Exile’s Bane

Nicole Margot Spencer

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Exile’s Bane

Copyright © 2010 by Nicole Margot Spencer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-4410-7 (sc)

ISBN; 978-1-4502-4412-1 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-4411-4 (dj)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 7/28/2010

For my sweet Cathie

Civil war raged in England in 1644, the country consumed by Parliamentary and Royalist clashes. In his sweep through Lancashire in May of that year, Prince Rupert of the Rhine lifted a long-standing Parliamentary siege against a fortified house which had been ably defended by a woman.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

About the Author

Chapter One

No one slept this cold, spring morning. Like mist, expectancy hung in the air.

Beyond the gate towers the last siege cannon was hauled off the field. The distant, high-pitched squeal of those massive wheels grated on my nerves. Since that cursed gun had stopped booming, silence had settled uneasily over Tor House. Even the rain had stopped.

Not trusting Colonel Rigby, who had been at our gates for three bitter months, I stood on the roof of the watch-tower, that tall, square jewel in the house’s crown, to witness the departure of the besieging Roundheads for myself. The event was a blessing, still I trembled in the wake of this change. But then, I had never been one to deal well with the new or the unknown.

I left my shelter under the roof stair’s arched entry, my skirts whispering around me, until I came to an available crenellation in the battlement. The outer walls were limned gray by the light of early dawn. Below me, the mansion sprawled within its inner walls. Touches of light from countless windows on the ivy hung walls and around the many towers reflected blearily onto the rain-soaked ground.

Uncertain whether or not I yet dared go down to the great hall, I rubbed my shaking hands in nervous anticipation. It was almost time and so much was at stake. At eighteen, I was the heiress of Tor House, yet I was no more than a convenient pawn, my precious home stolen from me by the very relatives who should defend my rights.

Urgent boot steps pounded up the stone stairs behind me and out onto the roof. I turned and looked up into a dynamic masculine face I had never seen before, a face that carried a distinctly irritated expression. Our eyes connected, and something startling moved between us. I stared at the stranger, open-mouthed. At sight of his long, red hair, I stepped back.

The stranger’s eyes widened. In the gray light of dawn, he looked me up and down. His full-lipped mouth parted slightly, as though he, too, were mortally astounded. Quite tall and square-jawed, he wore a quality buff coat under his breast plate and bandolier. Thigh-high, heavy leather boots, holstered pistols, and the bridle gauntlet on his left hand and forearm marked him as a cavalry man just out of the saddle.

“Lady Elena?”

I nodded hesitantly, uncertain of this apparition’s intentions. He bowed, big, plumed hat held across his midriff in salute. When he regained his full height, he extended a gloved hand.

“Come with me.”

I moved beyond his reach. Frantic thoughts ran through my mind. With his heathen hair and burring accent, he could be a rogue Scot. Was he masquerading as a Royalist? In collusion with the enemy? I stepped back to the parapet wall and clenched my shaky hands together. Kidnapping? An attempt to broach Tor House by ransom?

A dread thought occurred to me. My lower lip began to quiver, and I pressed my lips together to stop it. Kidnapping and murder would, in fact, be a quick way to eliminate my claim to Tor House. But this man, Scot or no, whose face softened at my terror, did not seem of that ilk.

I stood poker-straight, attempted a severe look, and studied him. A sudden wild urge to turn and run fluttered over me, but I forced myself to remain. The man was powerfully built, with exceptionally broad shoulders. My gaze returned to my useless hands. I pulled my thoughts together and poured my frustration into my words.

“Why would I go anywhere with you? You, with your highlander’s brogue. I will not leave my home.”

I glanced around and behind him, but no one was on the roof, where earlier it had swarmed with house soldiers and cannon crews. Cannon shot remained stacked along the parapet. The smell of hot metal from the shot brazier still wafted about. I searched the area frantically and finally recognized an old gunpowder ladle, its wooden shaft broken, lying half hidden in the shadow at the base of the parapet.

With a swift, side-ways lunge, I grabbed the broken shaft and turned back.

“Get away from me,” I yelled, then slashed my weapon at the strange cavalier.

His deft steps easily avoided my assault. He took a rapid stride forward and seized my wrist, twisting the shaft brutally out of my grasp. Shaking his head in amazement, he released me.

Only then, in the rising light, did I notice the red satin sash tied across my apparition’s chest and over his shoulder, that universal token of a King’s man. I lowered my eyes and watched him through my eyelashes. His rapier at his side, his fine clothes, and his bearing, despite his current smug expression, indicated he was indeed a Royalist cavalry officer. Besides, he had a cavalier’s arrogance and a natural air of command.

In flushed embarrassment, I closed my mouth.

“I do not ask you to leave your home, lady,” came the quiet, sincere voice. He threw away the broken staff with a clatter. “There is no time for this. Much remains to be done.”

“What do you want with me?” I asked, rubbing my sore wrist.

“I am here to assist Countess Marie Louise.”

His reference to the countess brought me up short. I smiled, or at least attempted to. “To assist the countess? Not Tor House?”

“They are the same.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Certainly the countess thinks so.”

The rising sun lanced wide, horizontal beams across the roof, illuminating his clean-shaven face. My smile faded, for I momentarily fell under the spell of his dark, gold-flecked eyes. I drew a slow, awed breath. Even his eyelashes, like his hair, were multiple shades of red, long and thick. A closer look revealed sprigs of the same curly locks that peeked over his breast plate where his collar lay open at his throat. Fascinated, I leaned toward him. His hand came up to support me. At the last possible moment, I caught myself. I gaped up at him, mortified, only to recognize in him the same shock that I struggled to contain.

I wanted to berate him, send him from my sight, but stood there like a fool without a word, breast heaving.

Despite his professed lack of time, he remained in relaxed attentiveness, watching me, the dimple in his chin deepening. With everything I loved about to be thrown to the wind, my sudden attraction to this man was the absolute last thing I needed.

Cannon fire sounded in the distance, and he pointed out over the tall battlements at the land below, at that gray oblivion where the sun had not yet reached. “Finally, they flee,” he said.

I grasped at the stone’s edge to steady myself and studied the distant writhing torchlight interspersed by shadows of wagons, oxen, horses, and running men. A thunderous sound arose in the east. Beyond the walls, the sun rose, not on the dull round helmets of the parliamentary troops that had so long occupied these approaches, but on an undulating cavalier force of thousands that swarmed onto the field north of the gate towers.

“Prince Rupert has arrived?” I asked brightly, hardly able to speak for the apprehension racing through my veins. Though he had saved Tor House, I feared what the prince’s presence would bring into my life. Unknown consequences had always cost me dearly.

He nodded sharply, then studied me with kindness and desire. His smile dropped away. Though his dark eyes still watched me, he reclaimed his determined posture.

“The countess requires your presence. Now, lady.”

“You will force me?” I clutched the parapet’s wet rim. The solid, abrasive feel of the stone comforted me, for it was all I had that remained unchanged. “I have no interest in the countess’ demands. Actually, I would prefer to avoid her.” Tor House, and my place in it, was all I was interested in.

“You must come with me,” he responded, adamant.

“I prefer to stay here,” I insisted to this impressive man who so easily crushed my defenses. “You’re a cavalier, always moving. Don’t you find it difficult never knowing where you’ll be next day?”

“No.” He smiled, despite his clear resolve not to, showing good white teeth, a rarity.

“You actually enjoy it, don’t you?”

He did not reply or I did not hear his answer, for a distant hum, rattle, and clank came to my ears. I took a hard swallow. It was, yet again, the sound of thousands of armed men at the house walls. This time in the name of King Charles and his divine right to rule. King Charles was my father’s sovereign, my uncle’s sovereign, my sovereign. A chill crept up my back, for sovereign or no, control was the issue. Just as this Royalist force had fought its way into Lancashire to preserve Tor House from the Parliamentarians, I also would have to fight to keep my home. A different kind of fight, but a fight nonetheless.

As though in answer to my militant thoughts, my cavalier apparition shoved his hat onto his head, grabbed my arm, pulled me across the rooftop, and into the stairwell.

“Your father is with the prince,” he offered as we jolted downward, feeling sorry for his violence, I suppose, and attempting to mollify me. “They should arrive shortly.”

“My father?” Shock hit me like an unexpected wall in my path, creating a painful void in my stomach. I gathered my wits and spoke with indifference. “No, I expect it’s my uncle, Lord Devlin, who rides with the prince.”

The cavalier halted on the stair. I grasped his sleeve to keep from toppling forward.

“Your uncle?”

“My father, John Roland, died at Edgehill.” The truth of that statement hit me full force. Truly I was alone.

Though he retained his guarded attitude, his intense expression relaxed. I had to fight the temptation to once again lean toward him.

“My apologies, lady.”

“I accept them, sir. You may call me Elena.”

He dipped his head in mild assent, and red cavalier’s locks fell forward over his impressive shoulders. The turquoise peacock feather in his hat tickled my forehead in the close stairwell.

“Your name,” I demanded, with a backwards jerk. I refused to continue down the stairs until I had an answer. Who was this electrifying man? Where did he come from, and why did he leave me weak in the knees and disabled by a pounding heart?

“Captain Duncan Comrie of Prince Rupert’s Lifeguard of Horse, at your service.”

“Ah! Besides the brogue, now you hand me a Scottish name.”

Bemusement at some inner thought lifted the edges of his mouth. “It could be far worse, lady.” He seemed to adjust his thoughts, then nodded, and pulled me down a step. “I am a Scot by birth, but a loyal King’s man nonetheless.”

“A loyal King’s man and a Scot,” I said, with a huff of disbelief. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Duncan, is it?”

Deep within, I wondered what it would be like to stand in the shelter of this man’s arms.

A step down and his former irritation darkened his face. “You distract me with this drivel.”

“No. My uncle comes. I have reason to fear.”

Under his pressed guidance, we rushed down a dozen or more steps. His well-shaped mouth pressed together again and again as we descended. He questioned me with a quick, covert glance.

“I doubt that,” he finally said. “I expect you get whatever you want with those great sapphire eyes of yours.”

“No, I do not,” I insisted. With a restraining tug at his arm, I stopped on the stair in consternation. I stared at his bulk in the half-dark, offended that he would consider me a spoiled child. “At least not anymore.”

Slowly, my composure returned, and we continued our downward journey. His assumption was not an unusual one in my life. I had never fit into social ideas of what I should be or what I should do. But certainly my father had done his best to indulge me. Not so my uncle.

We came to the mansion’s upper-level south passage. He guided me to the left, toward the gallery, where the passage ended.

“The prince’s arrival is imminent. The countess wishes to speak with you before he arrives. We must hurry.”

My uncle’s return would bring my situation to a head. After all, I was the legitimate heir, and I was in the way. But what could the countess possibly want at such a time?

I had been the lady of Tor House until a chilly, sunless day two years ago. On that ominous day, my father’s younger brother had arrived at Tor House with his entire household. With curt impatience, he had advised me that my father was dead, and that he, good Uncle Charles, would care for me.

He had demanded my dowry gold and the silver plate, installed his countess as the new lady of the house, and forced me into the shadows in my own home. I was a woman, a mere sixteen years of age, and could not own property. It was the King’s law and for my own good, he had insisted, which only humiliated me and made me angry, King’s law or no. Shortly thereafter, my grandfather died, and my uncle ascended to the Devlin earldom, sealing my immediate fate.

Now, my uncle rode with the relieving Royalist forces. Clearly Marie Louise, who, in her usual off-handed manner, simply expected relief, was taking matters into her own hands. What could have forced her to act so precipitously? And why would she send the prince’s representative, of all people, to detain me?

Feeling as though I inhabited one of my own merciless dreams, I pushed these concerns out of my mind and, while I could, enjoyed the sleek, powerful movement of Duncan’s armored body as he strode beside me. He must have felt my anxiety, for his gauntlet hand released my arm, and he shepherded me onward, a comforting, protective arm around my shoulders.

It was the kindest thing done for me since the death of my father. I looked up at him with wide-eyed appreciation, wondering if I could ever love a Scotsman. A little smile from him, and we continued east along the south corridor. Just off the landing of the great stair, his protective arm fell away, and I walked through the open doors of the gallery, feeling unreasonably bereft.

At the center of the long room, someone stood near the hearth with the countess. Duncan closed the doors behind us, and we turned into the room, comfortably furnished with portraits and tapestries. A morning fire blazed, something I was not used to anymore. The warmth felt good on my chilled skin, but galled my more sensitive sense of decency and fairness.

We approached, and I realized the second person before us was Peg, my cousin and lifelong companion, her hands clenched on the back of one of the hearth chairs. She stood facing away from me, her lustrous, auburn hair hanging down her back. For some reason, one I should have anticipated, she was dressed in her best, dark green dress, the one with the deep linen collar. She seemed strained.

Marie Louise, huffing and red-faced, paced away from us across the narrow room to the beginning of the waist-high wall that continued to the far end of the gallery. The upper section of the wall was mounted with decorative iron screens forged in intricate, interlaced lines. These open-air viewing screens looked out over the great hall below, a secure vantage point above the main entry to the house. A Roland ancestor had brought the screens from Moorish Spain on his way back from crusade.

The countess paced back to Peg. “We only tolerate you here, Peg Carey, because you are a Roland cousin, though certainly a distant one. You will do as you are told.”

Peg jerked back from Marie Louise’s attack. By the time I came up beside her, she was shaking violently.

“Peg?”

She would not look at me, her lower lip trembling. Instead, she turned and left the room so fast her hair whipped across her face.

Marie Louise returned my glare with a smirk, her gaze running over my every day, working attire, which was a simple black, worsted dress with a red underskirt. The countess was immense, dressed in a sweeping, blue satin dress in the most current, high-waist style. The family pearls circled her neck. Her low-cut, rounded bodice was edged by a thick curve of French lace. Ringlets accented her face, her hair pulled back into a fashionable chignon at the back of her head.

“Did you get lost, Captain Comrie?” she asked in a snide undertone.

Beside me, Duncan stiffened. “Not at all, Countess.”

“Humph.” She waved an imperious arm, dismissing him.

“What is this about?” I asked, civilly enough.

“My dear Lady Elena. Unprepared, as usual.” She plucked at my dress. “Prince Rupert is due momentarily. Since you are leaving anyway, I have assigned him your rooms.”

Her abrasive words infuriated me, which probably showed in my face.

“My quarters? I’ve lived in those rooms my entire life,” I said, shocked by this affront.

“Lancashire has barely been relieved from Roundhead control. Surely you would not deny housing to the prince who accomplished it?” she asked, sarcasm dripping off each word.

I ignored her rudeness and tried another, more reasonable approach.

“Why not give the prince the guest quarters in the private tower? They’re roomier and much nicer.”

“Where the prince sleeps is none of your business, other than to vacate your rooms.” Marie Louise pursed her mouth and threw back her head, stretching her multiple chins. “You will certainly not be presented to him dressed as you are. Mrs. Lowry will help you pack. We leave tomorrow for the comfort and safety of Nether Castle on the isle.”

The Isle of Man, she meant, in the Irish Sea, another of the many properties my uncle held in the name of the King.

“Finally, we can get away.” She glared down her nose at me in blatant resentment. “I’m worn out with the sheer size of this place. It harbors ghosts.”

At this mention, I merely smiled, having had my own experiences with one ghost in particular.

“And it stinks of age.” She stepped closer to me and gave me a sly look. “I know you have been plotting against me with the servants.”

“I have done no such thing.”

“You have.” Her mouth drew down into the folds of her face in utmost contempt. “You constantly give them orders counter to my own. I’ve heard you. You think I don’t know your foul, little tricks?”

The woman must have lost her mind. The only orders I gave my servants were the same orders I’d always given them, to keep up the everyday cleaning, security, and the careful distribution of food and supplies required by the sprawling house. If my orders interfered with Marie Louise’s instructions, then it was for her good as well as everyone else’s.

Now, if the countess were going to complain about my presence in sorties out of the castle with the guard or about my involvement in the care and exercise of the horses, she might have some reason to complain. If she had learned of my connection to Amilie, the resident ghost and my childhood refuge, or exposed the abomination in my dreams, she would have had more than sufficient reason for outrage. But these were not her charges. No, she accused me of intrigue, of all things.

So much for a reasonable approach. I licked my lips in frustration and looked to Duncan, who remained at my side, hands behind his back. With a lift of my chin, I tightened my mouth and gave the obese countess a self-confident stare.

“I am not leaving, and Peg is staying with me. I know you hate it here. You’ve told me often enough, but Tor House is my home.” The very stone and mortar around us was my strength. I would not leave it, should not have to leave it. “Besides,” I added, playing the one card I believed Marie Louise could not afford to ignore, “we should consult Uncle Charles about such matters.”

“You imbecilic child,” she screeched, resentment blazing in her little eyes. “I said we are leaving, and you are coming with us. This rebellion of yours will not continue.”

And so much for what I thought drove my aunt. I straightened my shoulders and puffed out my chest.

“I am capable of mounting a defense here at Tor House, as you well know. Tor House was my father’s holding, passed to him by his father, the old earl. No one has the right to make me leave.”

“Oh, you know better, but you don’t know everything, Elena.” She raised overgrown eyebrows. “Prince Rupert must be greeted and entertained. His troops require sustenance and quarters. I have offered Tor House for him to use at his discretion.”

“You have no right to do that.” This extravagant decision was typical of the countess’ unthinking charge through life. I could not help but doubt her judgment, for my name and my life hung in the balance. The bitter truth was that duty to my home and my heritage had required me to question and ultimately re-direct most of her blaring misdirection throughout the siege. During that long crisis, she had hung on my every word, though prior to that time she had resented my intrusion, always, but generally accepted and acted on my suggestions. What had changed?

“Humph. I have dismissed your maidservant. To insure that we see no more rebellion out of you . . .” She tapped her lips with a pudgy finger, watching me with calculating eyes, seeming to consider what wonderful, reprehensible thing she could do to me. “You will be confined to the old tower at the back of the house until we leave.”

“Confined?” I asked in disbelief.

“Be thankful I don’t send you to the dungeons.”

The blood drained out of my face at this heinous threat, but Marie Louise’s comment about dismissing my attendant ran through my mind, as did my memory of Peg’s agonized expression moments earlier.

“My father brought Peg Carey to Tor House. She is no servant and not yours to command. If I must be confined, I want her with me.”

“I don’t have time to dicker with you, girl. My lord the earl and Prince Rupert are due at any moment.” She pushed down her satin skirts, smoothing them away from the new jeweled stomacher that stood out even with her bosom due to her sizeable abdomen. Her mouth tightened in its folds. “You have done nothing but interfere, causing me endless suffering.”

“Aunt, have you forgotten? Throughout the siege you begged for my help. You were extremely appreciative.” In fact, I had been forced to push her into every vital decision she made. I didn’t understand her new attitude.

“Don’t contradict me,” she screeched, hardly the petulant thankfulness I had become accustomed to. “Prince Rupert is my cousin. He has come to my aid. I am the heroine here.”

Duncan’s foot scraped across the stone floor. I glanced up at him. A barely perceptible frown clouded his face.

Marie Louise turned and looked down the long room. “Wallace, escort Lady Elena to the old tower.”

“Yes, my lady,” came Captain Wallace’s fine baritone from the dark beside the hearth.

I had not realized he was there. Captain Wallace was the captain of the house guard and a dear friend. I had never seen his face so gray. He stood at rigid attention, his eyes locked on Marie Louise’s hostile features. I understood then why Marie Louise had sent Duncan after me.

“Captain Comrie, you will accompany them to be sure she is properly confined. Allow no conversation,” she dictated, ramming home the insult to a man she had no reason to doubt.

Duncan took Captain Wallace’s measure in a sweeping look, then caught my gaze, though he did not move.

“Yes, Countess,” he said with a little bow.

But Marie Louise had seen his soft, questioning look at me. A flush crawled up my face, the man’s mere gaze raising the tempo of my heart. My lack of control around him was embarrassing and a serious disadvantage.

Anger flared in Marie Louise’s face. She opened her mouth to speak but was distracted by a great hubbub that arose from beyond the gallery screens. She moved to the screened wall and we followed.

I slipped in beside the countess, the close proximity of her noxious musk tickling my nose, and did the only thing left for me to do.

“I claim the right to appeal to Uncle Charles when he arrives,” I yelled at her over the din.

She put a baleful eye on me, her mouth turned down in repulsion. A cold hand curled hard around my wrist.

“If you keep baiting me,” she said in a harsh undertone, “I shall send you on to the isle alone and let Gorgon deal with you.”

Her words stunned me. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder at Duncan. He must not know about Gorgon. Not yet. Maybe never. I kept my mouth firmly shut.

The countess opened her mouth to speak. My heart sank.

Cheers flooded up from below, creating echoes that bounced off the high walls, magnified the furor, and prevented the words I feared. Through the screens, the pungent smell of rain blew over me. Marie Louise released my wrist. I moved closer and looked down. The excitement below was palpable. The massive doors opened, and in the early morning light an exceptionally tall cavalier, who wore black under black armor plates, strode into the great hall in a flurry of rain-driven dust. It had to be Prince Rupert, for members of his lifeguard were around him, red satin sashes in abundance; where Duncan belonged, I realized. A huge, white dog walked at the prince’s side, tongue lolling.

Suddenly, among the simple grays and browns lining the prince’s path, my eye picked out auburn hair against a vibrant green dress. My God, is that Peg? I looked frantically around, remembering Peg’s quick exit earlier. What is she doing? Beside me, Marie Louise had seen her too, for her face reddened, her eyes protruded, and she began to bluster.

Down in the great hall the line of servants, Peg among them with her shining eyes, stepped up to watch the prince pass. But the lean prince stopped. Their dark eyes met. The intensity of their interest in one another drew them closer. Entranced, the severe prince removed his red-plumed hat and bent forward. He took her hands. They spoke to the exclusion of everyone around them. Peg ducked her head in embarrassment. The dog nuzzled their joined hands, then sat back on his haunches, panting. The noise around them lessened. A sudden press of cavaliers and house servants craned to see what was happening. Moments passed, and they finally stepped apart. The prince moved loftily away, his loyal dog beside him.

“Prince Rupert is my cousin,” Marie Louise finally managed to scream. “And she dares precede me. Wallace, come with me. We have to get that stupid girl away from the prince.”

With a swirl of skirts, she flounced to the gallery doors, wrenched them open with exaggerated fervor, and proceeded out onto the big landing above the great hall. Lanky Wallace caught up with her, and they descended the great stair in a rush. Halfway down, she thrust Wallace onward. She turned back, pointing up at Captain Comrie, who had stationed himself at my back at the top of the stairs.

“Get her to the tower and keep her there.”

She trundled on down and around the great stairway. With deep curtsies and fawning adoration, she approached the victorious prince. Her face beamed red, and she puffed up with pride as her loud protestations of gushing gratitude floated upward.

