straight for hell.

AFRAID HIS EMOTIONS
would get the better of him if he opened his hand, Alex curled his fingers tightly around the token Elayne had given him. He turned to ask his brother to ascend to the battlements, but Romain was already halfway up the steps. Word would be brought as soon as the hostages entered the enemy camp. If he watched the sad procession he might be tempted to hurl himself to the ground far below in an effort to end the pain piercing his heart.

There was work to do. Dugald might have lied. He was capable of much worse. There was no guarantee Geoffrey wasn’t in the camp, prepared to attack as soon as the hostages were secured.

He clenched both fists, almost hoping the Angevin would launch an offensive. They were ready, more than ready, and the upstart would rue the day he tangled with the Montbryces.

His broken heart urged him to his chamber. He wanted to collapse on his bed
, open his fist and weep. But madness lay that way, and Elayne would still be gone when he emerged.

Instead he summoned
Brodeur to the Chart Room to go over every aspect of their defenses and capabilities. Before his Captain arrived he braced his legs, holding on to the mantel with one hand, and uncurled his cramped fingers.

The enormity of his loss struck him at the sight of the
tightly braided token that lay like a red ribbon in his palm. Elayne had used her own hair to leave a piece of herself with him. Each end of the delicate plait was secured by a tiny bow made of a strand of red hair. Gritting his teeth, he tucked it into his gambeson, next to his erratically beating heart.

He pondered his next move.
Dugald had let slip from his garrulous tongue that the numbers in the enemy camp were not substantial, and composed mainly of mercenaries. He’d ridiculed their ineptitude at almost destroying their own tents. Perhaps there was a possibility of attacking instead of waiting for Geoffrey to act. But how to do so without endangering the lives of three people he loved?

~~~

ELAYNE HAD TO GRUDGINGLY ADMIT that Dugald held some sway in the enemy camp. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any apparent leader of the soldiers gathered outside Montbryce Castle. Her husband had been telling the truth about Geoffrey’s absence. She wished there was some means of letting Alex know how few men were actually laying siege. Many of the tents appeared to be unoccupied.

To a man the scruffy soldiers were jubilant about the new supplies of ale, swarming over the cart like bees in the hive. They were intent on their task and n
o one argued with Dugald when he informed them he would keep an eye on the hostages in his own tent, which turned out to be a spacious pavilion, though it reeked of smoke. “You’ll be safe from the men here,” he assured her. “Sometimes they get ideas in their heads when they’ve drunk too much.”

The knot in her innards tightened, but she acknowledged their escape depended on Dugald getting his comrades drunk
, or drunker than they already appeared to be.

She and the children were given coarse black bread, hard cheese, and apples, evidently picked before the fire. Her throat closed
with anger at the enormity of Alex’s loss.

“Get some sleep now,” Dugald ordered after they’d eaten
, huddled together on the packed dirt floor.

“It’s not even dark yet,” Henry
answered back.

Dugald scowled at Elayne. “The boy has your sharp tongue. With any luck we’ll be traveling far from here this night, so sleep now.”

“My throat hurts. I want a bed,” Claricia complained, her bottom lip pouting.

Dugald hunkered down beside her, wagging his finger. “Don’t whine, daughter. You’ll sleep on the cold hard ground and like it.”

She cowered back against Elayne, a tear trickling down her cheek. “
Oui
, Papa,” she murmured.

He straightened. “And none of that Norman
talk. Speak like a Scot,” he shouted in Gaelic.

Elayne put her arm
s around both children, gathering them closer. “No need to shout. They’re tired and afraid.”

Dugald snorted, but left them alone.
Relief washed over her. She’d feared he would insist on his husbandly rights.

Henry and Claricia cuddled into her, eventually falling asleep. Faol
stretched out with his back to Henry. She dozed fitfully, disturbed by the raucous voices of men whose boasting and bravado grew louder as they imbibed more ale. After an hour, or perhaps two, the voices trailed off, then stopped.

Darkness fell.
She waited, straining in the pitch black to hear any sound at all. Would Dugald deem this the right time to flee?

After what seemed like an eternity,
he stomped into the tent, carrying a torch. Faol came quickly to his feet, growling. “Muzzle that hound,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand on the hilt of the dagger in a leather sheath buckled around his waist. “I’ll slit his throat if he gives us away.”

Elayne struggled to
stand on numbed legs. She pulled Faol away from her husband. Henry clamped a hand over the dog’s jaws.

Claricia slept on. Dugald scooped her up. “I’ll take her on my mount. Henry can ride with you.”

“I have no horse,” she protested.

He grinned. “You do now.”

The prospect of riding a strange horse in the darkness filled her with dread. “But I’m not a good rider.”

He was already half out of the tent.
“Time to learn, then.”

She had no choice but to gather up her bag and urge Henry and Faol to follow her out into the night.

To her relief there was no one in sight. “Are there no sentries?” she asked.

He chuckled.
“Aye! Passed out at their posts. There’ll be a reckoning on the morrow.”

He
doused the torch, plunging them into blackness, and mounted with Claricia. He pointed with the hand that still held the reins of another horse. “Use that stump over there, and don’t dawdle. Henry, help your mother.”

Nearby, someone retched. They
stood stock still, until Dugald motioned them to hurry once all fell quiet again. By the time she and her son had struggled onto the nervous beast, her heart was beating too fast and she was sweating and breathless, despite the chill in the air. She praised the saints that Faol had kept quiet during the fiasco, as if he knew his life depended on it. “Hold tight,” she whispered to Henry, mounted behind her. “I’m not good at this.”

He stretched his arms as far as he could around her waist. “I trust you,
Maman
. All shall be well.”

She wished she had her son’s confidence as they stole away from the camp en route to Caen.