Suitably pleased with his reception, the prince moved past her, leaving her wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Peg had disappeared. Nor could I find Wallace in the crowd.

Behind all this commotion, as the dog frolicked and the prince continued into the great hall, my uncle, the Earl of Devlin, came fuming through the doorway, muddied from his ride and clearly irritated, if not insulted. The void in my stomach shrank to a painful pinpoint, for embodied in that distant, angry man was my best hope for fairness and restitution. Countess Marie Louise sank into a deep curtsey before her approaching lord and husband. But he remained in one of his high fits, apparently humiliated by a prince who happened to be the King’s nephew and thus commanded precedence. After a lengthy moment of ignoring his blathering, agonized wife, Lord Devlin brought her to her feet with a vicious jerk.

Behind me, Duncan cleared his throat. His gauntlet hand encircled my upper arm, and he led me back into the bowels of the great house. I went without complaint. Though Duncan was Marie Louise’s creature, his company was far preferable to my aunt’s or even my uncle’s in his current state. Yet the earl’s presence infused me with purpose and further increased my mounting apprehension. At whatever cost, I must remain at Tor House.

At the top of the south stair, we met Captain Wallace who had Peg in hand, and together the four of us went on. Two officers and two captives in their own home. Had Marie Louise forgotten Peg’s disposition? It didn’t matter. Peg was with me. They would not take her again.

Chapter Two

We came to a stout wooden door set deep in the wall. Duncan released my arm, lifted the bolt, and opened the heavy door. Peg and Captain Wallace caught up with us, Duncan stood aside, and we entered under his stern eye. The smell of old leather and mold assaulted me.

“The level below this opens on the staging area between the postern gate and the stables,” Captain Wallace instructed Peg and me with an extended forefinger. He stood in the thin shaft of light that fell from the single slit window.

“Enough.” Duncan pushed Wallace away. “No further conversation between you and the ladies,” he demanded, hand on his holstered pistol.

“I respect the intent of the countess’ order—” In grave concern, Captain Wallace slowly shook his head. “—but you do not know this little tower, nor do the ladies. Dangers lurk here. You have my word, Captain Comrie, we speak no conspiracy.”

Duncan inspected the chilly dark hanging around us, his face closed up in uneasy displeasure. He lowered his hand. “Go on then, but quickly.”

Wallace turned to me with a forced smile. “This level of the tower has long been used for storage by the stables.”

“It smells like it,” Peg piped up behind me.

“The entry on the back hall here—” He gestured at the light beyond the open doorway. “—is heavily traveled. You will be safest on the level above this, though gunners will pass through to the roof should we come under attack again.”

I placed a warm hand on my exposed neck and looked around at shadowed piles of saddle blankets and old tack thrown indiscriminately around the tiny room. I took a hesitant backward step, and my heel slipped.

Duncan caught and righted me. We looked down at a dim, half-empty feed bag, its contents spilled in moldy clumps across the floor.

In a sudden panic, I pulled at Captain Wallace’s sleeve, as I had done since I was a child and could reach it.

“Don’t leave us here.”

“On the upper level there is a bed frame and a drafty hearth,” he responded, patting my hand.

“Captain,” Duncan said to Wallace. “You will locate Sergeant Burke of his Highness’ Lifeguard. He should be with the prince. Tell him I need him and four men immediately. Direct them here.”

“Yes, Captain,” came Wallace’s crisp response.

Captain Wallace departed, and Duncan moved into position within the open doorway. Moments later, a familiar set of clicking footsteps stopped at the door before him. A hubbub ensued.

“Who do you think you are?” came Mrs. Lowry’s raised voice from beyond Duncan, whose mere size in the doorway blocked her entry. “Don’t you think it bad enough with our mistress in this awful tower without you tryin’ to deny her the barest necessities?”

A moment later, our red-cheeked Mrs. Lowry sauntered around Duncan carrying a huge pile of linens, a sack of faggots hanging off her arm. With careful footsteps and my hand on the rough wall to guide me, I led her up the steps to the upper room Wallace had designated. Peg followed. We topped the stair, and Peg slid the faggot sack off Mrs. Lowry’s arm.

“Thank ye, dear.”

Mrs. Lowry wound her way carefully across the floor and dropped the linens on the slats of the bed frame, which stood in the slim shaft of light from the window. Hands on ample hips, she looked critically around the tower room. “And you accustomed to your own four-poster bed. This is disgraceful. Aren’t those your father’s hangings?”

“Holy Mother, they are!” I cried. Rolled up in a huge ball at the far end of the bed were indeed my father’s beautiful tapestries, hangings I had last seen in his rooms in the private tower, years ago.

“Tis a true shame to see them here, but they will brighten the room up a bit, no?”

I stood in shock while Peg helped Mrs. Lowry hang the tapestries up around the small circular room that had surely been used as a place of repose for weary gunners relieved off the roof above, the tapestries their cover against the cold. But the walls didn’t even take a quarter of the lustrous hangings and so they hung a second layer in an offset pattern, leaving the tight little window open for what air and light we could get.

Mrs. Lowry frowned and shook her head disparagingly. “I will have two mattresses brought up. Your personal belongings I will see to directly. If ye need anything else, Lady Elena, send for me. I won’t fail ye, and that young man downstairs won’t keep me out, as ye have seen.” And she was off, strands of her perfectly-placed, straw-colored hair loose and flying.

Peg made herself a perch atop the remaining tapestries spread across the bed slats. Her high cheekbones, those bones I so admired, were bright with color. She pulled out the tortoise-shell hairbrush she carried with her constantly, drew her long hair around, and began to brush at the ends. I carefully joined her atop the bed. She stopped her stroking, grasped my hand, and gave it a little pat. A sure sign of her continued support, no matter my disgrace.

My father had discovered Peg, the long-lost daughter of a runaway cousin, on one of his many trips to Ireland and brought her back to Tor House as a companion for me. His words came back to me, “You are the same age and both Rolands, after all.” I heard this again and again when anyone questioned this odd addition to his daughter’s establishment. For Peg had been brought up in an Irish backwater where they still spoke the English of the prior century, and no amount of coaching had been able to remove it entirely from her speech.

“Whatever possessed you to approach the prince like that?” I asked her now.

“The countess denied me attendance at his arrival. Ye heard how she treated me. All I wanted was to see him. I did not expect him to stop.” Since the war began, Peg had been fascinated with reports of the King’s nephew and general, Prince Rupert of the Rhine. “I still don’t believe he actually spoke to me,” she said, with a quick, shy smile.

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know my name, my place at Tor House, and did I have a pet.”

“That was an odd question, was it not?”

“Oh, no. I had reached out for Boye. He loves dogs, don’t ye see?”

“Go on.”

“He squeezed my hand and went on his way. But enough about me.” She put the brush aside, clasped her hands before her, and looked me in the eye. “What has happened to put us in this mean place?”

“We are confined until we leave for the isle.”

Peg’s face did not change at this news. She, who had long warned me of my aunt’s and uncle’s grasping ways, leaned toward me in concern.

“What has she done?”

“She has leveled a ridiculous charge of conspiracy against me. Her purposes are apparent now.”

“I warned ye.” She nodded her head sadly and slumped back against the wall. Unable to sit still for long, she soon gave me her brush, slid off the tapestries, and approached the hearth with a doubtful look.

Alone on the bed, I straightened my back against the cold wall, and folded my arms across my midriff. Anxiety blossomed anew within me. I looked down at the brush still in my hand and began to work the snarls out of my own long hair.

“Could they be right? Maybe it is my fault. Perhaps I should accept my fate and do my duty. It would be the reasonable thing to do. It would end this dilemma.”

Crouched before the hearth, her green dress tucked carefully up around her hips, Peg dropped her handful of tinder and shot me an incredulous look. “Edward Gorgon?”

I shrugged and went back to brushing my hair. The room went dark. It closed in around me, threatened to suffocate me with the deep reds, blues, and browns of my father’s discarded tapestries. The oppressive smell of rain floated in the window.

The countess had taken my servants, left me in this last bastion within my own home, this bare prison in the farthest corner of the house. Separation from all I knew.

I left the brush on the makeshift bed, avoided the clutter on the floor, and went over to the window. The sky was full of lowering black clouds. Movement caught my eye, and I recognized one of the stable boys, his face an agony of dread and loneliness. He looked longingly back over his shoulder, then pushed on out through the postern gate. In his way, he could not stand to leave the safety of Tor House any more than I could.

Moments later, rain droplets showered in through the window. I stepped quickly back to avoid getting wet and nearly fell on a corded collection of old leather tack.

“Careful there,” Peg said. A guttering flame had started in the hearth, and Peg had a stack of faggots beside her, at the ready.

“You are right about Gorgon,” I admitted. “He is an unnatural beast of a man.”

“Truly now, do ye have a choice?” From her squat before the fire, she put a hand on her hip and looked up at me with dark, piercing eyes.

“I will make one,” I insisted. Anger smoldered under the surface of my helpless distress. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t like the unknown, you know that.” I set my jaw and walked to the edge of the bed, hands in tight fists at my sides. “I will not let my home go so easily. No.”

“Of course not. I am with thee, Elena. We shall find a way,” Peg said with aplomb, feeding her little fire.

I sighed, wishing there was something I could do to change the situation. Then, something unspeakable came to mind.

“There is always a hint of what I should or could do in my dreams,” I said softly. “A hint would be useful now.”

Peg gave me a doubtful look. “Ye do not feel that way when ye dream.”

I retreated to the tapestries atop the bed frame. It was true. Foresight was the realm of witches and something to hide. I did not want to burn for a gift I had no control over and certainly had not asked for.

“So tell me of thy dreams,” Peg went on as she stacked wood over the brightly blazing little fire. “I have long wondered what thee see that defeats ye so, ye who are strong.”

I shrugged, though sudden panic rode within my veins. “I’ve had them since I was very small, little events for the most part. Father could never surprise me. I even knew before he gave me my sword.”

“Uncle John’s death was no little event.”

“No, it was not.”

“Tell me what ye saw.”

I shook my head. “My dreams leave raw feelings on me. If I see something exciting or curious, I live with the welling passion of that feeling for hours afterward.” My heart stepped up its beat. “The dreams of Father’s death left me destitute for days.”

“Well then.” She stood up and studied me, compassion in the set of her head. “I can see why thee would not want to think on it.”

“I have not dreamed, not those kinds of dreams anyway, for some time. I certainly did not foresee Uncle Charles’ deceit. Maybe I’ve outgrown them.”

“I warned ye about both of them, the earl and the countess.”

I sighed again and held my tongue.

“What do ye think they are? What do they mean?” she asked, suddenly intent.

“My dreams?”

“Yes.”

“The Bible says those who foresee are an abomination.”

“There is no abomination in thee, Elena Roland.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Tell me of Uncle John, your father.” She sat dutifully down beside me. “Share it with me. Because I too loved him, yea.”

I studied her sincere face for long, agonizing moments.

“You must promise to tell no one,” I whispered.

“I would die first.”

I settled myself, my back pushed up against the cool stone. With a great shaky breath, I took her hand.

“The sound was shattering,” I quietly began. “Cannon and musket fire, men screaming and yelling. Clouds of gun smoke masked my view, but it was clearly a battlefield, for I could see a weaving standard deep in the smoke. It went down, and swords clashed nearby. A horse screamed. In the dream, I strode forward through the smoke until I came to a Royalist officer on the ground. His armor, his clothes, his sword were bathed in blood. One of his retainers pulled the officer’s helmet off. I recognized his black, wavy hair, so like my own. Oh, Peg, he lay so very still in the surrounding chaos, his eyes wide and staring, but not seeing. A devastated Captain Wallace stood over him. Wounded Kalimir waited close by.” I searched Peg’s honest face for hatred or disgust, but saw neither.

“Bad as it was, there be no evil in seeing truth.” She gave a sharp nod, underlining her decision. “How did ye stand it?”

“I did not, as you well know. I remember that I awoke in excruciating terror, for Father was due to leave the next day. Were it not for you, I do not know what I would have done. Your ministrations that morning saved my sanity. I never told you, but I tried to stop him.”

Peg gasped, her face gone pale.

“My pleas would not sway him.” I shook my head in despair. “He went on to war and to his death. According to Captain Wallace, just as I foresaw it.”

We sat quietly for some time. Finally, Peg picked up her brush and broke the uneasy silence between us.

“So what, now, are we to do?”

“I have given some thought to it.”

Mrs. Lowry, promising mattresses later in the day, had come and gone again by the time I trod the stair that curved down along the tower wall to the hallway level. Duncan stood in the open doorway. He removed his hat and bowed, an intense twinkle in his eyes.

With a sudden hot blush, I moved closer to him, afraid to get too close. I recalled how useless my resolve had been around him earlier in the morning.

“Duncan,” I said, my tongue running easily over his name. I ignored my rising inner affliction and raised my chin. “I must go to my uncle once he retires to his library. That is his habit upon his return from a long campaign.”

“I cannot allow that,” he said abruptly, watching my every move. “Though I personally do not approve of Countess Marie Louise’s treatment of you, it is my duty to keep you here.”

His longing stare left me shaky and unsure of myself.

“Only my uncle can undo this betrayal,” I blurted out, determined to maintain my good sense around this man.

He blinked, opened and then shut his expressive mouth.

My gaze, at odds with my words, soaked up this intimidating new force in my life. I studied his fascinating hair, how it curled at the ends, just below his shoulders. It was the color of weathered brick, made up of many shades of red, light copper to dark bronze.

“You heard the countess,” I insisted, my eyes locked on his face. “She means to take me away, willing or no.”

“Yes. She is a callous woman.”

“My life will be lost to me. This is my home, the only home I have ever known. I will be alone and helpless,” I said, the words difficult to form in my tightening throat. I thought of Edward Gorgon and wished I could describe the terror the man created in me. “You cannot possibly understand.”

His thick red eyebrows pushed together in concentration for a fleeting moment, then his face cleared.

“But, Elena, life is no more than a succession of moves from place to place. If not physically, then certainly in our minds.”

I stepped back in bitter disgust. “You, who follow your prince from here to hell and back, can say that very easily, can’t you?”

His stance tightened with insult, then loosened, his facial expression settling into amusement. He searched my face.

“You are safe here. For now, it is the best I can do for you and your friend. No one will harm you while I am here. I will post guards at the lower tower door and at this entry. I am sworn to obey the countess’ orders.” He placed a warm palm atop my clutched hands and added in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, ‘tis my duty.”

He seemed sincere enough. Mixed up in that sincerity, I sensed his mounting desire which, to my distress, made my own soar. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in the safety of his embrace.

A group of approaching lifeguard cavaliers burst through the doorway and ended the moment. It was just as well, for I was probably about to embarrass myself. Duncan greeted them and snapped out clipped orders to the solidly built, black-haired man suddenly before us.

“Sergeant Burke, send two men down to the lower entrance and a man to the roof. You and Smith remain at this hallway entry. The two young ladies here may not leave this tower. Nor are they to be disturbed.”

“Sir,” Sergeant Burke responded sharply, though his salute was unhurried.

Duncan strode through the door and out of sight. His men dispersed around me, and Sergeant Burke, with his shocking blue eyes and a nasty-looking firelock, one of the new flintlock muskets, pushed me gently back into the room. I looked around, distraught at the thought of being left with soldiers I did not know. All I could hear of Duncan was the clank of his sword and the crash of his boots as he descended the stair in the distance. Fleeing as soon as he got the chance.

Sergeant Burke rested his firelock on its armored butt and pulled the door closed in my face.

When I returned to the upper room, Peg confronted me.

“I was on the stair, and I noticed that special something between thee and the good captain. Very attractive he is, with all that heathen hair.”

I ignored her, for she accused me of what I had tried desperately to avoid all morning. Sensing my withdrawal, she turned back to her fire. I returned to my perch atop my father’s hangings, where I ran my fingers through hair that hung to my waist, angrily jerking out the tangles.

I knew Duncan was as attracted to me as I was to him. Though he would not disobey orders for me, I could not fault that in him. In fact, I admired his loyalty. No, the ominous issue that disrupted my thoughts was my escalating feelings for him. They would surely engulf me if I gave in to them. So I spent some time trying to figure out how I might evade the one person whose services I needed, only to come to the conclusion that, short of a drop off the tower roof, there was simply no way out without his help.

Some time later, the sudden scrape of the heavy door sounded below, boots came through the open doorway, and the burr of his voice told me he had returned. I went immediately down to him, driven by unmitigated desire.

He stood in the cramped circular room over by the deep-set window and peered out as though he might find something useful in the rain in the postern courtyard. I moved toward him along the disordered path to the window. The sight of his powerful body sent a flutter through my stomach. His scent of precious horse leather and fresh air washed over me. His thick, leather buff coat and his breast plate were spotted with rain. He had been in the front courtyard then, if not beyond the walls.

At my approach, his hat in hand, he turned to me, tall, square-jawed and impressive. His eyebrows went up, and a smile warmed his face.

“I must see my uncle,” I said, plunging into the simple plea I had memorized. “I cannot defend myself without your help.”

He stiffened, and the smile waned. “At this time, the security of this house is my responsibility. I cannot and will not allow you to just willy-nilly walk away.”

I waved a hand, dismissing his words. His clean-shaven face appealed to me. I longed to run my fingers along its contours. His gaze followed the nervous movements of my hands that accompanied these illicit thoughts.

“I do not understand what you are afraid of. You have no reason to fear me.”

“And I do not appreciate your point of view,” I snapped.

He seemed strangely constrained, as if I had asked him to desert his post.

“I respect your feelings,” he said. His sudden words flowed out as though he had been holding them back. “I can see that you are not being treated well or fairly. And I say this despite my responsibility to Tor House, to my King, and to my prince, whom I honor above all things.” The constraint remained, and now something else, irritation, I think, played across his features. “Nor should I tell you that I think you should be very careful around Lord Devlin.”

“I am well aware,” I said, my natural poise regained. “Regardless, I must see him. Whatever he is, he is my only hope. And you are my only chance to get to him.” I fumbled with my hands, to conceal the cuticles I had ravaged in the past hours. “Can you not simply escort me to Lord Devlin and return me to my prison, should he so command, after I’ve seen him? That is within the range of your duties, is it not?”

His gold-flecked eyes locked with mine in amazement.

“Perhaps,” he said, his face reddening.

He pulled me close, turning us both around as he did so, so that his back was to the door and his guards. His head dipped to my neck, but stopped short.

“I will protect you,” came his passionate voice in my ear. His untainted breath enveloped me.

My aspiration caught in my throat. I stepped resolutely away from him. “You can do that best by doing as I ask,” I insisted, unable to keep the waver out of my voice.

He delayed, studying my face. For some moments, he ran blunt fingers around his hat’s edge, finally settling the plumed hat onto his head. Hand at my back, he ushered me quickly across the littered room, between his guards, and out the doorway.

“Hold your position,” he told his two men.

Relief left me shaky and anxious. I looked down at my clenched hands as Duncan’s sheltering arm wound around my shoulders. We moved quickly down the back hall toward the private tower. He leaned close, his hat and its peacock feather once again in my face.

“You are hardly my only responsibility, Elena,” he said in a delicious, chilling whisper. “You must learn to trust me.”

Chapter Three

There were lifeguard cavaliers at the library door, all with firelocks. The door stood ajar, the deep hum of voices beyond. Duncan returned the cavaliers’ salutes. He turned his head, listened intently, then smiled. With a lift to his chin, he boldly opened the door and pulled me in with him.

The library was on the first floor of the private tower, a large, pleasant stronghold untouched by the recent siege. Watery sunlight knifed through the three evenly spaced windows to illuminate the document table on the opposite side of the circular room where sat a cavalier’s tri-bar helmet, probably the earl’s, for he had earlier carried just such a helmet in the great hall. At this time of year, the light left the table well before noon. This I remembered from many days spent in this room with my father. It was still early in the day then, still morning.

The air was chilly though the hearth popped and fizzled to my right, the old fourteenth century battleaxe still mounted in place above the mantel. Not even the warming fire could dispel the stuffy, moldering parchment smell of the room, this sanctum that had been homey, bright, and clean when my father was alive. I had been here often in those days. My mouth dried up in distress at the painful, abandoned memories around me.

To my left behind the chairs, a long book case commanded the attention of an exceptionally tall cavalier wearing a rich red sash over his armor. Soft cavalry riding boots were pulled down around his knees.

A deep layer of velvet dust lay along the tops of the precious books. My dear, learned father would have been appalled. Yet the earl, my uncle Charles, had not allowed staff to enter the library since my father died. In fact, the room had remained locked since he went to war last year. To me, who had frequented this room as a child, what lay before me now seemed morose with its new locks and layers of undisturbed dust.

“Lord Devlin, Lady Elena wishes to speak with you,” Duncan said proudly. With a little bow, he led me forward.

“Are you blind?” Startled by our entry, the earl flexed his hands in fury. “Deaf? Can you not see that I am engaged? Who are you anyway?” he demanded, his long, straight nose held aloft in pretentious dignity. The nose lowered, and he moved toward us.

The severe countenance of the earl shortened my breath. A step back and the blood left my face.

The tall cavalier strode quickly to intervene, his large, faithful dog with him step for step. His long arm flew out and stopped the earl’s forward momentum, pushing him aside.

“Calm down, Devlin. You should remember Captain Comrie.”

Duncan pushed me closer to the two armored men.

“Elena, I would like to present His Royal Highness and Commander-in-Chief of his Majesty’s Armies, Prince Rupert,” Duncan said, his face beaming.

The prince’s youth surprised me. He looked no older than Duncan, who could not be more twenty-one or twenty-two years of age. Knowing the prince’s reputation for fairness, as well as Peg’s fascination with him, I sank into a deep, respectful curtsy.

The earl’s face curled up in disgust.

“Come in.” Prince Rupert extended an open hand toward Duncan and me.

The earl shied away at Boye’s approach. He didn’t like the white dog. It was not wise of my uncle to let that distaste show, for the curly-haired dog, tail like a thick brush at its end, was a proven hunter and veteran of the war. He looked the part at that moment with his heavy neck ruff and an astute wariness of his master’s proximity to the earl. But Boye simply sat down beside the prince and looked up at the earl with a silent show of teeth.

Duncan motioned at my presence. “Your Highness, this is Lady—”

Off to my right, the earl expelled a loud huff and placed himself bodily between the prince and his captain, effectively cutting off Duncan’s words. Too close for the prince’s comfort apparently, for Prince Rupert stepped back in agitation.

“My niece, Lady Elena Roland,” the earl said, introducing me, stark resentment in his manner. “She is confined pending . . .”

I did not hear the earl’s remaining words, for the prince, the wary dog with him, stepped around my insolent uncle and bent pleasantly before me.

“Elena. I remember the name. John Roland was your father?” he asked with appealing dignity.

“Yes,” I said, nodding my head emphatically. “You knew him, your Highness?” The possibility of word of my father from this honorable man enthralled me.

“I knew him well,” he said, a slight German drag on his words. “He spoke of you often. He was a good officer. His death was a sad loss for King Charles. My sympathies, Lady Elena.”

The prince’s eye fell to my dress hem, where my red satin underskirt peeked out from under my black dress. Softness crept into his resolute expression.

“Sparkish style, there,” he murmured to me.

“Thank you, your Highness,” I said.

“Tell me, Devlin,” the prince said, turning to the earl, who had assumed an attitude of bruised dignity. “Who is this Mistress Carey, whom I met when I arrived?”

“She is no one, your Highness,” my uncle said blithely.

The doubting prince gave him a severe look.

“Mistress Carey is a distant cousin adopted by my brother,” the earl finally spit out.

I liked the handsome prince already, though Peg had told me of reports of his terrible temper and his refusal to accept anything less than loyalty, courage and strict military protocol.

“Mistress Carey is part of your household?”

The corners of the earl’s mouth went white, standing out beside his downward curving mustache. I stepped back in distress and grasped Duncan’s arm, for it was a sure sign of my uncle’s impending temper. The earl’s hand shook. Somehow it reminded me of his fury upon his entry into the great hall much earlier in the day. He controlled himself now, wisely, though it was something I had never witnessed before. He sniffed in indignation.

“She is. And she was out of place—”

“I will not,” Rupert interrupted in a deep, chilling voice that carried throughout the room, “have her ostracized on my account. Do you understand, Lord Devlin?”

“As you wish, your Highness.”

The earl moved away. Duncan looked at me uncomfortably. He seemed concerned for me as he had been back in the storage tower, when he tried so carefully to warn me of my uncle’s temper.

“What are you doing escorting young women around?” Prince Rupert asked Duncan, a crease in his brow.

“The countess’ orders, your Highness.” Duncan stepped forward and came to full attention.

That was not quite true, but I could hardly protest.

“Tor House?”

“Secured, sir. I have men at all the gates and on the gate towers at the main entrance. Captain Wallace of the house guard has been especially helpful.”

I had to smile at his mention of Wallace, whom he had not trusted earlier.

“Very good.” The prince seemed about to say something else, but Boye’s sudden movement caught his attention.

With obvious concern, the earl watched the dog, who growled and lunged in his direction, restrained only by the prince’s sudden hold on his collar. The earl stepped back toward the bookcase, running into one of the chairs there. Once the prince settled his dog and the earl knew it was safe to move about, he approached Duncan, craning up into his face. Duncan, well below the prince’s lofty height, was still considerably taller than the earl.

“Captain Comrie, you have not pleased my countess. I object to your blatant misuse of authority in bringing Lady Elena here.”

Boye now duly chastised and lying at his feet, Prince Rupert looked up, his mouth suddenly tight, eyes alight.

“Captain Comrie has done as I commanded him,” he said sharply. “He is not a lackey for my dear, brave cousin to use at will.” The prince put a hand on my uncle’s shoulder, spun him around and thumped an index finger on the earl’s breast plate hard enough to create a metallic onk, onk, onk.

The earl looked down at the tapping finger and cleared his throat. He stared up at an intent Prince Rupert.

“Are you threatening me . . . uh, your Highness?” he asked in a heavy voice.

“Think twice, Devlin,” Rupert shot back. His hand moved to the hilt of his rapier. “The King needs leaders like you. I should hate to lose you.”

In a duel, he meant. Boye’s deep growl underlined the threat.

“Of course. My apologies, Captain,” the earl said quickly, without turning to Duncan.

Rupert shoved my uncle away and turned his attention to Duncan, who had returned protectively to my side.

“Captain, I want you to leave your men in place here under command of an officer of your choice. You are to join Quartermaster General Gordon in the vanguard and proceed with that force to find suitable housing for our troops in Bolton. I want you to keep the general on course. That is your assignment. We must have quarters for every man by nightfall.”

The serious-minded prince gave his orders, and Duncan’s suddenly animated face left me amazed. I recalled his earlier words regarding the prince, he whom I honor above all things.

“Yes, your Highness.” Duncan saluted his prince, then turned and, with a quick, intimate lift to his eyebrows, smiled wickedly at me. “I will return, Lady Elena.”

His gallantry swelled my breast. I thought I would cry. In this room where I expected disrespect and coercion, his courtliness touched me. With a flourish of his hat, he bowed before me, then pivoted smartly on his heel, and departed.

I stood astounded by his dynamic ability to change direction in mid-stream and remain so happy about it. It was beyond me. Sudden loneliness whittled away at my fortitude, as though I had been deserted.

As the room went gray, misty fog at the windows now, I regained my intent and pushed Duncan, that fatal distraction, out of my mind. I shivered, a sudden chill once more upon the room.

“I will announce our plans at dinner tonight,” Rupert told the earl.

“Certainly, your Highness.” Mouth set in a hard white line, the earl lowered his head in muted bitterness. “We are honored by your presence and most appreciative of the relief of Tor House.”

Prince Rupert strolled past the earl and looked him over critically. “I don’t want to see you without your sash in future, Lord Devlin. If you don’t wear it, you can hardly expect your men to do so.”

The earl nodded in agreement, his face rigid. It was a rule that soldiers wear their sashes at all times so as to be identified in the case of a sudden action, a rule my uncle evidently did not think applied to him.

The prince whipped around, his dark locks flying, and left the room. Boye loped along at his side, and his lifeguards fell in behind him.

The prince, like Duncan, gave me a feeling of rock-solid safety. Its loss left me keenly insecure at that moment, for my uncle closed the door slowly. He turned on me, the veins in his temples huge and throbbing.

“You dare come here.”

“Uncle.” After a shaky breath, I steeled myself. I could not falter, not now. Chin raised, I spoke as matter-of-factly as I could manage, considering my quaking limbs. “I appeal to you for justice.”

“You would have justice?” He leered into my face, so close his straight, fly-away hair brushed my cheeks. His anger dissipated and he hawked a bitter laugh. “You, who conspire against the hand that feeds you? You, who flaunt your indecent nature by riding like a man with the house guards?”

My mouth fell open in surprise. I did not think anyone knew of my presence in the sorties against our besiegers.

“You,” he went on, his voice rising. A sneer lifted one side of his face. “—who instigate that companion of yours to insult the prince and my countess?”

“Peg? I did not.”

“Oh, Marie Louise warned me of your delusions.” He strode to the chair at the document desk, where he sat down and rubbed at a spot on the helmet that remained on the desk. “And now I suppose you want something more than the roof over your head and the support I’ve afforded you.”

Resentment flared within me. I struggled to maintain my calm.

“I want my rights restored to me,” I said flatly.

“What rights?” His thin-lipped pout stretched into a sly smile. “Lies and fabrications cannot change your duty to your family.”

My mouth dropped open. I snapped it shut.

“I refute the betrothal you forced on me last year. I will not marry Edward Gorgon, of all people, and I will not leave the house. Tor House is my home by right.”

He came up off the chair in a heated rush, swung past me and put his fist into the end of the bookcase. It rocked precariously. He turned back to me, like a maddened bull, and shook his fist inches in front of my nose, so close the small black hairs on the backs of his fingers stood out in stark relief.

“You are a willful, selfish child! Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

My lips quivered.

“There are other issues involving many people in this,” he screamed. “Do you really believe you are more important than they? What about your duty to your father’s memory? To me, who took you in? Did it never occur to you that I also care deeply for Tor House?”

“Is it so selfish to want what belongs to me?” someone asked. In my terror, I grasped that it was my own voice.

He looked down at his clenched fist. The hand dropped away.

“We have spoken of this before. Why can you not be useful,” he went on, suddenly, inexplicably calm, “and accept this marriage? It will assure my hold on the isle. I will be able to control the man.”

“You intend to keep Tor House for yourself,” I stated, aghast at my own conclusion.

“Tor House is only suitable for an English lord.”

“But Tor House is my dowry portion. What was this betrothal based upon, if not my position as heiress of Tor House? Besides, Edward Gorgon is no English lord.”

His dark eyebrows went up, and his face tilted in surprise. “Wise little girl. But no, I have given Gorgon other incentives for your hand.”

He strolled back to the table, and I followed, trying to understand why he would do such a thing.

“You cannot do that, Uncle. Father settled Tor House on me as a freehold estate for life unless I marry; and then, it passes to my husband. A jointure, he called it.”

“Ah, yes. He did, my dear.” He nodded, somehow pleased.

He must have changed his mind, for he bypassed the table and went on to the record cabinet. I remembered the top two shelves of the cabinet as open-shelved and full of neatly piled record books. But they lay now hidden behind doors and a locked iron bar, which extended to the bottom of the cabinet. He unlocked the bar and searched among the sheaves in the bottom section of the cabinet. Finally he pulled out the long deed I remembered, with all its seals and ribbons.

“I was witness to his signing,” he said. His dubious cheeriness grated on my nerves. He turned with the deed, held it out for me to see. “The only witness. It has never been seen by anyone else. And so . . .” He strode across the room and threw it on the fire.

“No!” I cried, running after him. I bent and reached around him to pull the smoking deed from the flames. His fist entered my peripheral vision. Pain exploded in my head. In agony, I brought my hands up, and a whirling vertigo claimed me. The next thing I remembered was the rough carpet against my cheek. Arms snaked under my armpits and lifted me, positioning me to watch the last black fragments of the deed crumble into dust atop the lowering fire.

“It never existed. Just a figment of your questionable imagination,” he rasped in my ear. He withdrew his arms.

I dropped to the floor, narrowly missing the stone edge of the hearth. I struggled to unsteady feet, grasped the hearth mantel, and pulled myself upright. The room whirled around me. I tried to focus on the old battleaxe mounted above me.

When my strength returned enough for me to look around, I found him studying me out of dark, deadly eyes.

“You have no rights,” he said, his voice as hard as the steel of his rapier, aimed for my heart. “Tor House belongs to me as sole surviving male heir. You leave at first light tomorrow for the Isle of Man where you will marry Edward Gorgon.”

Chapter Four

In my teary-eyed stupor, I did not know where my uncle was or how he had summoned Wallace. I only knew it was Captain Wallace who gathered me up, led me out of the library, and down the long corridors toward the back of the house. My anger slowly returned and with it, my resolve.

“Let me go, Captain. I have to get away.” If I stayed, I would be forced to leave and marry Gorgon on the isle. I would never see my home again, and that terrified me more than my uncle’s wrath.

But Wallace ignored me, and we continued on. He stopped at a little used doorway set deep in the stone wall. He turned to me, face alight, his mouth set in a bitter line.

“Through this door and along the passageway, you will find yourself outside near the stables. I go now to release Mistress Carey. Wait for her.” My look of amazement must have pressed him to explain, for he went on. “The earl ordered her expelled from Tor House.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. I searched his face. Prince Rupert’s warning to the earl echoed through my mind, and it astounded me that my uncle would cross such a man.

“Your condition tells me your fate at his hands will be far worse should you remain here.”

I touched my temple, where a painful knot had formed. To elicit such a response from my loyal captain, it must have looked scandalous.

“I can give you enough time to clear the valley. But then I must report to Lord Devlin, insisting that you shoved me into the wall and fled through this doorway. Do not allow yourself to be caught, Lady Elena. There are places you can go, people who will support your claim. You must find them.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Your short sword is in its sheath with Kalimir’s tack, should you need to defend yourself.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I whispered fervently. I moved quickly through the door and down the passageway.

The stable was busy with stable boys running here and there. They were taking the horses out beyond the walls, even with the weather like it was. After three months of confinement, I could understand why the horse master would want to get his horses out to crop fresh grass, even if it was wet. From the shadows behind the stable doorway, a boy left the stable’s east aisle with two horses and took them past me out the stable door.

As soon as he passed out of sight beyond the gate, I slipped down the west aisle and into the back where Kalimir was stabled. The great bay had been wounded at Edgehill when my father died. The deep slash wound in his mighty shoulder had been slow to heal. He was a skittish stallion, though not around me, not anymore. I entered the straw-strewn stall and hugged his neck. He whickered, content. But his war sense must have detected my alarm, for he side-stepped, once, twice. I quickly got his bridle on, the blanket and saddle on his back, girth secured, and the sword that my father had given me strapped in its sheath on the saddle.

By the time I saddled Peg’s mare and led her to Kalimir’s stall, Peg herself came running down the stable aisle, her cloak waving around her. Distraught, her face beamed in a splotchy red agony of alarm.

“Wallace says I have to leave, that the earl has banned me from Tor House, like he did Thomas!”

Thomas, another of my father’s charities, had been brought to Tor House the year after Peg. We had grown up together, the three of us, me, Peg, and Thomas. But upon his arrival in 1642, without explanation, Uncle Charles had banished Thomas from ever setting foot near Tor House again, on pain of death.

“It is worse than that, Peg.”

“From Mrs. Lowry.” She pressed a rolled cloak into my hands. Her big cape flared open and displayed a clean homespun dress, which the good housekeeper had also undoubtedly supplied to her.

“I would rather a pair of pants,” I said.

“Oh, Elena. Ye can be so coarse.” Peg’s face screwed up in dismay. “Put it on. And how could things possibly be any worse?”

“The earl has denied my dowry rights.”

She bit at her lower lip and expelled a deep breath. “Did not thy father leave a dowry-paper?”

“The earl burned it. He made me watch.”

“Oh, Lord. What happened to thy face?”

“It does not matter. I will have Tor House back.” I whipped the cloak on, appreciative of its warmth as it settled about my shoulders.

A smirk twisted Peg’s full mouth and her brows went up, as though to say, and how do you think you’ll do that.

“For now, we must flee, you and I. But you don’t have to stay with me. It would be dangerous for you, in any event.”

“How so? What is it ye intend?” Her piercing brown eyes raked me from head to toe and back again, as though I had lost my mind.

“To get help, supporters.” A deep, shaky breath belied my outer calm. “We must go.”

Kalimir shouldered me, ready to run.

“Where will ye stay? How will ye eat? Though I know ye do not want to, thee would be better off staying here and accepting thy fate. I could join ye on the isle later. ‘Twould be safer.”

“If I stay, all is lost,” I said, tightening my hold on Kalimir’s bridle. I glared at her in defiance. “The good captain has given me this chance to reclaim what is mine, and I intend to take it. And since when did you prefer the safe route?” I asked her, nettling her, for if there was anyone who would take a chance on a whim, it was Peg.

She shrugged. We turned away from one another, both of us mounting quickly, for there was a great shouting out in the stable yard. Kalimir circled and I took advantage of the moment, one hand on the reins, to tuck my skirt under my legs. I then pulled him up short beside Peg, now astride her mare.

“Come with me, then. I’ll see what I can find for you in Bolton.”

“Bolton, is it?” she said, blatant suspicion claiming her face. “And Thomas?” She reached over and grabbed my rein hand, turning her mare back into Kalimir, who snorted and danced in offence. “Do not do this alone. My place is with thee. Has been, since the day thy father brought me out of Ireland.”

I nodded my head solemnly. “Let us go.”

No one to stop us, we charged out of the stable. We forced our way through a mob of unruly horses and frantic stable boys, then out the postern gate. At breakneck speed, we cut south across the huge, foggy, open bowl that Tor House sat in, not slowing until we passed the old cottar’s hut within the great stand of trees where the rutted track that was the Sheffington Road began. It was the longer route to Bolton, but I believed it would serve us well as it wandered among low hills where we would have cover within the small trees and dense brush.

An hour later, we let the horses rest until they stopped blowing, a cold mist settling around us. We moved on at a fast canter along the undulating roadway. The pale sun struggled to burn through the mist, a mere streak of brightness visible now, then gone as we descended into a low-lying, marshy area. Fitful rain showers came and went, wetting our hair and clothing. I shivered. It seemed to be getting colder. Rising fog swirled about the horses’ feet. We reined them in. Soon a blurry mist encompassed us, but we worked our way along, stayed in sight of one another, and struggled to make out the open track before us.

“I cannot see,” Peg said close beside me, peering into what appeared as a thick, gray blanket hung before us. “We’re going to get lost out here.”

“Maybe we should stop and take cover,” I suggested.

After a further lengthy time of struggle to see the open track before us, Peg stopped her mare in front of me. I asked after her. She shushed me, listening intently. The sound of hooves came to me then, coming up the low incline behind us.

I moved quickly off the track into wet, treacherous ground, some ways into the fog. Peg followed. We dismounted and led the horses into a tall stand of trees and underbrush that loomed down at us. We stood there within the prickly branches, unable to do anything to help ourselves other than to hold the horses’ mouths, to try and keep them from giving us away.

The creak and jingle of harness and the marching of many feet came from my left, deep in the thick mist. Men’s voices sounded. The fog thinned around us, and a troop appeared not fifty feet away. Stunned, my breath caught in my throat, for this was no house guard troop, but a small troop of Roundhead infantry led by a mounted officer in a severely cut black coat, a big black hat over cropped hair, and an old-fashioned lace collar that covered his shoulders. His sword and long pistol were the only things that denoted his rank.

“Damnation,” Peg cursed softly beside me.

I looked over at my sword hilt sticking up on the opposite side of Kalimir’s saddle, for what good it did me there. My father had taught me to thrust, to slash, and numerous simple defensive moves. I was his only daughter. The daughter he’d preferred to have been a son.

There were perhaps a dozen Roundhead musketeers in the round helmets they were named for, armed with matchlock muskets and the inevitable yard-long cord of smoldering matchcord, which they used to set off the charge in the musket pan. Live embers hung beside each man, little pink eyes in the mist. Each musketeer wore a bandoleer, as did our Royalist troops, hung with charge canisters, one canister per shot. Among the musketeers were a few pikemen carrying stout ash pikes with steeled points, to spit us on, I supposed, angry at their presence in Lancashire, which was my country and Royalist to the core. One particularly churly-looking musketeer cocked his head suddenly, then swung around in our direction. His smoking cord held over the firing pan of his musket, he aimed directly at our little refuge.

We dared not move or even breathe. My fingers ceased their gentle caress of Kalimir’s soft muzzle.

Of a sudden I could see my feet. The fog was rising.

There was long silence when no one moved, either in the ranks beyond us or around our little shelter. Another long moment went by. I prayed my stallion would continue to stand still.

“Move on. We not be shooting at ghosts now, Turner. Need to save our shot,” bawled the Puritan captain.

The musketeer dropped his matchlock with a scowl, and on they marched, the fog closing behind them. Peg and I looked at one another in shocked wonder. We waited, our feet cold and mucky in our ruined house slippers. After five, maybe ten minutes the fog rose until it hung above us, like a raised curtain.

“Thank God it waited to do that,” Peg whispered, watching the eerie fog lazing above our heads.

“It started while they were here. You did not see it?”

“Holy Mother, no.”

We mounted and moved on, wanting to gain ground while we could see. Within two miles, the road ascended again, the Roundhead troop long gone ahead of us.

By the time we came to the west branch of the River Croate, a half-mile or so above Bolton, the sun had peeped out. We stopped there to rest the horses and let them nibble at the thick tufts of grass that grew along the riverbank.

“Since we have gotten this far, we may have eluded the house guard, which is certainly after us.”

“Or that Roundhead troop scared them off.”

“Probably.” Or at least conveniently, if Wallace is leading the chase.

“So is it Thomas Reedy’s house we are headed for?”

“It is the only place I know to go, Peg.” I patted Kalimir’s sleek shoulder. “Thomas has told me often enough that it would come to this.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” She studied me with disapproval. “Be thee careful around Thomas. His heart is dark.”

“I well know what he is.” I dismissed her concerns with a wave of my hand.

We went the next mile without incident. Then, coming up the incline that overlooked the city, a distant hum sprang up, like a far-off market crowd. Astounded, for I had heard of no market held here since the rebellion began two years ago, I topped the rise.

My mouth fell open in a groan.

Behind dilapidated walls, the high-peaked roofs of Bolton lay below us in a shallow valley. Dim sunlight reflected off hundreds and hundreds of metal helmets moving through the tight streets toward the central square.

“Go back. Quickly.”

“I cannot see,” Peg said, reining her mare around with Kalimir. “What is it?”

“Rigby’s Roundheads massed in the city. It looks like thousands of them.”

“That many?”

“The same helmets, the same smutty dress, the same Roundhead Puritans that kept us for months within our walls,” I complained, fuming with the injustice of an occupied Bolton.

I reined Kalimir to a stop some distance back the way we had come, beyond sight of the town.

“They would love to get hold of us, would they not?” Peg asked, wide eyes set on the palisade rim.

I could not answer. The acrid taste of ash blossomed in my mouth at the sudden thought of Duncan’s pleasure with his orders and his impressive leave-taking.

“Oh, my God,” I finally got out. “Prince Rupert sent Duncan to Bolton.”

“Ha. So, it was not Thomas ye thought to see in Bolton, but Captain Comrie. I should have known. Do ye think he has arrived?”

“No. There would be gunfire. He will ride straight into this nest of vipers, and they will be upon him.” I shook my head in a slow twist, my mind working feverishly.

“What are ye thinkin’ of doing?”

Ignoring Peg’s question, I calculated the slower speed Duncan and the vanguard would be forced to maintain on the moor road against Peg’s and my relatively fast passage.

“I may have an hour, no more. You should have no trouble approaching Thomas’ house by way of the old ruins. I will return if I can.”

“Yea,” Peg said, unnaturally cheery about being abandoned. She shook her cloak out around herself atop her mare. “I will await ye at Thomas’ cottage. Be thee careful.”

“You, too,” I called back.

I pushed Kalimir off the road and into a gallop. The low tree line that we had followed ended here at the top of the palisade. Within precious minutes, I was heading overland across the fog-hung moor.

Chapter Five

Kalimir pounded out onto the open moorland. I leaned forward, tight in the saddle. The moor lay dim and forbidding under an overcast sky, deep fog banks lurking in the natural depressions of the hilly wasteland. Wet air tore past me, whipping long tendrils of my hair that had escaped their tie. After riding so long in the relative seclusion of the Sheffington Road, I felt perilously exposed, unsure what I might encounter. My great bay flew over the tufty ground. Only the clear tops of the low hills around us were visible, like islands in the mist. That, and an approaching fog bank.

I brought Kalimir to a stop, and a soft breeze rose, whirling the rising mist slowly around his hocks. We started moving again, unnerved, and the mist-laden wind came in earnest, shifting around behind us, pushing us along in our headlong flight. The land sloped gently downward, the wind dropped and the mist turned to leaden fog, encapsulating us. I slowed Kalimir to a walk.

The shifting mist thinned here and there for moments at a time, giving me some indication of the muddy, trampled road ahead, or at least that I was still on the road. It had been used heavily and recently. But soon, I found myself unable to determine where I was or where I needed to go in the thickening fog. Had I also missed the Royalist vanguard? They could have passed this way, moved off to the south of the city, and seen for themselves what inhabited the place. This would then be a fool’s errand. If that were true, and when the alarm was raised, they would be slaughtered by vastly superior numbers, Duncan’s life forfeit, and Tor House once again at risk.

The intensity of my sudden attraction to Duncan Comrie had been a surprise that left me certain I would see him again. Yet two years of rebellion had taught me that nothing could be counted as certain.

At that moment, a living vision flashed across my eyes.

Gun smoke cloyed in my throat. Screams deafened me. Just beyond a wide stable entrance, a man lay alone, cruelly twisted on the ground, a pike through his powerful chest. He awaited death in silence, his breathing shallow, his wild red hair clotted with blood.

Foggy moorland reclaimed my vision. A gasp ripped out of me. Hand at my mouth, I slumped in the saddle, whimpering, for it was Duncan I had seen.

But it had not yet happened. Nor would I sit aside and allow it to happen. With a flip of my hand, I dashed away my tears and straightened in the saddle, erect, determined. I refused to accept what I had seen. That strong, adaptable man was too fast, too wary for such a death. I forced myself to concentrate on my present fog-hung surroundings, the vision refuted.

The land turned upward, and I drove Kalimir for the clearing that I prayed was at the top of the incline. To occupy my dream-stunned mind, I went over my calculations once again. With these thick fog banks, Duncan’s force would be reduced to a crawl. That force could not have gotten past me in the time they had. They had to be on the moor still. I needed to find them before the Roundheads in Bolton became aware of them.

I jerked my horse to a stop. Directly in front of me, what sounded like a sled being pulled through mud came to my attention, underscored by what were surely men grunting. I reined Kalimir hard to the right and down a slope into dense fog, hoping to avoid them until I could determine who they were.

Moments later, I reeled back in shock, straining my balance in the saddle.

A mobilized gun carriage consisting of limber, metal-strapped wheels, and huge iron cannon, approached to within mere feet of where I had stood. The limber, that wheeled conveyance that attached to the gun carriage and thereby created a four-wheeled means of transport, had passed into the thick mist. Now, the big cannon materialized before me, its breech thrusting upwards beyond the carriage wheels into the vapor. A transport like this was normally part of a siege train. I had seen my share of them approaching Tor House not that many months ago.

I regained my breath, pulled my sword and lay it across the pommel, then backed Kalimir carefully. The sound of men groaning with effort came closer. I kept my silence, listening, but soon their shadows appeared before me, straining at the spokes of the massive carriage wheels, pushing and pulling wherever they could gain purchase, slowly working the cannon up the hill. Six to eight horses or oxen normally hauled cannon. Yet I had completely missed them. I wasn’t about to go looking for them either, though it wasn’t unheard of, especially in a tight spot, for men to heave cannon.

Draft animals or no, this was no Royalist vanguard. In fact, I was certain it was a lagging Roundhead artillery transport still making its way from Tor House. Artillery trains were infamous, both Royalist and Roundhead, for being the last to arrive at any given point. Captain Wallace had told me this, the two of us standing on the watch-tower roof, as we watched the guns being positioned around Tor House back in February. Any relieving force was reduced to the speed of its artillery, he had assured me. But the Roundhead Colonel Rigby had happily not missed this cannon transport, which had probably become separated and lost in the fog.

Afraid to run Kalimir over the broken, rocky ground in the thick mist, I sheathed my sword, dismounted, and led him downward, hardly able to see a step ahead of me. We neared an upslope and something in the rocks spooked him. He threw up his head, dancing and snorting. It was all I could do to keep hold of the reins.

Behind me, voices bawled in the fog.

I grasped the bridle to hold the nervous horse in place, mounted on the second try, and moved away as fast as I dared across treacherous ground. A shot flew past me. Another shot went far to my right, and another farther still. They were shooting randomly, could not see me anymore than I could see them. And they must have been as afraid of me as I was of them, for moments passed in anxious silence. Still astride and effectively blind, I moved uphill.

Later, the gun carriage wheels resumed sucking through the mud again, growing fainter. By the time the land began its next upward slope, there was silence, no sound of the transport or its men. We topped a rise in a thin mist, I took a heavy breath of relief, and looked up.

My heart plummeted to my wet toes. An armored rider came out of the mist in front of me, long-barreled pistol raised, that black barrel aimed straight at me.

“Hold,” he growled.

He wore cavalry riding boots and a fine buff coat. His bridle arm was covered to the elbow by a metal bridal gauntlet, much like the one Duncan wore. A tri-bar helmet with thin vertical bars, similar to the Roundhead helmets, protected his face, and a segmented tail covered the back of his neck. I noted a limp red sash tied across his chest, but remained unsure of this deadly image before me. It could easily be a Roundhead trick. His face bore an extensive mustache and a goatee, like King Charles wore, his long hair hanging down beyond his helmet onto metal-clad shoulders.

“I stand for the King,” I called out, announcing my position, whatever it might bring. He did not move, did not seem to hear me. To me, no response meant he was no Roundhead. “I’ve come to see Captain Comrie. ‘Tis a matter of life and death,” I added, hoping to be taken seriously, rather than treated like a heart-sick strumpet, which in some ways I surely was.

“I heard shots, men’s voices,” he rumbled, unconvinced.

“Take me to Captain Comrie. There is little time.”

“This way.” He sneered, advancing, still holding the pistol on me.

Kalimir took offence at his proximity and reared, neighing loudly. His hooves thundered down. We raced past the imposing soldier directly into a line of cavalry coming up the hill behind him. Kalimir circled, waiting for my command, which never came, for a tall, broad-shouldered officer in a red cloak rode up beside me.

“Lady Elena?” came a shocked voice.

He dismounted and doffed his plumed hat, exposing a familiar head of red locks.

I reached down to this mist-blurred cavalier who had Duncan’s hair and Duncan’s burr on his words. He extended a gloved hand.

“Oh, thank God,” I cried, taking his hand and sliding off Kalimir, my ruined slippers useless in the stirrups anyway.

He put a protective arm around my shoulders, flipped his cloak over me, and hugged me close to his armored side. Under other circumstances, it would have been a great liberty for him to take, but I was too pleased to have found him to object.

I responded instead with an arm around his weapon-clad waist.

“I am surprised to see you here, Lady Elena,” he said formally, aware of the gawking men around him.

“I have come to warn you. You must stop your advance immediately.”

He looked down at me, perplexed. “How did you find us?”

Expecting appreciation and interest in what I had to offer, I let out a loud, frustrated breath.

“I did what I had to do. Roundheads are massed at Bolton. It looks like Rigby’s entire force. You must go back. You must return to Tor House.”

“My lady.” A grim smile settled on his face. His arm remained around my shoulders, though he moved away slightly. “How do you know what is in Bolton?”

“The moors are generally the most direct route to Bolton, though hardly the safest. And so I came down the Sheffington Road.” Not to be treated like a child, I shrugged off his arm and his warm cloak. “At the rise above Bolton, I could see them. Hundreds upon hundreds of round helmets streaming through the streets. Should you not believe me . . . .” I pointed toward the fog hovering at the crest of the hill. “There is a Roundhead cannon transport about a mile into that fog bank, headed for Bolton. I barely avoided them.”

“How many?” The cautious expression on his face changed to eager interest.

“That I could see, one gun, maybe eight men.”

“We heard gunfire. They shot at you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not hurt?” His gaze moved down my body, then returned to the reduced bump at my temple.

“No.”

“You are very brave.” A smile deepened the dimple in his chin.

“Duncan, you must retreat.” I ignored the guarded amusement in his stance and looked him square in the face. “They may have seen or heard your men.”

“We will not retreat. The general and I have our orders,” he said rigidly.

I pulled my cloak tight around me, hands stiff and painful in the misty cold. Yes, I remembered Prince Rupert’s orders, that Duncan was to push the general to get done what needed to be done, giving Duncan essential control of the general’s command. Despite a suspicious glance at me, he was alert and excited. I did not understand it. It surprised and upset me, not so much his questions of me, but his obvious enjoyment of his precarious situation.

“Sergeant.” He turned back to an officer who had dismounted and stood at attention behind him. “Get me Cornet Price.”

Within a few minutes, the cornet strode up to us, a bright red and white cassock worn over his buff coat. Tall and raw-boned, he wore heavy gloves, a large gorget, armor that protected his neck and chest, and a trumpet slung over his shoulder on a black cord.

“Cornet, you will return to Tor House and advise Prince Rupert, in his hearing only, that we have received intelligence that Rigby is massed at Bolton and ripe for the picking. Tell him we await his orders.”

I looked at Duncan, astounded at how easily he changed his plans. No consultation with the general; no consideration of what awaited them in Bolton.

“Wait,” Duncan said, holding the cornet in place with an outstretched, commanding hand.

“Lieutenant Foster,” he then said to the intimidating cavalier who had challenged me on my approach.

The helmeted lieutenant saluted.

“Pick a dozen men of your choice. There’s a Roundhead cannon and its crew lost out in the fog. About a mile toward Bolton, the lady says. They can’t have gotten far. Take them and their gun. Quietly. Be sure none escape.”

The lieutenant moved away, gathering his men.

“You will take Lady Elena back to Tor House with you,” Duncan commanded, turning back to the cornet.

“Honored, sir,” he said in a voice too deep for his thin build. He went for his horse.

“I will not go back,” I insisted. “I cannot.” My cloak crumpled under my clenched fingers as I pulled it close under my chin and looked around, uncomfortable under the curious gazes of seasoned cavaliers. “As it is, I’m not so sure the house guard, which was behind us, did not blunder into Bolton.” The shifting mists and solid walls of fog that huddled below the hilltop left me wary and uncertain. “If they did, the Roundheads may very well come looking for all of us.”

“You were not alone?” he asked, his face frozen in concern.

“Peg was with me. She has gone on to my friend’s home in Bolton.”

“Under the nose of the Roundhead occupation,” he said flatly, and I suspected, not so sure of my loyalty.

“The house is on the outskirts of town, easy to approach overland.”

His face brightened, and he nodded. His sudden, enlightened manner intrigued me.

The cornet arrived, mounted, his gorget and trumpet strapped to his saddle, his standard passed to another cavalier.

“The lady will remain here. Deliver that message, Cornet. At your best speed.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cornet spurred his mount along the hilltop and into the mist, moving faster than I would take my horse in the treacherous fog. As though awaiting the cornet’s departure, thick droplets of misty fog flowed over the hill top. One moment the forward sentry stood out in the darkness, the next moment all that remained was a nebulous shape concealed in the mist.

I collected my dignity, pleased that I had not been forced to return to Tor House, but uncomfortable with Duncan’s intentions. He led me, our horses with us, to the side of the massed cavalry into an open spot among a stand of bushes barely visible for the fog, where he took off his red cloak with a flourish and threw it across Ajax’s saddle, followed shortly by his sash and his baldric flipped over the saddle bow, his sword left there, suspended. His breast and back plates, he unbuckled and slipped off.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing clothes.”

“Now? Whatever for?”

He did not answer, intent on unstrapping the bridle gauntlet on his left hand and forearm. Despite my feelings for him, I could not help but fear what other madness he might now pursue.

After he stripped off his gauntlet and his buff coat, he buttoned the heavy hide coat around his back and breast plates and suspended the entire cumbersome package from his black’s saddlebow alongside his sword hanging in its baldric. He then untied a sizable leather roll from behind his saddle, set it down at his feet, and turned back to me, surveying me with grim humor.

“You told me you would not leave Tor House.”

“I have run away.”

“You? But you said . . .?” his words trailed off, mocking me.

I went to him and pressed my fingers over his mouth, irritated at the joke he made of my situation, yet needing his support. His arms came around me, and he pulled me close. The temptation overcame me, and I snuggled against his warm chest. With growing remorse, I knew that I needed and cared for this man.

Tenderly, he pulled strands of long black hair from my face. “You are safe here.” His hand stopped. “This raised bruise—did you run into something? Or did someone hit you?”

Tears came, and I could not stop them. I pulled away, suddenly conscious of smirking cavaliers at mist’s edge who could not help but witness this wanton display. What was I thinking of? How could I stand among the quiet clank and creak of the vanguard of the Royalist Horse and do this? I cleared my throat in distress.

“Who?” he demanded.

“A little bump on my head is nothing,” I said, attempting to regain my composure. “Lord Devlin is a very powerful man and used to having his way.”

He eyed me suspiciously, his dark eyes clouding, then turned and called for another horse.

“I must find supporters,” I insisted. “And failing that, I must get to the King.”

His expression twisted into a resentful smirk, though he said nothing. He reached into the leather roll close by his feet and pulled on a long-sleeved woolen shirt. When his face reappeared his yearning eyes sought mine.

“Within the confines of the war and my responsibilities to Prince Rupert, you have my allegiance and my oath to assist you in any way I can.”

At a loss for words, I sought to contain my amazement. My stiff hand clenched and unclenched on my cloaked chest.

But he went on about his business, as though committing himself to a woman’s cause was an everyday occurrence. He pulled a large black bundle out of the leather roll, collapsing the leather, then carefully set the black bundle atop a wide tuft of grass. After retrieving his gauntlet and sash from the relatively dry safety of his saddle, and rolling up his red cloak, he re-rolled his leather around them, and re-tied the newly stuffed leather roll behind his stallion’s saddle. Out of the black bundle he pulled a big black hat. He twisted his long hair, piled it atop his head and pushed the crushed old hat down over it, then took his baldric and sword off Ajax’s saddlebow, and slipped the baldric on, sword suspended at his side.

Too late to say anything meaningful, I walked around him and looked him over.

“Quite nice,” I said. “You look like an armed tinker.”

“I will escort you to Bolton, yes, as an armed tinker.” He grinned, the light flashing on his russet, day-old beard.

“Why do you want to go to Bolton? Do you doubt my word?”

“Not at all.” He adjusted his pistols and the knife at his belt, then bent over, shook out, and whipped on the remaining black cloak, a wet spot near its hem where it had sat on the soaked grass. “I will escort you to your friend’s house in Bolton and, in the process, do some reconnaissance

I did not believe him. His fearlessness was alarming.

Chapter Six

Some time later, a soldier took Duncan’s black stallion away and left a sway-backed roan in his place beside my edgy Kalimir. I had tired of waiting and was prepared to mount when Duncan, his huge black cloak flapping behind him, rushed out of the thinning fog into the solitary little copse of bushes.

“What are you doing?”

“Returning to Bolton. Are you coming?” I asked, anxious to be away. He had been gone long enough for the sun to finally show its bleary face through the mist.

“Yes.”

“How was your meeting with the general?” I asked.

His copper-colored hair fell over his shoulder as he checked the saddle girth on the roan. He turned back to me with a confident smile.

“The general would rather leave tactical decisions to hardened officers. My presence merely assures that these decisions are made in the manner Prince Rupert prefers.”

“That’s quite a responsibility, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, apparently comfortable with his prince’s instructions and what he must do to fulfill them.

“War is in my blood,” he stated flatly.

“Really? You mean, as a Scot?”

He turned slowly and gave me a vicious, yet culpable look.

“You are not proud of your abilities? They have certainly served the King well.”

He turned away with an unhappy grin.

“What I meant to say,” I amended, seeing his uneasiness, “is that my uncle would kill anyone who dared usurp his authority.”

“Oh, to be sure,” he said with a quiet laugh. “But General Gordon considers it a great relief to have someone to deal out the strategy of a march or of a situation, as we are in now.”

He seemed more in control of his feelings, speaking on a subject with which he was comfortable. General Gordon must have been one of those gentlemen without military expertise who had been appointed to his rank as a political favor. Yet he was apparently wise enough to bow to advice from his experienced officers—or in this case, Prince Rupert’s experienced officer.

I placed a slippered foot into the stirrup.

“Don’t do that,” he said gruffly, a warding palm raised at me. “We will leave your horse with the troops. I have another for you, more appropriate to our journey.”

“Like that pitiful nag you have chosen over your own stallion?”

An explosive laugh boomed out of him. “Ajax is a war horse, as is your stallion. Either horse would attract attention in Bolton.”

“I will not part with Kalimir,” I insisted. With a casual hand, I flipped trailing strands of hair back over my shoulder.

“Why not? I’ll see he’s returned to you.”

“I’m sure that is your intention.” I shook my head. “But he is one of the few things my father left to me that has not been taken over by my uncle. I’ll not leave him.”

He opened and shut his mouth, studied the mud and the hardy grasses at his feet, then looked back up at me with a gleam in his gold-flecked eyes.

“If we run into Roundheads, can you play the part of a Puritan lady?”

Smiling within at this man who did not know my shameless nature, I assumed an exaggerated posture of cheek-sucking primness.

“Of course,” I intoned, palms together and raised as in prayer, adoring eyes raised to the sky. “Holy and meek, I am. My husband, Alderman Tucker, awaits my arrival. He would be most distressed were I held up. He might even have to contact his friend, Lord Fairfax, with a serious grievance were I held up too long.”

“Is there an Alderman Tucker in Bolton?” Duncan asked, with a deep-voiced chuckle.

“Yes, and a proper Puritan he is, too, who spouts of his connections with Fairfax.”

“Good. I shall be the lady’s devout servant.” He picked up the oversized black hat.

“You will have to keep your hair covered.”

“Yes, my lady.” He donned the hat and hurriedly tucked up his bright hair.

“I had heard that Prince Rupert engaged in this sort of disguise, to check up on his enemy. It’s true, then?”

His white smile flashed. “Were he here, he would already be in Bolton, one way or the other.”

We passed the cannon I had come upon beforehand, its captured crew and two oxen, which I had not seen at all, struggling now to return the way they had come. The sun remained a watery, early afternoon companion. We were still some ways from town when the weak sunlight began to dissipate the mists around us. We watched the retreating edges for signs of other travelers or of Roundhead troops.

It seemed to take longer to make the return trip then it had taken me to ride this way earlier. Peg would be worried, and that would set Thomas on edge, which was never pleasant. As well, I was still concerned that the house guard might have bumbled into Bolton and gotten themselves hopelessly entrenched.

“We need to move faster,” I called over to Duncan, for the walls of fog had retreated significantly. I pushed Kalimir into a faster pace. Without boots or spurs, all I could do was pummel the horse with my heels, which he responded to well enough.

“Wait,” Duncan called out behind me.

I turned to find him dismounted and awaiting me.

I studied our desolate horizons to be sure no one had appeared, then brought Kalimir back to where he stood. The roan’s reins in one hand, he motioned with the other hand for me to dismount. I did so and faced his stern demeanor in uncomfortable concern.

“I did not press you earlier because I wanted to give you every possible advantage with witnesses around us.”

I clutched my hands together, reins and all, nodded my head, and waited for him to go on.

“Why would Lord Devlin want you dead?” An embarrassed, disbelieving smile crept over his mouth.

“He wants Tor House for himself, and I stand in his way,” I answered without hesitation.

“How so?” He seemed suddenly reticent, his russet brows knitted together. “Women cannot own property.”

“If they have been legally joined with the land, yes they can. My father wanted me to have my own home and so, some years ago, he deeded Tor House into a jointure. I am the heiress of Tor House in my own right.”

“Can you not make this known?”

“It’s not that simple. I must find supporters,” I said, trying to control my rising irritation. I could hardly believe the deed had been destroyed, though I had been forced to witness it.

“So, were you dead, Devlin would inherit Tor House as he did the earldom as the last surviving son of the old earl.” His eyebrows went up and his mouth compressed into an expression of muted acceptance.

“That is exactly the sum of it. He means to see me gone. Should I die in the process, it would not displease him.”

“But why Bolton?”

“I told you. I have a friend there.”

“Who is this friend that you think can help you? What are this person’s allegiances?”

“I don’t see that my friend’s credentials are your concern. Would you rather I had not warned you of the enemy’s presence?” I huffed back to my horse, ready to ride on. Alone, if necessary. But on second thought, I turned back to him. “I don’t blame you for questioning my motives. But I cannot return.”

“I would not be here, nor would you, if I did not trust you.” He stared at me, his mouth tight, his face coloring in frustration. “From what you have told me, were it me, I would do no less. But others may misinterpret your flight, perhaps see you as a traitor.”

He caught me off-guard with his telling view of my situation. Yes, my allegiance would be questioned, perhaps even by those very people I needed to approach.

I nodded solemnly, knowing he was right, that the path I had laid out for myself was fraught with deadly unknowns.

We mounted and rode in comradely silence for some time, accompanied by the creak of leather and the horses’ hooves squishing through the mud. The wet cold invaded my nostrils, forestalling any sense of smell. There were no birds, nor birdsong. The eerie, deadened silence descended around us as our mounts moved us into a low area, a foggy netherworld, our only connection with reality the wide pathway that we followed. I rubbed the slick reins in my cramped hand to assure myself this was no dream. The frosted atmosphere must have affected Duncan, as well, for he seemed gloomily spellbound by the drifting walls of fog around us. His gaze tracked morosely from one side to the other.

“It was like this on the mountain,” he said suddenly. “Here, we have a clear road, but then, on those trackless slopes, we constantly lost our sense of direction. You could walk through a mist-cloud to continue up the slope or off a cliff-face, a thousand feet down, never knowing the edge was there.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but kept my silence and, like him, studied the walls of shifting white mists around us.

“We had climbed for hours,” he went on. “Finally we reached the flat summit of the mountain and set our camp among the stone cairns. I remember the bite of the cold there, the whistling wind, and the restless cloud-mists, so like these around us.”

I shivered, as much from the chill as from the frigid heights he described.

“I remember my mother’s warmth around me, her hot, sobbing breath in my ear, my father’s strong arm around us both at the end. He fought like a demon, but there were too many of them.”

“Why? What happened?” I asked, unable to hold my questions any longer and concerned for the pain welling up in his face, already red and chapped from the unnatural cold.

“Everyone was slaughtered.”

“Everyone?”

“Most of my clan. I lay there, a wee boy and terribly wounded, for many long hours. My back went numb from the cold ground, but I could not move for my mother, who had me pinned. She was dead, and I expected to die, but someone finally came and spirited me away to my grandmother’s home in Durham.” He looked down at himself with a long exhalation, as though awakening from a dream. “Your situation, your fear for your life, your fight for your heritage, speak to me in a way I did not expect.”

“Shocking, are they not, our similarities?” Like me, this man had his own ghosts, just not so literal as my own.

He nodded, chagrined.

“Was it the English who did this to you?” I asked. A sudden yearning for his arms around me once again left me shaky and clinging to my saddle.

“Oh, no.” His gentle smile belied what he must have felt. “Twas Clan Campbell. They caught us on the flat summit of Ben Nevis. My parents, my aunts and uncles, my brother, my sisters.” Pain writhed in his face. “Murdered.”

“But why?”

“They wanted our land, wanted to drive us from the face of the earth.”

I asked a few more questions, but he did not want to discuss it. His reticence was entirely understandable. From my father’s death, I had learned that the only way to heal and go on was to not think about it. And so I left him alone, knowing with a warm spot in my heart that I was no longer alone in that particular agony.

“Where is Ben Nevis?” I asked.

“In the southern Highlands at the head of Loch Linnhe.”

“You must hate the men who did this to you.”

“The Campbells? I did, for many years. But no more. My grandmother Comrie was very strict. She insisted on my education. It gave me perspective.”

“I have heard talk of the name Comrie around York. But I did not know the Comries were a highland clan.”

“Does na matter,” he said, bitterly. His gloved hand reached over and settled on my rein hand. “Twas long ago, and I am well over it. Leave it be.”

I nodded, but he pointed off across my horse’s head.

“Someone is there.”

We had ridden up to higher ground and left the thickest of the mists behind us, only to find two men exposed in the distance, between us and the town. One of them was a Roundhead soldier. They were bent over something, speaking between themselves. The road ran to within fifty feet of them.

“Slouch,” I hissed. “Look like a dispirited servant, for God’s sake.”

“Aye,” Duncan said, his words apparently still touched by his Scottish memories. He reined his horse in to ride behind me, as a proper servant would do.

In the distance, the soldier looked up. Obese, with close cropped hair, he wore no armor. His buff coat rode high up over his belly. At sight of us, his eyes went wide, and he grabbed his matchlock musket, though I could detect no lit matchcord, nor its giveaway smoke.

My cheeks sucked in, head held high, as though I expected to be recognized, we rode on unconcerned, the lady and her servant headed home. We continued thus, my sweaty hands slick on the reins, heart pounding, and my mouth a sudden dry wasteland.

They watched us for some time, the soldier unsure as to whether or not to approach us. But he did not, and soon we were at the spot where I had left Peg. The city spread out below us in the afternoon sunlight, the whirring whisper of River Croal close by. The house guard must not have come this far, after all, for the traffic in the town had settled.

Round helmets were still to be seen patrolling here and there in the market areas and along the streets which were crowded with tall, high peaked houses, a distinct air of suppression in the unnatural quiet. Duncan studied the occupied town, asking questions about where he could go, where the markets were, the churches and the town hall. I studied him closely as he surveyed the town. His square jaw, his broad shoulders, his flashing, multi-hued eyes could not hide behind any disguise. This vital man in his oversized hat and cloak, which covered a multitude of weapons, was not at all what he appeared to be, not now nor in his rightful uniform. That inkling had struck me once before when I first encountered him. It seemed stronger and more certain now.

We went on, carefully skirting the edges of town by moving through fields and small stands of trees. Finally, we came to the meadow that I had last seen covered with summer flowers. It was green now, and sparkling with moisture.

“My friend’s home is just beyond the old church ruins there.”

“Let us walk from there. I have something I want to ask you.”

We rode across the wet meadow and dismounted at the edge of the tumbled-down old church, only one of its thick Norman walls still standing. The Reedy house, surrounded by a leaning stave-board fence, appeared in the distance before us as we strolled around the edges of the ruin in comfortable silence, leading our horses by their reins. We continued on for some ways.

“I will protect you, as best I can, despite your insistence on leaving Tor House.”

I jumped, shocked by his sudden words. He put an arm around me, his hand resting at my waist, and I leaned into him, thankful for his presence.

“In this time of war, riding around the countryside looking for supporters is neither a safe nor a sane thing to do. But I respect your feelings and understand better than most what drives you.”

By the time he finished this rush of words, we had come to the shabby little gate before Thomas’ house. The house’s thatch roof was bare in spots and dark with mold. Where the barn had been just last summer was a jumbled pile of timbers, as though it had been left where it fell. The huge old lilac bush at the gate remained. Its blooms were spent, but it still leaned over us in a protective canopy.

“Will you wait for me, Elena?” he asked. He took my hands in his.

“Wait for you?” I looked up into his dark, probing gaze. More than anything, I wanted to say yes.

“Until after the war. I would court you properly,” he said, as though he assumed I questioned the proprieties of his suit.

“I have no idea where I might be,” I hedged.

“I shall find you,” he declared. And surely he would. If he lived.

Other than my father, I had never known any man who understood and cared for me. Yet I could not accept Duncan’s attentions, much less a courtship, while engaged to another man. Though I had rebuked my betrothal to Gorgon, it remained a legal complication that could whip around and put us both in deadly peril of the earl’s wrath and at the mercy of the King’s law.

Despite this, having found Duncan, I did not want to lose him. My mind raced and my stomach roiled. What could I tell him? Surely I would never see him again—I would lose that precious, vital spark between us—should he learn of my betrothal. He was too honorable a man to do otherwise. Though it was too early and too wet for it, the vagrant smell of lavender, from Mrs. Reedy’s garden no doubt, wafted past us. I hesitated, desolate. In the end, I took a great breath.

“I cannot tell you that I will wait for you, Duncan. There are things . . . matters over which I have no control.”

He studied me as though he could see through me.

Could he sense my need for him? At that moment, I was ready to throw my heritage away for him, though I knew I would hate myself later. And so I stood there in wretched silence and watched him expel a breath.

“Aye,” he said, as though he had been prepared for this answer. He threw his shoulders back, reached under his cloak, and brought out one of his long-barreled pistols. “It is fully charged, should you need it.”

“Thank you,” I said meekly, glad to have the weapon. I took it and dropped it in my hand beside me.

“Don’t tell your friend of our forces coming. Can I depend on you for that?”

“You can.”

“Also, the aftermath of battle can be deadly. When we enter Bolton, I will send guards here for your protection.” His cloak rippled at its lower edge to the accompaniment of shuffling feet.

“Duncan?”

“Yes?” He studied his boots and would not look at me. The front door scraped open at the house, but I ignored it.

“Please take care.” I shoved the pistol into my deep cloak pocket, stood on my toes, and threw my arms around his neck, hitting his hat, which flew off. Neither of us went after it, for I pulled his head down and kissed him.

His mouth was soft and pliant. He put his arms around me and pulled me close within the shelter of his cloak. My lips parted, and he caressed my inner mouth with his tongue in an embrace that sent me, mind and body, into a whirlwind.

He dropped his head to my shoulder with a sigh, his breath hot on my neck. “So it is not hopeless, you and me?”

At that moment, I desired him desperately. My hunger for him overwhelmed any logic that remained in me. I ran my hands around his waist and hugged him to me, my breasts tight against the warmth of his clothed chest.

The clump of heavy footsteps approached us over the stone walkway. We stepped quickly apart.

“And who are you?” It was Thomas, puffed up in arrogance. He glared not so much at Duncan himself as at his long red locks.

Duncan returned the glower with a frown of distrust. He turned to leave.

“Wait,” I cried. “I want you to meet my friend.”

He turned back and came up close beside me, protective still.

“This is Thomas.” I pushed open the shabby little gate that hung by one tattered leather hinge and pulled Duncan in with me. “He has been a good friend throughout my childhood.” I stepped forward, clasped Thomas’ arm, and motioned at the big, black-cloaked man who now stood within the gate. “This is Duncan, who is very special to me.”

“Yes, I could see that. Who is he?”

Duncan’s rust-colored eyebrows crawled together in irritation.

“Thomas, be civil.” I shook his arm for emphasis.

I turned apologetically back to Duncan to find that his gaze had shifted into the distance behind me. When I looked, it was Peg who stood in the open door of the house, an odd, calculating smile on her face.

“Stay in the house. Keep them safe,” Duncan demanded of Thomas. He turned smartly on his heel, his cloak awhirl behind him. Hat back securely on his head, he was mounted and on his way toward town before Thomas, who blustered in wordlessness, could collect himself enough to respond.

“Cocksure bastard.”

Chapter Seven

The condition of the little front gate should have prepared me for what I would find in the house. His mother had died last year and, knowing Thomas’ propensities, I should have expected what I walked into. But my memory of this house was a cheery, bright, well-kept home and so it was a shock when I walked into the dim house. The stench of decay nearly stopped my breath. I had not realized how much I had relaxed while in Duncan’s company until concern for my surroundings set off my anxieties again.

Relieved to find her safe, I embraced Peg.

“I see ye found him.”

I nodded, but kept my silence.

“I don’t like the look of that man,” Thomas grumbled. He strutted around like a dislodged hero.

“Open the curtain. It’s dark as a tomb in here.” I walked over to the table and reached for the thin muslin fabric.

“Don’t do that. People will be able to see in.” Thomas followed and slapped my hand away.

I could appreciate his position, with Roundheads in the town close by. With distaste, I looked around the disheveled room, at the cold fireplace in the far corner. When my eyes acclimated, I saw that a pallet sat in front of the hearth stone. Large chunks of wood, peat and faggots were heaped up alongside it. Closer to the door, under the curtained window, was a table with a burning candle in a wooden holder. There were two chairs and an empty corner beyond. On the wall perpendicular to the entry was a door blocked off by timbers nailed across it. That door had led to the bedrooms the last time I was in the house. On the back wall stood a big barreled cistern, a large hutch, and beside it an enormous wooden chair. Shelter, it was, but hopefully not for long.

I turned to Thomas, who impatiently awaited my attention. “I need your help.”

“Yes, Peg told me.” He studied his fingernails at length in the low light, this way, then that, and finally turned about in an open-armed swirl. “What do you need? I and my humble home are at your command.”

“Why is the door shut off? Is it safe here?”

“Of course.” He had followed me around the table and stood now before the big carved chair, that odd chair that had always been in the house. “Why do you think I keep the curtain closed? It makes the place look abandoned from the outside.”

His air of grievous hurt touched me. I gave him a gentle hug.

“Anything for you, dear Elena.” He stepped back, grasped my hand and kissed it; the same old Thomas, dramatic to the core.

I took a deep breath and plunged into the necessity of our visit. “I must petition the King.”

His face blanched, and he swallowed with difficulty. “The King? Why—”

“The King?” Peg interrupted. “Whatever for?”

“King Charles is known for upholding the rights of widows and orphans,” I insisted to the two of them, who stood gawking at me as though I were the village idiot.

“What did Devlin do to bring you to this?”

“I told ye, dunce. He disinherited her,” Peg said, with a frown.

“Ah, yes. You did tell me.” He sat down on the big chair and puffed his chest out in importance, ready to hold court. After a quick bite at his thumb nail, he slowly stretched his right arm to rest it magnanimously on the wide chair arm. “This turn of events does not surprise me. For my part, I think we should send off your petition to the King, go back to Tor House and confront the bastard.” He stood up in haste. “Demand your rights, publicly.”

“It be ‘we,’ now?” Peg asked, always one to trip Thomas up, if she got the chance. Like it was when we were young, the three of us playing catch-all in the courtyard.

“No,” I said. “That would in all likelihood get us killed or imprisoned.” I had forgotten Thomas’ unthinking tendency to jump into whatever opportunity presented itself.

The room grew chilly. I clenched my cloak tight around me and approached the hearth, but the stones were cold and the dark maw heaped with white ash. Unable to stand or sit still, I went over to the hutch’s top cabinet that used to be bursting with fresh-baked bread, eggs, fruit, and cheeses, to find no more than a deep layer of dust in an empty cabinet.

I turned back to Thomas. His hair had grown. Brown and wavy, it hung almost to his shoulders. It set off his handsome features, but there was something crucial dominating his face.

“How long have you been without food?”

“I’ve been forced to connive and steal to survive.” He looked down at his hands, fingers curled into his palms.

“I thought so. When did the Roundheads come into town?”

“In force, yesterday. But they have been around, demanding things, for months. The barn collapsed through the winter. Then, holes appeared in the roof above both bedrooms. So, I made them into a stable with an entrance on the other side of the room. That’s where I left Kalimir just now. I managed to get both of your horses in there.”

“So that be the awful smell in here.” Peg made a face, as though she had just realized where she was.

“Kalimir won’t stand to be crowded,” I said, alarmed. Ominous silence hung around the blocked door.

“Not to worry. He is in the large end stall,” Thomas said. He waved his hand in dismissal and threw himself into the big chair, landing in a moody slump.

“We do not dare show our faces outside your door,” I said, anxious to move on. “Will you go into town and see what you can find out about the conditions of the roads south?”

“Roads south?” He sat up straight. “You want to leave here? I cannot blame you, seeing how the Roundheads have made life near to impossible, but south is headed right into the thick of it, is it not?”

“We need to get ready. When this is over . . . “ My voice trailed off as I remembered my promise to Duncan. I put my hand to my throat and coughed.

“When what is over?” He smirked and leaned forward.

“I’m talking about Oxford, Thomas.” I clenched my hands gracefully before me and tightened my face in resolve. “We must go to the King in Oxford.”

“Why?” His face fell in dismay, but abruptly changed to suspicion. “Can you not send your petition by a trusted courier? Wallace would do it.”

“I was hoping for your protection. But if you don’t wish to accompany us, Peg and I will make the journey alone.”

“Of course I’ll go with you,” he said with some distress. He slid out of his chair and crept toward the door, not happy about it. “Um. The court. That would present some interesting possibilities, would it not?”

“I am certain it would,” I said, pleased to see his spirit reviving, our old conniving Thomas returned to us. “For now, try to get some food.” I gave him the last of the gold coins my father had given me, years ago. The small cache of coins had slowly disappeared as I found things that Tor House needed. For some reason, I had thought to drop the last of them into my small waist pocket when I left my room early this morning.

“Oh.” For a moment, his face lit up at the clank of money in his hand. “But what if they catch me?” Eyes huge with terror, he searched out my gaze.

“You know your way around town,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “It will be dark soon anyway.”

He strode to a small pile of clothing on the other side of the hearth, searched through it with one hand, and pulled out a tattered cloak, which he threw on. Face set in a grumpy frown, he crossed the room and opened the door. “Heavy clouds. It’s going to rain.”

“Be careful,” I prompted him, “and see what you can find. The glimmer of gold is still worth something, even here.”

“True,” he said. He jiggled the coins now in his pocket, and the expression on his face changed to sly optimism.

Thomas had been gone for some time when the weight in my cloak reminded me that I carried more than gold. I carefully pulled out the pistol. I was afraid to leave it in my pocket any longer. I had heard of pistols going off accidentally and taking a man’s hand or foot, so I put it in the empty upper cabinet of the hutch for safekeeping, where it would be close by should we need it.

Of course, I had to find a suitable rag and wipe out the dust in the cabinet before I dared leave Duncan’s good pistol in there.

“This place be filthy,” Peg said with a sweep of her hand, indicating the entire interior of the house. “Thomas became angry and insulted when I tried to sweep earlier.”

We smiled conspiratorially at one another and, while we could, straightened the room, wiped off the littered table, replaced the still burning candle at its center, and swept the floor. These simple tasks went a long way toward dispelling my feeling of abandonment. Disturbed swirls of dust set us coughing, but finally, we pushed the wretched curtains aside and sat down at the table. Gray clouds hung in the distance. Fresh air seeped in through the poorly framed window. Cold as it was, it was a relief from the stagnant, barn-tinged air around us.

“That was Duncan with ye,” Peg said. She leaned close to me, a gleam in her eye.

“Yes.”

“So are they coming?”

“I am not to tell anyone,” I said. The table was still grimy, and I quickly retrieved my hand. My oath to Duncan hung in the air around me. “But yes. Do not tell Thomas.”

“He would run straight to the Roundheads.”

“I know he is a little jumbled right now and afraid at times,” I said, with a surprised look at her. “Why would you say that about him?”

“Ye know how he is.” She looked off through the window, into the failing light.

“What do you know?” I asked with a disabling stab of concern.

“I told thee. His heart is dark.” She stood up and pushed the curtains farther back and turned back to me with a saucy smirk. “Is Rupert’s army coming?”

“Yes,” I said with a resigned sigh. “We need to be careful and remain in this house until the battle is over. Rigby will fight, you know.”

“Of course. Tell me about Duncan.” Peg put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Her arched eyebrows went up in anticipation.

“The prince is warned. And Duncan is . . . quite thoughtful, yet unpredictable. That disturbs me.” My eye caught on the candle flame. It burned steadily with a little flare now and again when air from the window shook it. “When first we met, I sensed something passionate and spirited about him.” With a heartfelt smile, my thoughts delved into that startling encounter.

She pushed impatiently at my hand. “Pray, tell me.”

“He asked me to wait for him.” Heat rose in my cheeks.

“And ye agreed?” Her dark eyes shone.

“No,” I said, offended she would think that of me. “You know I cannot. I am bound to Gorgon, much as I hate it. But I do like Duncan. There is something about him when I’m around him that leaves me uneasy and unable to think straight.”

“I think ye do him and thyself a disservice by refusing him,” Peg said after a moment’s thought. She lowered her eyes. A long sigh followed. “It was a simple request to wait, was it?”

“Yes.” I smiled at the memory, the flush returning to my face. “He even said he would find me, wherever I was.”

“Oh, ye break my heart. If ye blush, why could thee not give him this simple thing? Ye may never see him again.”

“I would not mislead him, Peg.”

“Ach! Ye are stiff as an ox and do not appreciate him.”

“Are you calling me selfish?” I pushed back my chair until its rear legs caught in the space between the floor boards and it would go no farther. Resentment soared within me. I glared at my friend and companion.

She merely shrugged. After a few moments, her unruffled demeanor cooled my ire somewhat, though she did not take back her words.

“What choice do I have?” My circumstances were dismal. A frustrated sigh merely brought it all into focus. “Either I pursue my own self-interests or I will be overrun and lose everything I am. You, of all people, should understand that. I owe it to myself, to my father.”

In our early years together, as young girls, we came to understand our differences, frequently making fun of one another. Though I was the one who had the devastating dreams, Peg teased me incessantly for being too serious. For my part, I laughed at her constantly over her fantasizing. Over the years, we came to respect one another for what each brought to the friendship that sustained us, for we had been forced to stand together or be overwhelmed, first by Father’s over-solicitude and then by Uncle Charles’ and the countess’ grasping divisiveness.

“What ye say is true.” Peg’s lower lip extended into a pout. “But I still say I saw it, that ye love this man, whether ye realize it or not. He will change thy life.”

I could not accept this idea, no matter my blossoming feelings for the cavalier captain. The light faded, due to incoming storm or nightfall, I was not sure which. The window before us hung like a featureless shadow. With a shake of my head to match my thoughts, I leaned morosely forward to watch the hot wax curl off the top of the candle on the table. It slid down the candle’s length to the holder, where it hardened into a translucent lump.

“I am not in love with Duncan,” I said with sudden decisiveness.

“Ye dream the future.” Peg crouched forward as though to stand up, but did not, her face flushed in irritation. “I see hearts.”

“That is generally true.” With a quick glance around us, I nodded slowly at my combative cousin, uncomfortable giving any credence to my dreams. “Except that I just met the man this morning. He has been kind and useful. But love?”

“I saw the passion, no more than an hour gone. Ye should marry him and forget Tor House.”

“All I have ever cared about,” I said to Peg, my voice breaking, “is my place at Tor House and a deep yearning to be loved for myself, unrelated to my duty or my worth as head of a valuable marriage portion.” I shot up to my feet, pushed the wobbling chair away, and stalked off into the darkness. My childhood dream, which I thought I had outgrown, came full upon me. To be appreciated for who I was. Such a rare commodity in this world of necessary dynastic marriages. And I had hoped to find this spark, this vibrant attraction that now haunted me, with a proper suitor.

“Ye never told me this.” She sat at the table in the little circle of light, eyes wide.

“It is what I am,” I said. Since it was right in front of me, I climbed into the carved chair. My feet fell nowhere near the floor. I felt the size of a child.

“Then listen to me. I know what is right for thee, cousin. Give it some thought before ye throw him away. He cares for thee. Take him.”

“That is mad. I will do no such thing. I like him, Peg. That is all.”

“Why, Elena, I did not know ye kissed men ye like. Have ye then kissed Captain Wallace, too?”

“Duncan is different,” I said, looking away into comfortable darkness.

“What, pray, do ye intend to do about it?”

“Nothing,” I said. I climbed off the big chair, went back to the table, repositioned the chair, and sat down. “I have to get to the King.”

“Ah, so thy heart has no say in it?”

“My heart and my duty are at Tor House, as you should well know.” I unclipped my hair from its tight closure at the back of my head and worked my fingers through the hopeless tangles. “May I use your brush?”

“As ye wish.” She studied me for long moments, her dark eyes alight. Finally, her mouth compressed, and her face drooped in disappointment. She shrugged, pulled her brush from her dress pocket, and handed it to me. “I will help thee. Petition the King, we will. But I have no interest in being left to the terrors of an angry earl and his countess. We must plan this well or we will both hang.”

As the light went out, we lit a second candle that we found in the windowsill. Cold crept into the house. Huddled at the table, we took turns taking hopeful glances at the hearth, but delayed starting a fire. It was full dark by the time Thomas returned. He rushed in the door, closed it tight, his face drained of color, and jerked the window curtain closed. The rush of air from the door passed, and the flickering candles reclaimed their steady flame.

“Well, what news?” Peg asked.

He busily disgorged his pockets onto the table. Maybe three handfuls of oats for the horses, a withered apple, a hard loaf of bread, and four wedges of white, unhealthy looking cheese.

“Did you get any information about the roads?” I asked.

“No. The King is not in Oxford. He is in the field. There is no way to know where he is.”

“And how do ye know this?” Peg asked. She watched his reactions carefully.

“Actually, I have known. I just remembered while I was in town. Neighbor Sims, who lives beyond the church ruins, told me this not a week ago, hoping the King was headed to Bolton. Sims is a staunch Royalist, you know. Very few of those in Bolton.”

He put his hands in his pockets and looked from one of us to the other.

“Everyone I know in town is confined indoors or wandering the streets, homeless and starving. They’ve had to resort to looting and murder to survive. The gangs are no better than the Roundheads. Colonel Rigby has taken over. The townsfolk live under constant threat of violence.” He moved to the big chair, settled into it, his eye on me now, the expression on his face turned rigid. “I ran into that tinker friend of yours. He threatened me and told me I had to come back to the house, and I think I know why. A gust of wind whipped his cloak up and I caught a glance of his sword, too fine a sword for a tinker to own. He wore good cordovan riding boots, too. This fellow was on his way out of town. Isn’t that strange? With a nasty storm approaching? Eh? What could it mean?”

“I cannot imagine,” I said, trying to appear nonchalant. I pretended to study the pathetic bits of food my precious gold had bought.

“Well, I can,” Thomas railed, his voice an octave too high. “The King has treated with the Scots and they are out there on the moors ready to descend upon us.”

“Eeewww! Bloodthirsty MacGregors come screamin’ down out of the highlands,” Peg cried, palms on her cheeks in mock terror. With an unbelieving look at him, she threw up her hands and laughed. “Thomas, y’re daft.”

“Stop it.” He grabbed Peg’s shoulders and shook her. When he let her go, his eyes remained wild, though his words came out in the proper octave. “Whatever comes, I believe the Scot’s advice was good. We will wait here. No chasin’ after the King this night or tomorrow. Something untoward is going on.”

Peg tried to break the bread, but ended up sawing it apart with Thomas’ knife. I took the apple to Kalimir and a small quantity of oats to the horses in the miserable stable. In my travels, I found the privy and happily relieved myself.

When I returned, Peg was questioning Thomas about his neighbor, Sims. She handed me two pieces of hard bread and some cheese.

“Roundheads are going around demanding provisions and housing,” Thomas said to me.

“Have you seen any of them here yet?”

“No, but I won’t be surprised if they come.”

“We must barricade the door. If they find us we could be shot . . . or hanged,” I said, heart in my mouth. Peg and I looked at one another. “Or worse.”

This, then, was one of the problems Duncan had referred to. But Duncan’s promised protection would not be here for many hours. In anxious concern, I clenched my hands together in my lap to keep from ravaging my fingers. Finally, I ate the bread by holding it in my mouth until it softened, then adding some of the rancid cheese. Famished as I was, I barely choked it down with a swallow of water from the cistern.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, finger pressed to his lips. He looked at me from his wooden throne, eyebrows raised in expectancy. “Maybe Prince Rupert is coming. They say in town that he relieved Tor House.”

“True,” I said, putting a hand on Peg’s arm. She seemed about to jump up and hit him or, worse, to expound on the subject.

“So, if it is Prince Rupert’s forces approaching Bolton . . . that makes sense, actually.” He jumped from his chair in a huff, stopped dead in the midst of his forward motion, lost in thought for a long moment, then raised a questioning finger. “So, they are coming from Tor House, yes?”

“We have no way of knowing that, Thomas,” I said. “Do not get carried away with this idea. We need to stay here, where it is relatively safe.”

“Devlin would be with them,” he said to Peg with a sly look. “Bolton owes him fealty.”

I shook my head in frustration and rising concern.

“Well . . .” He hung before me, desperation dark and ugly in his handsome face. “Captain Wallace,” he said, a strange new urgency in his voice, “is he still the house guard commander?”

“Of course,” I answered, unsure of his reasoning. “I cannot return. The earl would kill me, and you, too, for harboring me.”

“Oh, I am not so sure of that.” He strode back to the chair and slapped the chair arm. “He has to get his hands on us first. Tell me, is the house guard still loyal to you?”

I squinted up at him, mystified. “Probably not. Why?”

He leaned toward us in the candle light, his face brilliant with excitement.

“This is our chance. We will depart in the morning for Tor House and, without a drop of blood being shed, take the house in the earl’s absence. The house guard have served you all your life. They will rally to us, Elena. I know they will.”

“No, Thomas. We stay right here.” I shook my head in amazement at his ability to skip from an untested conclusion into outrageous action.

Chapter Eight

The incredible sound of hundreds of clashing swords woke me in the night. A frantic gasp escaped me. I jerked my head aside to find Peg asleep in the dim shadows close beside my pallet. With a shuddering hand, I seized a handful of the cloak that covered me. The solid feel of the heavy material, Peg’s soft snore, and the frenzied thud of my heart slowly convinced me of the here and now of the dark far corner of Thomas’ house.

But the dream still held me.

A black cloud of gun smoke drifted over me, stinging my eyes. The ground vibrated under my feet with the pounding hooves of thousands of charging war horses.

Holy Mother. My mind convulsed and the vision released me. Sweat ran off my face in waves, my chemise stuck to my skin under my twisted dress. I kept as still and silent as my rasping breath allowed. Slowly, my racing heart and labored breathing returned to their normal rhythms. In desperate need of a human touch, I reached across the gaping floor boards toward Peg, but did not touch or wake her.

The night’s vision had been my most grueling dream yet. A long tapestry of horrors, a massive battle of flowing and ebbing horse and troop movements, outright death by sword, pike, and gun shot. Men crushed in the press. There had been no recognizable face, no familiar ground, nothing to connect it to me, which made it easier to shut away in my mind.

By the time the gray light of morning entered the house, I had myself under control. I pinched my cheeks to ensure color in my face, rose and went outside into the rain-washed morning. Black storm clouds floated ominously low over the earth. The town lay quiet behind me. I inhaled the brooding, charged air. A quiver began deep within me. With the King out of reach, my uncle could do whatever he pleased—if he caught me.

“Another dream, then?” Peg’s soft exit from the house was followed by her considered approach.

“No,” I lied. I pointed off toward the shadowed moors in the distance. “They are there somewhere. Duncan . . . and Uncle Charles.”

“Yea, and the prince.”

I nodded. At mention of him, it struck me that the only reasonable approach to the absent King was through Prince Rupert. I had a chance, for he was the King’s beloved nephew as well as commander of his armies.

Yelling in the distance caught my ear. It came from the west, toward the church ruins. I watched four to six distant men move lethargically across the wet grass. They raised their fists and shouted angrily at one another. One of them saw me and pointed. Desperate eyes sunk deep in their heads, they all shifted their path and began to run toward us.

With a ragged intake of breath, I pushed Peg toward the house and raced around the corner to the stable entrance. I slid my sword from its saddle sheath, went back out, secured the stable door, and fled into the house.

“Thomas. Get up,” I cried. The door banged shut behind me.

“Damnation,” Peg said. She threw the curtains aside. “What do they want?”

The first of them turned in through the gate.

“Whatever they can carry away. Maybe the house itself,” came Thomas’ low voice behind us. “I told you Roundheads and some homeless Bolton scum were breaking in to local homes, looting and killing. They probably want the house to barricade themselves in, unless they’re rampaging soldiers.” Still in the wrinkled clothes he had slept in, he jerked a board off the closed-off door that led to the stable. “We must get to the horses and escape. Help me open this.”

“Ye never should have boarded this up in the first place,” Peg scolded. She pulled uselessly at the larger plank below the small one Thomas had already ripped off. Peg looked back at me and stared, her face slack with surprise. “What are ye doing?”

“It’s too late for that,” I said to Thomas, who heaved at the second board on the door. I hefted my sword until I found the best handhold.

At that moment the door burst open and three men rushed in, one with a matchlock musket that he must have stolen from a soldier, for these were not well-equipped military types, as Thomas had suggested, but ragged local men, starving and threatening to kill to get what they needed.

The lead man was huge, his round face bearded. He had little eyes and a projecting mouth, like a bear’s. He laughed when he saw me with the sword extended toward him.

Movement stopped. Despite my wobbly knees, another inch closer to any one of us, and he would laugh no more, for I would take off whatever got in the way, be it his arm or his hairy head.

The bear-faced man lifted his musket, but had to lower it again to find the lit cord. He found the smoking cord, but not quickly enough, for Thomas, who had moved close to me when the looters came in, wrenched the musket away from him, yelling at the top of his voice.

“Out, get out,” he screamed. He flipped the heavy gun and, using the reinforced stock as a club, knocked the closest man to him in the head. The man fell backwards in the doorway. Thomas’ eyes few wide open as though he just realized what he had done. He cringed and backed away.

“Give us food and we leave you be,” someone squealed in the cramped crowd in the doorway.

The bear-faced man moved aside and stayed where he was. I advanced a step, brandishing my sword, and covered Thomas’ retreat. Peg glared at Thomas, grabbed Mrs. Reedy’s wooden mallet off the hutch, and wailing like a banshee, chased the crowd out of the house. She ran right over the man still prone in the doorway. He must have been stunned, for he jumped up after being trampled and ran off behind them. Thomas, who would not be belittled by a woman, maybe especially Peg, took a wild swing of the musket and followed her out the door, leaving me alone to deal with the disarmed, bear-faced mongrel.

He lowered his shaggy head at me, and I swung at him, but he jumped back beyond my reach. Pacing closer, I went to swing again, but my toe caught on one of the open spaces between the floor boards. The floor pitched up into my face.

“What’s a girl like you doin’ with a fine sword like this anyways?” He caught me and wrenched the sword away. “I have somethin’ much better for ya,’ darlin’.”

The sword clanged to the floor. He grabbed my shoulders and sunk his mouth into my neck, sucking at the soft skin there.

I shrank away from his touch, but he pushed me up against the hutch. A hand pawed at my skirts. My mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out.

Frantically, I pushed my attacker away with one arm and lifted the other to the overhead cabinet behind me. Arm painfully twisted, I felt for the knob with a flopping hand while I beat the hairy head with my left fist. Finally, I flipped the cabinet door open. When I twisted around to reach into it, my attacker must have thought I was goading him on, for he chuckled in my ear, his breath smelling of rotten flesh.

“No’ a bad idea, aye?” He worked my dress up over my hips and dropped his mouth to my breast. A grimy hand reached up to certainly tear open my bodice.

The gun slipped into my hand, my arm swung down, and I crammed the charged pistol into his upper gut. He stiffened, and it went off with a muffled bang. He slumped to the floor, blood and gore running out of a black hole in his stomach.

Running feet came through the doorway and I looked up into the disgusted faces of my childhood friends. They came closer and leered over the body.

“Where were you?”

“Making sure they do not come back,” Peg said, in a tiny voice that told me she had been carried away by Thomas’ infamous, generally useless enthusiasm. “Did he hurt thee?”

“No,” I croaked, with an accusative look at the two of them. My lower lip quivered. I felt violated, wanted to scour my skin where my attacker had slobbered all over me.

Thomas gawked at the pistol, still smoking in my hand. I explained how I came to have it, then carefully replaced it in the cabinet, admonishing him to leave it lay.

“Ye should have stayed with her,” Peg yelled at Thomas.

“Leave him alone,” I said to her quietly. I picked up the sword, stood it beside the doorpost and went to the cistern, suddenly drained and desperately tired.

“Ye could have been ruined. Why do ye protect him?” she cried.

“He is my friend, and yours.”

She made a rude noise.

Shortly after that, my face still damp from my ablutions, a crack of thunder shook the house. Thomas ducked as though someone had swung at him. The thatch roof rumbled above us, and driving rain sluiced down over the open doorway. In the back corner, water plopped onto the floor from a leak in the thatch. Finally, Thomas dragged the body of my attacker out into the rain.

Still in nerveless shock, I had no remorse for the man’s death. Peg eyed me critically, closed the door, and went to work wiping up the gore where the man had died. An old cook pot that I found in the big bottom drawer of the hutch served to catch the drip in the corner, but we would have to watch it, for at the rate the rain was coming in it would fill up quickly.

Thomas returned, soaked through. He changed clothes and for sometime watched the window, but finally retreated to his big chair to study his fingernails.

With one particular lifeguard captain in mind, I made myself comfortable in one of the chairs at the table and stared out the window at the slanted, gray deluge. The road across the moor had been muddy when Duncan and I rode it the day before. Thousands of mounted cavaliers would turn it into a bog in this downpour. Empathy stirred my thoughts for the miseries they surely endured.

In the steady, drenching rain of early afternoon, the rumble of cannon fire and the escalating pop of musketry sounded outside Bolton. It came from where Duncan and I had ridden companionably off the moor. Hours later, the rain reduced to a sprinkle, the three of us crowded into our open door. Clouds of gun smoke roiled upward into dark rain clouds that hovered over the town.

In the field beyond the church ruins, a long, ragged line of Roundhead soldiers scrambled in terror over the horizon, looking frequently back the way they came. A small group of soldiers came toward the house. Some of them slipped and fell on the wet grass. Those few jumped up and continued to run. All of them had empty hands and wide, fearful eyes.

“Run for your life,” one of them yelled as he approached our gate.

“Prince Rupert and his devil dog. They’re comin’,” cried another, right behind him.

“They’re killin’ ever’body.”

I reached for my sword.

“No, wait,” Thomas said, a hand on my shoulder to restrain me. “They are not coming here.”

He was right, for each of them, running as though Boye himself was indeed behind them, ran on past the gate and disappeared into the hedges east of us.

“What is happening?” Peg asked.

“You heard them. Prince Rupert’s forces have breached the town defenses and are showing no mercy,” I said.

“Yes. I believe you’re right,” Thomas said, with a look at me of new respect.

Not long after, four Royalist cavaliers, their red sashes prominent even through the rain, dismounted at our gate. One of them, in a canvas rain cloak, strode to the door. The soaked white feather in his wide hat drooped pathetically.

“Open the door,” I said, pushing Thomas forward.

Thomas cracked the door slowly, unsure of what we would find. I leaned around him, and he looked down at me in alarm. But with a wide, thankful smile, my heart lifted, for I recognized the cavalier’s easy manner and his striking blue eyes.

“Sergeant Burke?”

“Lady Elena?” He looked relieved.

“Come in. Bring your men in,” I said.

Thomas disappeared into the house.

The sergeant entered, and Peg closed the door behind him.

“I am glad to find you all here safe. You must remain inside. Captain Comrie’s orders.”

“Is the captain well?” I clenched my fingers together tightly and anxiously awaited his answer.

“Last I saw him, yes, my lady.”

I patted his wet gloved hand, thankful for that news.

“What is happening, Sergeant? Have your troops taken the town?” Thomas asked.

Peg hovered behind him.

“Rigby came out to meet us, but we broke ‘em.” A slow smile appeared under Sergeant Burke’s extensive mustache. “The town is ours.” The smile disappeared and he leaned toward me in unease. “There is still fighting, fierce and confused. It could go on well into the night. We will keep you safe.”

“Yes, you must,” Thomas said. He took a deep, relieved breath, then stood protectively behind me and gestured eloquently at me. “This is Lady Elena, you know. She is the heiress of Tor House, an important lady hereabouts.”

“He knows who I am. We have met before,” I said, though I was not about to admit how I knew him.

The sergeant warmed his hands at our fire, but refused to allow his men in. When I asked why they could not protect us within the house, Burke’s tired half-smile parted his mouth.

“Our captain, our prince for that matter, ask no more of us than they themselves do. We keep to our post.”

And so, he and his men in their canvas cloaks stood outside our closed door and at the gate in the pouring rain, not always at attention, but certainly at their posts. I was impressed. Most soldiers I had seen would desert the minute they got the chance. My own loyal guards would certainly have taken the mistress up on her offer of warmth and shelter.

By late afternoon, I could wait no longer.

“Where be ye off to?” Peg asked with a frown. The short whisking motion of the brush on her auburn tresses stopped. She pushed her hair back behind her shoulders.

“To find Duncan and ask his help in getting to the King.” I pulled my cloak hood up over my head. “Sergeant Burke says he should be near the town hall. That was his plan, to find quarters there.”

On my return from the privy moments earlier, I had convinced the sergeant that I had to see the captain immediately, that it was a matter of life or death. Besides, the rain had decreased to a dribble. In his considered, though wary manner, he had responded that he would be honored. He even saddled Kalimir for me and brought him to the gate.

“Maybe we can catch sight of the prince, too, ye think?” Peg said. She reached for her own cloak, the brush returned to its habitual pocket.

“No,” I said. “You must stay here. The guards will protect you.”

“Ye cannot go alone,” Peg insisted with a huff, her face blazing in indignation.

“Who is this Captain Comrie?” Thomas challenged. He looked me over as though he did not know me, offended.

“Do you remember the man you so ungraciously met yesterday and again in town?”

“Yes.” He nodded, suspicious of my intent. “I know, the odd tinker.”

“That tinker was one of Prince Rupert’s lifeguard captains.”

“I am not surprised. I told you as much.” He returned to his chair, extended his arm, resting it on the wide chair arm. “You were kissing him,” he said with a sudden frown, his voice hoarse with accusation.

“I will return,” I said firmly, not interested at the moment in his criticism or Peg’s demands.

“You cannot leave us.” Thomas came up off the chair, straight to me, and clenched my shoulders in his hands. “These guards mean nothing. Your safety is our safety. Do you not understand this?”

“You will be fine,” I responded sternly, dismayed at his groveling. This was something left over from childhood. It surprised me to still see it in him, this display of why he should be kept safe, his underlying fear etched into his face and imbedded in his words.

“We will await thee.” Though Peg’s face drooped in disappointment, she escorted me to the door, twin lines of concern deep between her brows.

“Yes, we will stay.” Thomas stood aside. “Godspeed,” he spouted resentfully.

We entered the street that I knew would take us close to the center of town and the town hall. Roaming crowds of soldiers greeted us on foot and ahorse. The dead littered the doorways and alleys. We passed a corpse sprawled in a puddle. A pike protruded from his back. The sight made me nauseous. Had Duncan truly survived this?

At the first square, Burke, who rode close beside me, smiled languidly at me, belying the threat of his drawn sword held across the pommel of his saddle.

“Do you know, Sergeant, if Lord Devlin is in Bolton?” I asked.

“Somewhere, yes. Trying to control the thievery, I believe.”

“We must avoid him.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he said, with a wiggle of his mustache. He studied me, and apparently decided that I meant my words, for he nodded.

Huge, rain pocked puddles were everywhere, complicating our progress. As well, it took some skill to avoid the filthy water that ran down the center of most streets, dark with blood and human waste.

After the next small square, we passed into a more affluent area of towering houses under high peaked roofs. Cries and screams sounded in the distance.

“Is it a fight to find the enemy, house to house?” I asked the sergeant.

“No, my lady.” Our horses side by side, he leaned close. “It is mostly pillaging now.”

“You mean, our own men?”

He could see my shock and so explained the common soldier’s right of free quarter. Each man had a right to housing and food, supplied by his conquered subjects. He confirmed my suspicions, what I did not want to believe of our Royalist troops. We had seen no Roundheads, just city folk struggling to escape.

“It has gotten out of hand, then?”

“Our men have long been hungry and without pay.”

We went down more roads crowded by tall houses, their second stories leaning over the cramped streets. We turned a corner, where carousing soldiers eyed me with obvious relish, until they got a clear look at my escort. They stumbled away behind us.

We passed an inn that had attracted a large number of men at arms. Musketeers were clumped in the street, reeling drunk. Something about the look of them, the way they fell back into one another and a nearby rearing horse brought back . . .

. . . Hundreds of musketeers forced together between opposing cavalry charges. The musketeers, who fought on foot, were unable to bring up their weapons for lack of space. In brutal attempts to escape, they shoved at one another. Their coughs hacked through the heavy black gun smoke. There was something in their way, something I could not see that they could not get past. Royalist horses reared and struck down their own men. The remaining musketeers fell back into one another in an attempt to clear the way for their cavalry to get through, but they went down in massive numbers under the pikes and swords of the charging enemy . . .

Back where I belonged, thank God, the stench of offal and blood tainted the wet air in Bolton. I swooned, nearly unhorsing myself. Burke’s horse came up beside Kalimir, who allowed it with a snort. Our knees touched and his gloved hand caught me, held me upright in the saddle until I recovered.

“We’re almost there, Lady Elena. Can you continue?”

“Let us go on,” I said, shaking not from the cold rain, but from the impact of a returning vision, something I had never experienced before. The soft drizzle fell in my face, like a gentle admonition. What is this thing in my head?

Finally a dim, crowded street opened out into the main square where large numbers of gathered Royalist musketeers and cavaliers milled around the imposing town hall on the other side of the square. No plundering here. Sergeant Burke asked an officer where he might find Captain Comrie. The officer pointed to the large house to the right of the town hall.

We tied up our horses at the plain ring post mounted before the house and entered to find somber walls and a simple sturdy table in the hallway. Directed to a back room where voices and a familiar explosive laugh sounded, we went down the austere hallway and entered the open door.

I pushed my hood back and looked around at a bed, a chair, a table, and one candle and holder. It was cold and uninviting, but I appreciated the simple smells of wood, clean bedding, and damp humans after what we had come through to get there. I stepped into the room, stopped short, and jerked my wet cloak tight around my neck, a defense against the sight before me. My heart dropped. I could not breathe.

Duncan stood before me, still in his body armor, though his hat with its droopy turquoise feather and his bridle gauntlet lay as though they had been flung onto the bed. His perfect smile was directed at a woman who hung off his arm.

She looked to be a baggage-train tramp, her breasts leaning out over the tight, boned bodice that seemed out of place in the unadorned room.

He turned his head and saw me. The smile fell away, and his essential confidence flagged.

“Elena?” he stepped toward me, hand extended in entreaty. “What are you doing here, out in this chaos?” Confidence back in spades, his stern gaze shifted abruptly to Burke. “Sergeant, your orders were—”

“The lady insisted, sir.” Burke saluted his captain. “A matter of life and death, she said.”

“And you listened to her?”

“I did what I thought you would do, sir, were you in my place.” Sergeant Burke lowered his head, his mouth compressed into a tight line, barely visible under his mustache. His big hat dripped onto the floor before him.

“Who is this?” I managed to ask, offended by the girl’s appearance and her proximity to Duncan.

She had long blond hair. Her painted mouth curved into a frown over a slight overbite. This defect was overcome by her facial rouge and her dress. The rectangular, low cut neckline exposed most of her breasts, so much so that it seemed her nipples must pop out at any moment. She moved sinuously, as I would imagine a harlot might move to attract her customers. She was pretty, had a voluptuous body, and seemed to know it. She swayed slightly, her yellow skirts following her slightest move, which accentuated her tiny waist.

“Go away,” the girl purred in oversweet tones. She pulled closer to Duncan and pressed her breasts into his arm. She studied me with a feral smile. “He belongs to me.”

“Annie, stop it.” Duncan’s voice rose in irritation. He turned to me. “Elena, this is not what you think. Annie is my cousin.”

A sob ripped out of me, my face afire. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“Listen to me,” he insisted. His face went rigid. Anger sparked in his dark eyes. He reached for me again.

I stepped back, close beside the sergeant. My limbs, my very face shook in aching despair.

The girl continued to hang on him, would not let him go. No, it was he who would not push her away, my senses insisted. I was hardly blind.

“Where is the prince?” I asked Burke. I clawed at his solid arm, tugged at the soaked hide of his buff coat.

“Lady, I do not know.”

Humiliated and embarrassed, I whirled around, ran into the hallway, and out of the building. It took two tries to untie Kalimir’s reins, my hands shook so badly. I led him quickly away across the crowded square. Every officer that came my way, I approached and asked where the prince was to be found. The third or fourth officer gave me a pitying smile, waved me away, and spurred his horse into a departing trot.

I mounted and urged my stallion into the crowded, smelly streets that led to the east side of town. My knees clutched his bellowing sides as we wheeled around knots of rioting men, splashed headlong through extensive puddles covering who knew what obstacle or depression, and jerked away from hands that reached for us. I reined him in when the way was clear, but never stopped. Speed was our only ally, though more than once I drew my sword in reaction to insistent hands that would not release their hold on the reins, or in one instance, on my foot. An hour or more later, I had begun to think I would make it back to the Reedy House, when, in the near darkness of looming nightfall, my uncle appeared at the head of a crowd of oncoming cavaliers that charged up the street toward me. His mouth was white-rimmed, his forward-leaning stance in the saddle indicative of extreme fury. I turned Kalimir in a space in the crowd and fled before the oncoming cavaliers. The great bay sensed my fright and broke into a dangerous gallop. He ran down one man and leapt over a disabled cart.

Something hit my head, hard.

I came to myself, prone, in the wet of what had to be a dark alley. Kalimir was gone, though a hoarse whinny sounded in the distance. Stunned, I put a hand to my booming head. How had I gotten here? Water dripped from a roof somewhere above me, a steady plunking sound all around me. Shadows moved in the darkness over me.

When my eyes regained their focus, faces hung close about me, like ghouls in the dark, literally drooling. I screamed, and two men jerked at my left arm. They exchanged curses, then dropped my arm to exchange blows. I struck at hands that grasped for me. Despite my efforts, big, filthy fingers pulled at me, tore my dress. A pot-bellied man wrenched his way forward and stood before me. A gruesome three-toothed grin split his face. He reached for me, but flew, suddenly, up and away.

This amazed me. A large, gloved hand pulled two, three more men away and systematically ran them through. The rest of the mob slid back into the gutters they came from.

“What about Devlin?” came a disembodied voice out of the dark.

I cringed, closed my eyes, and beat at the arms that reached for me. Blindly, I shoved and kicked anything that came near me. Hands forced their way under my armpits, hoisted me up like a bag of grain, and took me away, only moments later to hand me into another set of strong arms.

“Get her back to the house where you found her. Do not allow her out. Are my orders clear, Sergeant?”

Chapter Nine

Bolton had remained quiet for many hours, but Sergeant Burke was adamant that I could not leave the Reedy house.

“Use the chamber pot,” he insisted. “I will be happy to empty it when you finish.”

I slammed the door in his sincere face. Injustice steamed through my veins. Yet I knew we were safe. At least, Peg and I were safe. Thomas had fled in the night.

Thoroughly humiliated, I tended to my personal needs and handed the chamber pot out the door. With a resentful flop into the oversized chair that Thomas preferred, I lay back and crossed my arms over my chest, so angry my chin shook.

I looked up at the great beam above me, that long supporting rafter that I last remembered festooned with assorted salted meats, onions, and various dried herbs. It looked naked now in the dim room. My gaze traveled from the overhead beam down to the bare floor with its great gaps between the boards. The place was falling to ruin around us, the wet tap of the leak in the thatch constant in the corner. With a sudden cringe of desolation, I wanted my stone mansion back.

“I hope Thomas is all right,” I murmured.

“Ach,” Peg said, on her way to the cistern. “That man is like a cat. He will land on his feet and walk away. No need to worry over him, sure enough. We be the ones left trapped in this house.”

“I suppose he will be safe with the battle over. Wait,” I cried, frozen with momentous realization. “The battle is done, but it was nothing like the battle in my dreams.” And Duncan still lived, despite my vision of his death. “Maybe my dreams really are just elaborate nightmares.” But my hands curled into fists. I groaned with conviction. “They are so real, just like you standing before me now, dribbling water all over the place.”

“I knew thee had dreamed more than ye said,” Peg spluttered. She finished ladling water out of the cistern to her mouth. “Why did ye not tell me?”

Shots sounded in the distance, toward town.

We moved to the table, littered with Thomas’ leavings, dried fruit skins, nut husks, and small bits of paper. I pushed aside the curtains.

Horse hooves pounded the earth beyond the gate. They wheeled to a stop. Moments later, our door burst open. In breast and back plates, his hat down tight over his forehead, Duncan entered dragging what looked like a huge bag of rags but that turned out to be Thomas, severely thrashed, his clothes torn, his hair a tangled mess. His face was scraped and his nose bloody.

“Caught him stealing. He’s your friend. Here.” He pushed Thomas toward me.

“Thank you, Captain,” I said, sticking to the formality I had promised myself I would henceforth use with this man. I shoved at Thomas’ fast approaching shoulder and aimed him toward his chair. “I’m sure there’s been some mistake.”

“No, Lady Elena. I caught him trying to make off with horses at the cottage beyond the ruins.” Bitter resentment flared in his face. “The prince shoots looters. I brought him to you instead.”

I stepped back at Duncan’s vehemence and turned to Thomas. “You should have stayed here.”

“Ye stole from Sims? I thought he was thy friend?” Peg asked.

“But he’s gone,” Thomas croaked. “We need the cursed horses.”

“Captain. Duncan, I mean,” I said, my offended proprieties suddenly unimportant. He had, by his own admission, saved Thomas from the prince’s ire. My fingers clenched around the solid top rail of the chair back I had retreated behind. “I am certain he did this because we only have one horse among us, and we must travel to Manchester soon.”

“Manchester now, is it?

His inference stung. “I have relatives there, my mother’s brother.”

“Oh, certainly,” he said, ignoring my pressed explanation. “As to horses, your great bay was just brought in.”

“Thank God.” My affront faded at news of my beloved Kalimir. “I was afraid I had lost him.”

“He is at your gate.”

“Where are you bound?”

“You and Peg are coming with us.”

“What about me?” Thomas cried. Eyes dark and pleading, he shuffled up to me.

“I will not go without Thomas,” I said firmly.

“Really?” A small smile widened Duncan’s mouth. He delayed, considering before he answered. “We can take him. I have a remount he can use.”

“Here,” I said. A haughty stroll to the hutch and I drew his pistol out of the cupboard. “And thank you.”

“You had to use it?” He stared at me in wide-eyed surprise.

“Yes,” I said, my nose in the air as he holstered the weapon. “Where are you taking us?”

“To Tor House. We must go now. You must leave in any event. The town is dangerous. But first, you must come with me.”

I stepped back in alarm. “I cannot go back to Tor House. My uncle will kill me.”

“No, he will not, my lady.” His jaw bulged with deadly intent. He must have recognized my cloak, for he picked it up from where it lay across the back of the far chair. He pushed the cloak into my arms and jerked me out of the house. “You two had best be ready when I return,” he called back to Peg and Thomas.

Outside the door, Duncan waited while I put on my cloak. He then took my hand, led me out through the gate, past a dancing Kalimir, and directly toward a clutch of officers not far away. They were members of Prince Rupert’s lifeguard, for they all wore the signature red cloak and were outfitted with new firelock rifles. The cavalier at the center of the clutch, who was dressed in unrelieved black, stood a head above his compatriots. It was the prince himself. A shaky breath rattled out of me. Officers stepped back and away, Duncan retreated, and I stood alone before Prince Rupert and his grinning, panting dog.

My knee touched the ground, so deep was my curtsy. When I regained my feet, his frosty expression had softened somewhat. He took a quick look toward the house.

Duncan had given me this chance, though mixed feelings came with that realization. He had understood my plea when I fled his presence in Bolton. Just as he had retrieved Kalimir. Was he perhaps sorry I had caught him with Annie, his tramp?

“The relief of Tor House and the Battle of Bolton were important victories over the Roundheads.” Prince Rupert looked down at me sternly. He was a handsome man, with black shoulder-length locks and a long, distinctive nose that gave his face great dignity. “But we must not underestimate them. They believe God is on their side. Did you know that?”

“It doesn’t surprise me, your Highness. They think far too much of themselves, it seems to me.”

He nodded, studying me. Was he testing me?

“I understand you have a petition, Lady Elena.”

Another curtsy and I came up with pride. The man made me feel important, giving me his utmost attention, though his troops awaited him.

“Yes, your Highness,” I said, folding my shaky hands together. “I must get a message to the King. I had hoped to approach my Uncle Justin in Manchester for assistance in this, but I lack faith in his loyalties.”

“In Puritan Manchester—” a caustic smile curved the edges of his mouth. “—I imagine you might.”

“Lord Devlin has usurped my. . .” My voice broke. I tried again, and the words flowed out as though my life might not be forfeit for such an act. “He has destroyed what he thought was the only copy of my jointure deed. He plans to send me off at the first opportunity and retain Tor House as his own. It is my hope that my father, who was a careful man, sent a second copy of the deed to the King.”

A small grimace tightened his mouth.

“In your next correspondence to him, will you kindly ask the King if he has the deed?” I went on, breathlessly. “I would be eternally grateful.”

His intense gaze focused on my mouth and then shifted to my eyes. “I will do so. Actually, your situation explains Devlin’s frantic need to travel to Tor House after Edgehill. The man, forgive me, your father was dead. A more ordered procession was called for. I did wonder about that.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” I grasped his big hand and kissed it.

Boye shouldered me and licked at my fingers. I patted his curly-haired back.

“Your Highness.” A deep breath restored my purpose. “I appreciate your intent, but I cannot return to Tor House with your troop. If you will release me—”

“I will escort you to Tor House,” he said, with a sudden, predatory smile that left me wary. “It is a requirement of my service to you that you do the honorable thing and return to your home.”

“Yes, your Highness,” I said. There was no appeal. This prince would not be countermanded.

“Did I understand Captain Comrie to say that Mistress Carey is with you?”

“Yes, and my friend Thomas, whom Duncan has already promised a horse for our journey.”

A shadow passed over his face, but he went on in apparent good humor. “Well and good. I will take a few moments to speak with Peg, and we will depart.” He strode off in his long-legged gait toward my companion, who waited at the gate. Boye followed him, tail wagging.

Thomas was already on the horse provided for him.

In the distance, the prince bowed before my auburn-haired cousin. He had offered no excuse or indicated any embarrassment at the use of Peg’s given name. Certainly, he was used to having his way with women. For all my thankfulness for his assistance, I would have to caution Peg about his inevitable intent.

We rode away in the company of Prince Rupert and his lifeguard, a troop of a hundred men or more. Boye ran alongside the prince, a bounding white presence constant among the cavaliers to my right. The prince had directed us to stay well left of him, Duncan on our left, boxing us in.

The sun came out and pushed the clouds away for our progress. We moved quickly over the Lancashire moors, but soon met a much larger force that awaited us at the top of a great hill thick with gorse.

From that force, a rider broke out and galloped to meet us. It was my uncle. Without a helmet his straight hair flew in a nimbus around his head. He charged up to us and brought his horse to a smart stop before the prince. Boye sat panting while he could. The earl wiped his hair out of his face and spoke to the prince with little courtesy.

“Your Highness.” He pointed at me. “This woman is a traitor. And those two—” He pointed at Peg and Thomas “—are equally traitorous vagrants. I would prefer to escort them back to Tor House. For your protection, your Highness.”

“They stay with me, Devlin. Get back to your men and fall in behind us.”

Boye’s growl underlined the prince’s order.

The earl rode his stallion down the line toward me. His knuckles were clenched so hard they stood out pale against his reins. He brought his horse to a sudden stop before me, as close as he could come with Duncan suddenly between us.

“It is unfortunate, niece, that you choose to defy me,” he growled at me over Duncan’s shoulder, his face a livid scarlet. He jerked his horse’s head aside and rode away.

Duncan returned to his place beside us. He settled into place and mumbled heavily burred words that I barely caught, something about the prince’s patience.

The earl’s forces fell into place behind the lifeguard, and we began to move again, heat wavering up around us. The hot sun beat down on our heads, slowly evaporating a three-day accumulation of moisture out of the earth, which left precious little air to breathe. Sweat ran down my face and wetted my dress at the underarms and in the natural sluice of my back. The close air was overbearing, wilting my hair, my clothes, and my resolve.

For the moment, I was safe from the earl’s retribution.

In its shallow valley, Tor House, my massive, well fortified mansion, with its towers, gates, and double walls two yards thick, loomed before us. The breeze finally rose and cooled my skin. I raised my face in the sun to watch the Roland flag, where it whipped from the top of the watch-tower, that ancient Norman keep at the heart of the house.

Finally, we crossed the scarred draw bridge over the moat and passed through the outer walls between the gate towers. Cool stone walls gave us respite from the heat as we moved through the outer courtyard. The inner gates squealed open, and the many-windowed mansion hulked before us. Dead shrubbery lined our path, a casualty of the winter and the siege. We cantered our horses around the formal circle. Where there had always been sound and the movement of servants and stable boys milling outside the entry, silence greeted us.

A familiar, dread figure, none other than Edward Gorgon himself, stood grandly positioned atop the steps, a provocative smirk on his face. Though he wore a rich velvet doublet with a wide, heavily laced collar, wide pants and soft cordovan riding boots, disgust churned in my stomach at sight of him. My heart bumped heavily in alarm.

Something moved in the inner shadow of the great doors behind Gorgon. To my surprise, it was the heavy-set countess who lingered in hesitation, her face an agony of anxiety.

Gorgon remained a corpulent, muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard. He had not changed since I met him on the Isle of Man before the war. Fourteen years old at the time, I had accompanied my father to meet the Manx steward in the hawking yard, only to come upon him as he drew his sword out of the body of one of his servants. Father had been shaken. Gorgon had wiped his sword on the grass, sheathed it, and only then answered my father’s queries.

“Oh, him. He was too slow,” he said with disinterest.

He then grasped my chin and forced me to look upon him and upon the scar that split his beard up the left side of his jaw.

“You’ve blossomed nicely,” he said. His gaze floated down my body as though I were a prized mare. “The heiress, aye?”

I had never forgotten that moment, for I understood what he wanted.

That same raw desire stood out now on his face, aflame with brooding menace. His gaze picked out Prince Rupert and moved leisurely on to my pale-faced uncle.

The prince drew his rifled pistol, and the earl reached out to prevent him. A growl rose up between them. The prince gestured at Boye, who then sat back on his haunches, panting heavily.

“Your Highness.” Gorgon raised a broad palm, ignoring both the pistol’s threat and the required bow. “I am Steward Edward Gorgon of the Isle of Man, here to treat with Lord Devlin and to visit the heiress.”

How Duncan took that piece of news, I would like to have known, but dared not look aside, for Gorgon sketched a gallant bow in my direction.

Rupert snapped a look at Devlin, who jerked his head in a quick nod that set his hair in motion. The prince holstered his pistol, dismounted, then patted Boye. He handed his reins off to a stable boy who had just appeared.

“Water for the dog, boy.”

Duncan remained at stiff attention beside me.

“Steward Gorgon and Lord Devlin,” The prince’s gaze went from the earl to Gorgon, who prowled the steps. “I advise you both now in the hearing of this company that the Lady Elena and Mistress Carey are under my particular protection. Offend or touch them at your peril.”

Peg reached across from atop her mount and nudged me with her fingertips. A wide smile broke over her mouth. But her excitement washed over me, my terror undiminished.

The earl also dismounted. Not waiting for the stable boy, he dropped the reins and strode to Thomas, who remained on his horse, hands clenched in the horse’s mane.

“And this man?” he sneered. He reached up and curled his fist into Thomas’ torn shirt.

“I have as much right as the next man to be here,” Thomas cried in an upper octave.

“He is a thief,” the prince intoned, as though that explained everything.

So the prince had been aware of Thomas all along. I chanced a look at Duncan, but he was intent on Gorgon and the earl.

“I offer him my protection,” Gorgon bellowed. Agile for his size, he strode quickly down the steps and in among the horses, pushing them and the earl out of his way. “Stay away from him, Devlin. I have use for him.”

The earl glared at Gorgon, but stepped back.

“Thank you, lord,” Thomas said. He bowed his head in a stately manner, his voice returned to him.

Gorgon motioned at him. Thomas scrambled off his horse and fled to Gorgon’s side.

Duncan dismounted and assisted Peg and me off our mounts. He remained close by.

“Why would you condone a thief?” the prince asked.

“A private matter,” Gorgon said. He laughed, a broad, joyful sound out of place in the unnatural silence of the courtyard. “Your cousin awaits you, Prince.” He gestured at the stairs and into the shadows beyond. “See?”

The prince scowled, but moved to the base of the steps. He gestured at Gorgon, though he spoke to the earl. “Teach him some manners, Devlin, or I will do it.”

Two cavaliers brought forward a disheveled collection of standards and banners. The prince directed them up the steps. The countess scurried forward, her small eyes gleaming. With a pronounced huff of importance, she fanned herself dramatically. The cavaliers placed their bundles at her feet, and she nodded her acceptance.

Prince Rupert climbed the wide stone steps of the great hall in imperious formality, Boye at his side. He bowed to the countess.

“These are the captured banners from Bolton. I present them to you, dear cousin, for your bold and staunch defense of this house,” he said so that all could hear. He then kissed her hand and walked away with his dog into the great hall.

The countess beamed, then gushed her appreciation to the prince’s departing back.

“We will talk,” the earl said pleasantly to Gorgon’s buttressed stance, as though he owed Gorgon some precious thing.

“Agreed,” Gorgon said. “Until later, Lady Elena.”

Gorgon bowed to me and kissed my hand, his grip like hot iron.

Chapter Ten

Within the broad entry into the great hall, Countess Marie Louise had not moved from her position of honor among the bloodied and splintered battle standards from Bolton. Peg and I topped the stone steps, and the countess clattered through the strewn banners to intercept us. Her face, wet with perspiration, carried that old look of petulant pleading that I had become so familiar with throughout the months of siege.

“I need your help,” she said, her damp cheeks still highly colored from her recent honors. She put a pudgy hand on my shoulder to restrain me.

“And where will we stay?” I asked, in no mood for her demands in the wilting humidity. With Prince Rupert as my protector, I had no intention of settling for the little tower at the back of the house.

“If you will supervise the banquet preparations for this evening, you may return to your original rooms,” she said, as though she had generously given me something I did not own.

“What about the prince?”

“He is staying in the private tower, of course,” she huffed.

I stared at her in amazement, for the prince’s arrival had been her earlier excuse to rob me of my rooms.

Peg waited submissively beside me, a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

“It takes at least a day to properly prepare for a banquet,” I said to the countess. “It is already mid-afternoon.”

“My lord sent warning and I had the cook start the meat this morning. We shall eat a little later, closer to sunset,” she put in, clearly determined that I would take over the organizational duties, as I had always done. “That should give you enough time to get everything prepared, the hall set up and decorated.” Her dissatisfied gaze traveled down my filthy dress. “And you must be clean and properly attired if you wish to attend.”

A long breath of irritation puffed out of me. “We have no way to provide music or singing,” I reminded her. Daniel, our musician, had died in the first mortar attack in March.

“I will apologize for the lack of entertainment. Hopefully the prince will not be offended. You will do it?”

I nodded. She needed my help and she knew it.

“Good,” she said. She produced the household keys and dropped them into my extended hand.

Now that she had avoided responsibility for the upcoming banquet, she placed her index finger across her lips and wandered through the open doors into the vast hall in the direction of the great stair, mumbling about what dress she should wear.

Peg and I stepped into the shadowed hall. We each sighed in relief at the cool inner air. Stately silence dominated the vast, two story room. Oversized wooden chairs on the dais to our right sulked in the echo-laden gloom. Though a moist draft from the open doors flowed around us, the tapestries clung tightly to the walls, no ripples, no sway.

Dark shadows shifted behind the gallery screens high up the back wall, above the stairs. Someone was there, watching us, which brought to mind my precarious situation. The presence of Edward Gorgon, my betrothed, was a shock that still reverberated throughout my mind and body. How was I going to avoid Gorgon and survive at Tor House? Compared to Gorgon, Uncle Justin looked mightily attractive now, despite Prince Rupert’s and my own concerns.

My legs ached from hours in the saddle, my body weary and stiff. Now that my rooms awaited me, the vision of lounging in my own bed for a time sorely tempted me. But my fortress needed me. The preservation and care of my home was what I was born to do. At least the countess had arranged to start the cooking early. Had she not, I would have been in an unpleasant, impossible situation.

After I sent Peg ahead to our rightful rooms, I rushed toward the kitchens, where I found Captain Wallace’s lanky frame leaning against the arch that led into the kitchen tower.

“It is good to see you, my lady.” His smile contained more teeth than I had ever before seen in his mouth. He bowed, then stepped back in concern and shock at my appearance. He quickly regained his formal stance. “I thought you might come to the kitchens. Congratulations on gaining the prince’s protection. A master stroke.”

“Thank you, Captain, but it was not asked for, and we’ll see how long it endures.” I remembered my last concerned thought of the captain. “Tell me, did you engage a Roundhead troop while pursuing us the other day?”

“No, my lady. Lord Devlin, angry though he was, refused to allow me to go after you. He said you would either return on your own or be captured by Parliamentary troops, in which case he swore he would pay no ransom. He did not care about your welfare, which made me feel I had done the right thing after all.” He bowed solemnly before me. “I remain at your service.”

We talked a few minutes longer. Finally, looking pleased, he patted my hand and returned to his duties.

The steamy hothouse that was the central kitchen engulfed me. The head cook, Mrs. Deane, had large cuts of beef, mutton, lamb, and two small pigs roasting over the fires in the huge hearths. Used to my presence prior to meals, Mrs. Deane handed me an apron, though her eyebrows rose at sight of my dirty dress. I quickly donned the muslin smock, and each piece of roasting meat met with my skewer. It was true; we could indeed eat by sunset.

Mr. Biggs arrived with the Simpson boys, nine-year-old twins, the dark-haired sons of one of the scullery maids. Paul Simpson skipped off with Mrs. Deane’s list and a handful of small burlap sacks to gather fresh herbs out of the garden. Denis remained proudly beside me. I turned to Mr. Biggs, took his rough hand, and thanked him for coming. He had heard I was here and had come to offer his services.

“What are the chances of venison for our feast tonight?” I asked the wiry hostler, who had long been our most dependable hunter.

“If there be a deer to be found in the east wood, I shall take her.” He smiled his lopsided smile, nodded, and went out after a quick, “Milady.”

Mrs. Deane shook her head, unsure if she would have time to cook venison even if Mr. Biggs came straight back with a deer.

The best piece of luck was that this was baking day. There were pastries and breads spread on cooling tins throughout the kitchen, easily enough for our banquet. Mrs. Deane would just have to bake again tomorrow and probably each day thereafter until our guests departed. After he helped me move the baked goods into the staging pantry, Denis remained with Mrs. Deane at my request.

“Keep your fingers out of the food and do Cook’s bidding,” I instructed him.

The boy nodded solemnly. His slanted eyes watched me as though his long-lost love stood before him. He smugly took up his position near Mrs. Deane at the chopping counter.

Within the hour Paul returned with his little sacks full of herbs. Mrs. Deane, a stout, severe woman who worked miracles in the kitchen, took the sacks with a shrug, and put them at the back of her work area.

“You got ‘em all, did you?”

Paul nodded his head.

“Then go ‘way,” Mrs. Deane grumbled, waving him off. “One of you is enough.”

From farther down in the depths of the kitchen, where he was hard at work churning butter, Dennis stuck out his tongue at his brother.

Keeping busy and inconspicuous, I retrieved a wheel of our best cheese from the larder and set it aside for the dessert preparations, sent Paul out to the orchard to see if we had any early apples, and while he was gone, basted the various meats, testing them yet again with a skewer. Mrs. Deane set little Denis to carefully slicing cheese. Paul returned shortly with an apple for me to taste. It was sweet and tangy. He went with me to the wine cellar where we lingered extra moments, absorbing the cool, dry air.

The spice cabinet resided in a nook beside the wine cellar entrance. But my rush back to the kitchen with Paul, who had to run to keep up with me, our arms full of wine bottles, drove it out of my mind.

“Serve the red wine to the high table, ale for the common,” I instructed Mrs. Deane. “Use the early apples with the dessert, any preserves you might have, cheese and a pastry.” Only then did I remember the spices.

On my way back to the cellar, Peg approached me in a lower corridor in a clean, homespun dress. She must have bathed, for her hair was wet and her skin shone, her flushed cheekbones moist and shiny.

“Come and change thy dress, Elena.”

I looked down at my grimy attire. Perspiration dripped off my nose. I wiped my face on the clean underside of my by-now-soiled apron. My body odor had grown offensive as well, for a whiff near curled the tiny hairs in my nose.

“Will you arrange to harvest the early apples out of the orchard and whatever else Mrs. Deane requires?” I asked, ignoring the wafting stink I had no control over at the moment.

Peg agreed with a quick smile and a nod of her head.

“See if you can find the nuts in the root cellar, and deliver the spices to Mrs. Deane. Be certain to take back those she does not need and lock them away again.” I pulled the key from my pocket and handed it to her.

“So it truly is to be a banquet? Are the servants invited?”

“Yes, and yes,” I said. Though the countess had not designated that the banquet was for everyone, it was the only way the prince would be suitably honored.

“If that be the case, may I borrow thy green velvet dress for tonight?” she asked, as though she were asking absolution from Father Theobald.

“Of course. It’s too short on me, but should fit you nicely.” I patted her hand and smiled at her barely suppressed excitement. “Now hurry. Oh, and have Mrs. Lowry bring in the extra trestle tables into the hall and set all the tables with the good linen. She will have to ask the countess for the silver plates, the silver spoons and knives, and the candelabra. The earl has them locked up somewhere. Don’t forget the decorations in the great hall. Tell Mrs. Lowry to use the old pikes and lances down in the back of the armory. I think there is even an ancient mace down there. Tell her to have Dawson do it. He has an artistic touch. She is to have him mount the old weapons on the walls around the hearths where they will be seen.”

“Calm thee down,” Peg said. Her eyebrows had risen higher and higher with each duty I mentioned. Now, she put out a steady hand and clenched my shoulder. “I will see to it. I’ll even help the kitchen staff if I have to. ‘Tis for my prince, ye see.”

“The prince is undoubtedly accustomed to taking women wherever he finds them,” I said. Prince Rupert had left a lasting impression on me as well, though hardly with the depth of Peg’s long-held feeling. After an anxious breath, I gently squeezed her forearm and caught her resulting gaze with a sober look. “You must stay away from him.”

“He would not dishonor me,” she insisted, her face suddenly flushed with color. She lowered her eyes and bit at her lower lip. “Oh, and by the way,” she went on, looking up, my earnest warning ignored. “I just passed Thomas in an alcove off the main hall. Tight and chummy, he was, with that Edward Gorgon whose heart, also by the way, is black as coal. Lord Gorgon—”

“His proper title is Steward Gorgon. He is not an English lord”

“Anyway.” A little frown sulked between her brows. “He caught my gaze as I passed, and I could see his heart in his eyes, festering with malice.”

“Malice?”

“Yes. Do not look at me thus. I know the word. It means our Thomas is in great danger with him.”

“Maybe so, but Gorgon protects him from the earl. It is what he wants, Peg.”

“His grasping ways have led him to it.” She shook her head and blew out a resigned sigh.

“Don’t forget the nuts.” I moved away, then turned back. “Oh, and see the beekeeper about honey.”

To avoid being seen by Gorgon, whose presence filled me with loathing, I retraced my steps and took the upper passage the long way around to those rooms I had thought I would never see again.

Since my maidservant and footmen had been dismissed by the countess, I recruited two boys, older and stronger than the Simpson twins, to haul buckets of heated water up from the kitchen fires to fill the oversized wooden wash barrel in the dressing room at the back of my quarters. Made with staves and hoops, it was wide and low. Tub full and steaming, I sent them away, found my last container of lavender soap, an emulsion I made myself, and indulged in a bath. My hair was soaped and rinsed until it squeaked and my body scrubbed mercilessly to remove days worth of imbedded grime.

I lounged in the water until my skin wrinkled and recounted my grim circumstances. My attendance at the banquet, no matter the countess’ comments, was a requirement, though surely that was where my uncle and my betrothed would claim me before the entire population of the house. Prince Rupert and his lifeguard cavaliers would be there as well. Which brought Duncan to mind.

I cringed. Water lapped at my chin. Above all, I did not want Duncan to know about my betrothal. Last I saw him, he had mounted his horse for the return trip to Bolton. The thought allowed me to relax once again in the water. My secret was safe, for now.

In a dreamy trance, I wrapped my arms about my legs in the cooling water. Duncan’s desire to court me made me feel that there might be something better in life for me—that special spark between us, all I had ever longed for. The memory of his gentle, imposing presence warmed my heart with longing. But no, I also remembered a scantily dressed girl pressed to his side. Feelings pushed aside, I splashed out of the water and stepped out into the cool room. That mental path could only lead to anguish. Other vital issues required my attention, most crucially how to avoid being sent away with that monster, Gorgon.

Later, dressed in my best dark blue satin gown with the matching embroidered stomacher, I smoothed the fine French lace around the collar and shoulders of the modest, boned bodice. Pearl earrings and bracelet completed my attire. I slipped my good mules, the ones with the curved red heels, onto still-sore feet. Satisfaction purled over me at sight of my shining white taffeta underskirt that peeked demurely from under the lower edges of my full-skirted dress.

It was a decided challenge to do my own hair. The unaccustomed chore took me twice the time it would take my maid to put it up, but I actually enjoyed myself, able to pull out the long curls around my face, not confined by someone else’s idea of short curls and current fashion.

Finally, damp hair in a neat knot at the back of my head, I surveyed my belongings, my huge armoire, the unique gilded chairs Father had brought me from France, the four-poster bed, its heavy drapes closed now. The dressing table was littered with the necessities of my life, combs, brush, potions to smooth the hands, tiny pots of chalk, kohl, a rose-based rouge, lip balm. These were the simple belongings that I knew and trusted . . . and did not want to be deprived of.

Sunlight waned at my window. If I wanted to review the house’s condition before the banquet began, I would have to hurry. I left my rooms, stronger somehow for the existence of that small sanctuary at my back.

Edward Gorgon, as well as the prince, was undoubtedly housed in the magnificent private tower, probably on the upper levels above the library. So I took passages on the opposite side of the house and eventually found myself at the head of the great stair, where the gallery door stood ajar. The house must be perfect, no doors hanging open, no dust, no litter. Certain that Mrs. Lowry had taken care of those things and that a thoughtless servant had left the door only partially closed, I moved to push the door shut. But there were voices within, strong voices heavy with annoyance.

The corridor behind me remained empty. A glance forward down the stair past the landing found the way clear. Hammering sounded in the hall below, part of the preparation for dinner. I settled behind the door and listened. In any event, I could hardly help hear them, for someone was speaking in pompous volume, as one would speak to gain attention.

“The prince is her cousin, after all. A cousin who dares precede me into my own home,” the voice said. “She bows to him, leaving the house to his depredations. I have punished her appropriately for her arrogance.”

Gorgon’s cold, guttural voice said something in a low register that I could not hear. A bump and a scrape sounded, as though someone had fallen against one of the chairs or the table.

With careful stealth, I peeked around the door. In the recesses of the long, heavily shadowed room, light from the hall below played across the screens, highlighting two figures, a smaller man, bent backwards, and a threatening figure, his bearded chin thrust out, his fists buried in the smaller man’s collar.

“Unhand me.”

Afraid of discovery, I moved back behind the door.

“I have come to take possession of that promised to me,” came Gorgon’s menacing voice.

“You have the gold. The Lady Elena is here. What more do you want?”

“This betrothal that you talked me into, it includes the heiress and her abode, does it not?”

“No, no.” My uncle’s supercilious little laugh sounded. “You misunderstand. Tor House belongs to the Devlin earldom. Marry the heiress. I have given you sufficient funds to assuage your inconvenience. Take her to the isle. Keep her there. You will have her dead within the year in childbirth. That is all I want.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“That is how you lost your first and second wife, is it not?”

“What has that to do—”

“The use of a little known substance we have used before will assure it.”

“You used,” Gorgon growled.

My hand clenched over my mouth to cover a gasp. A substance? Poison? Holy Mother, had they poisoned someone?

“Just make sure of it” Devlin’s voice came, low and irritated. “Then we can talk about Tor House. When the King tromps these upstart Parliamentarians, perhaps the house will need a warden while I am at court.”

A hush settled within the room.

“Ah, I see,” Gorgon finally said.

A companionable silence followed these devastating words.

My throat constricted in horror, my worst fears realized. My uncle had not only taken my heritage, he wanted my life.

“Certainly I desire her,” Gorgon finally said, quieter, an odd quiver in his voice. “She has developed in a most appetizing manner.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stair. I moved quickly onto the landing, as though I had come from the corridor, only to find myself face to face with Duncan Comrie. He was hatless and dressed in fine clothes, a light tan shirt with billowing sleeves and turned back cuffs, an open amber-colored doublet with a broad lace collar and brown pants. His rapier remained at his side. I forced myself to look away, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back down the stairs.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said as we descended. “What is it? You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

In a rush, I led him off the stairs, beyond sight of the gallery screens, and out of the great hall. Someway down the lower main corridor, a wide hallway whose main attraction was the numerous alcoves constructed around evenly spaced sconces, we stopped and faced one another. A longing look flitted between us. His clean-shaven face beckoned to me, my hands itching to explore his face, his broad shoulders, his fantastic hair. A quick jerk back prevented me from engaging in the reality of my day dream.

“You are stunning.” The dimple in his chin deepened, as though he could see my desires. His gold-specked gaze traveled down my dress and back to my face. “Your dress is so . . .” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “It matches your eyes, makes them sparkle, like gems.”

The heat of a blush traveled across my cheeks. My disability around this cheater of a man was a curse, this cavalier who had a woman in reserve while he dallied with me. Anger swelled within me.

“Why are you here? I thought you returned to your quarters in Bolton.”

“No.” His thick eyebrows rose in surprise. “I always stay near the prince. That’s my job, Elena, to protect him.”

“What did I see then in Bolton?” I bent forward in accusation, hands on my hips. “The officer that directed us to that room stated you were looking for quarters. And that was you, was it not, with a whore on your arm? You looked quite at home.”

We froze as two maidservants and a footman walked past us in the hallway, their gazes fixed on the floor before them. They passed on beyond us and entered the great hall in the distance.

Duncan’s lower jaw worked. He tipped his nose down at me, his dark gaze sharp and intimidating. “I told you. I was arranging quarters for my cousin, Annie, whom you met.”

“You . . .” My shoulders jerked back, my chin up. Hurt and raw jealousy devolved now into pain, and pain into rage that threatened to engorge my heart. “You led me on, let me believe—”

“Elena, listen to me. Annie is no whore.”

“You womanizer. All you’ve done is toy with me, with my feelings for you.”

His face brightened at my words. “That is not true,” he said in a guarded tone. Gold specks sparkled in the depths of his eyes. “I care deeply for you, Elena. Why else would I protect you, rescue you from plunderers, and take you before the prince to make your plea?”

“I hate you.” With clenched hands buried in the soft fabric, I lifted my trailing dress, rushed off, and left him standing open-mouthed in the hallway.

Chapter Eleven

Dissipating anger dominated the remainder of my afternoon. As a result, the hours slid away too fast. By the time I made one last trip to the kitchen to assure myself that all was in readiness, I was late entering the crowded hall.

Lowering light from the spring evening muted the tall, leaded windows and created a dim background for glittering reflections. Torch and candlelight further produced a dazzling effect. The flicker of torches played off the glass panes and formed shadow lights that danced across the whispering tapestries. The huge twin hearths on the east side of the great hall were bright with crackling fires.

Mrs. Lowry must have wrung the silver out of the earl, for the high table on the dais on the west side of the hall shone under candelabra neatly spaced across the long table. Silver plates and implements lay at each place setting. Wooden trenchers and tin spoons lined the common tables.

On the dais, that raised platform designated for nobility only, all eyes followed my progress through the teeming room. My blue satin dress sparkled and rustled as I walked. Belittled by noise and movement, I stepped around the crowded common tables spread in a gangling swath over the vast hall. Overhead torches at the doorway and along the walls lent them light. The hearths were impressive with battle implements spread across the tall wall in a rough semi-circle above the fires. At each end of the hearth stones, the banners captured during the Battle of Bolton stood arranged in upended barrels intentionally stained blood red.

Our jocular servants took up the end tables. Gorgon’s small troop of men was seated on the far left of the dais, near their steward. Duncan’s russet head glowed like molten copper deep within the crowd of Prince Rupert’s colorful lifeguards across the room.

Reluctantly, I made my way to my assigned seat. Gorgon stood and bowed at my approach. Wide of girth and tall, he wore an impressive, cream-colored satin doublet and pants. The matching shirt had a shallow lace collar and wide sleeves. A vibrant purplish-blue surcoat set off his rich appearance. With a hawk nose and intense dark eyes, he was not unattractive, his gruesome parted beard neatly clipped.

He slid his hand under my arm to assist me into the seat. But his warm hand ran over my breast and squeezed slightly. With a gasp, I pulled away from him and fell clumsily into the chair. He sat down in his chair beside me, seeming to savor my reaction.

With as much grace as I could muster, I gathered my wits, and met his leering gaze. “Do that again, and I shall gouge your eyes out,” I muttered through clenched teeth. My fingers curled around the sharp-ended silver knife beside my plate.

“A fighter here, have we?” A shrewd smile played around his lips. “Do you not see? You and your enchanting body belong to me.” He reached over and put his arm around my shoulders. His heavily chapped hand squeezed my right shoulder.

“It is not my desire, Steward Gorgon, to be your wife,” I cried in his face, not caring who heard me. I wiggled out of the heavy press of his hand and arm and pushed him away.

Heads turned on the dais and in the common crowd below.

“Ah, you will get over it,” Gorgon said. He leaned back, folded his arms across his barrel chest, and appraised me with a smug glare.

I had refuted this man and this betrothal, yet Gorgon and the earl, in their selfish, secretive negotiations, had ignored and overrun my desires. It was their right. Women could not own property or conduct business in their own name. Waves of nausea rippled over me.

At Gorgon’s left, the earl leaned toward me. “Remember your place, Lady Elena,” he said in a low growl that carried far beyond my hearing. “Try to remember that you are a lady of the House of Devlin.” Which, of course, meant to do my duty and marry the oaf beside me, even if I got sick in his lap.

I threw a defiant stare at Gorgon and beyond toward my uncle. Prince Rupert sat beyond them, resplendent in black satin and a red cape, chatting with the countess. Seated at the far end of the table, Countess Marie Louise was dressed in bright yellow silk. My fingers ran across my own bare chest, the familiar family pearls once again at the countess’ neck.

All I could think of was how to get away. And failing that, how I could stall to give the King time to intervene. If he ever did. Once married and ensconced on the isle, it would be much harder, maybe impossible, to regain Tor House.

Something touched my right sleeve. I jumped and turned to find Thomas settling into the last seat beside me.

“Why are you so pale? Do you like my new clothes? Make me look rather dashing, do they not?” He ran a hand down the front of his heavy satin doublet. Dark gray, it was new, stylish, and underscored with a luxurious, wide sleeved matching shirt. His wavy hair and his face were immaculately clean, his cuffs fashionably rolled back.

“You should not be at the high table,” I hissed at him.

He shrugged, stretching his arm as though he belonged where he sat.

“He had best be here. He is mine, just as you are,” Gorgon answered for him. He leaned toward me, eyebrows raised.

I shrank from him, my arms protectively folded over my bodice. Thomas whipped himself stiffly upright and nodded at his new master.

The soup was served, a steaming bowl set before me. Great kettles were distributed throughout the lower tables. Only then did deep baskets of hot bread arrive, accompanied by crocks of churned butter.

I forced down some soup and a few bites of bread, carved off the loaf by an attentive Gorgon. The hot food actually settled my nerves and my stomach, for which I was thankful.

My attention was drawn to the earl, dressed in rich brown brocade shot through with gold thread. After a few sniffs and huffs, he rose in pretentious glory, his doublet flashing in the firelight.

“It is my pleasure to announce that Prince Rupert,” he called out with a postured gesture at the prince seated beside him, “will be using Tor House as his headquarters during the next weeks, perhaps longer. You are welcome here, dear cousin. Our home is yours,” my uncle said with great pomp, despite his angry objections that I had overheard mere hours ago.

Clapping and a roar of appreciation filled the room as the spare prince stood up to his full exceptional height. His dark gaze caught on something and when I looked it was Peg, coming in late. Sergeant Burke sat at the table closest to her entry. In his easy manner, he gestured and made room for her. Though she wore no jewelry whatsoever, she was stunning, her cheeks lightly rouged, auburn hair worn up and entwined with green ribbons, the requisite curls at her face. The green velvet dress, buttressed with pale yellow petticoats, had never looked that ravishing on my tall, unfashionably slim frame. She sat with a whispered crush of satin underskirts, and the prince reclaimed his audience.

To my surprise, a sharp bark sounded from beside the prince, and there sat a happy Boye, curly coat neatly brushed, his head even with the table. The elegant prince smiled and bent down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. Boye was an obedient dog, for I had not seen nor heard him since I came into the hall. The prince regained his height and turned slightly.

“In this second year of rebellion,” he said to the countess in a deep, carrying voice. “I salute you, dear cousin, for your brave example in upholding the King’s divine right to rule.”

The crowd nodded, clapped and hummed their assent. But the bitter irony, etched in my memory, was that every action, every rallying speech Countess Marie Louise had made in defense of the house, every response to the enemy came from me. I said nothing. Though the prince continued to speak in his straightforward manner, I distracted myself by watching the food arrive through the wide main hallway entry.

Mr. Biggs must have gotten his deer, for platters of venison were brought into the hall. How Mrs. Deane had accomplished its preparation so fast was a mystery I doubted she would reveal. The venison was followed by whole stuffed pigs, mutton, lamb, ham, pigeon, and capon. The soup bowls were taken up and various condiments, sweets and cheese were then brought to each table, the high table first. Trays stacked with tumblers arrived, along with huge beakers of ale for the common tables. The high table was served by our round, smiling Mrs. Lowry herself, who poured sweet red wine into heavy crystal goblets at each setting. Trays of each delicacy were placed along the high table and each common table.

“I leave in my stead my best, most trusted officer.” The prince’s intense words rang out once again, but he was speaking of something other than his cousin’s great victory. “He is a brilliant tactical strategist and will serve you well. He has been with me since the war began. In fact, I have never seen him lose an engagement.”

A murmur of approval went round the hall. Captain Wallace had apparently joined Sergeant Burke and Peg at their table, for he took a curl of butter into his trencher and passed the crock to Burke. The two men smiled and nodded sagely, as though they had witnessed this officer’s talents.

What would this new officer bring to Tor House? What further injustices would be forced upon me? These questions put me on edge again, the whoozy feeling in my stomach threatening to return.

Up the table, the prince bent to pass a platter of lamb from the countess to the earl.

“I object, your Highness,” Gorgon bellowed. He stood up, his bulk obliterating my view of the prince.

With some effort, I subdued the tendency to run and hide. Had Gorgon lost his mind?

“I demand the honor of defending Tor House,” Gorgon called out. His voice carried like cracking thunder over the heads in the hall.

“I know you not,” Prince Rupert responded curtly, his mouth turned down. “One of my officers will represent the King’s interests here. Sit down.” The prince turned back to his rapt audience. “In my absence,” he went on, ignoring Gorgon, who remained on his feet in a brooding attitude.

The steward’s hands clenched and unclenched beside me.

“Captain Comrie will take over the defense of Tor House, the training of local levies, and root out enemy strongholds in the area. I know of no man better equipped for the job.” The prince motioned at his lifeguards. “Stand up, Captain.”

Duncan stood up and a smile broke over my face. There was applause, yet I sat stunned, my smile turned to panic. Beside me, Gorgon clenched his big red hands one last time, and stared viciously at Duncan, who ignored him with his usual gallant lack of concern. He looked slightly aside and caught my eye. His gaze was warm and adoring.

Gorgon snarled down at me. I quickly confined my gaze to my hands clenched in my lap. With my own eyes, I had seen this man’s fatal manner of eliminating problems.

The room was sweltering. Night had fallen, but the heat of the day remained. The soaring windows that backed the reflections in the hall had darkened to an unbroken black that intensified the glitter and flicker of light dancing in the hall.

“Captain Comrie will not have to worry about Puritan sympathizers on this estate,” the earl yelled over the din, standing now beside the prince. He sniffed in loud arrogance. “I personally have defeated them.”

“My dear Lord Devlin.” The prince eyed my uncle with a sardonic smile. “Are you talking about those unarmed bands you ran off?”

With a thin-lipped, apologetic smile, the earl sank into his seat in the shocked silence. Stark resentment distorted his face into deeply entrenched lines and bulging jaw muscles.

Thomas and I looked at one another and shook our heads. The prince was famous for his sharp tongue and my haughty uncle should have known better than to try to upstage him.

“Just today, George Goring has joined us with five thousand men. We depart in the morning, fourteen thousand strong,” the prince announced, bringing all faces forward. “Lord Devlin’s troops will be with us.” With a grave look at Gorgon, the prince indicated him with an elegant, outstretched hand. “And I recruit Steward Gorgon and his forces to join us. I expect a quick upshot of this campaign. That western seaport must be open behind us before we strike northward.”

Seaport? What had I missed? And Duncan staying behind. How clever of the prince. Duncan would see to the prince’s interests, including Peg and me, I prayed. Though I wasn’t sure how I felt about that appointment just now.

Beside me, Gorgon’s face had degenerated into that of a bulldog, his lower lip and jaw extended in outrage, his white-knuckled fist resting on the table before him. The chapped hand relaxed, and his face assumed a sly look as he motioned to one of his officers, who stood out among the dun-colored cloaks at the side of the crowd, a hulking brute of a man who insisted on keeping his sword in hand. The man approached, and Gorgon motioned him up to his seat, where he gave a quick instruction in Gaelic.

Unfortunately, Gaelic was not among my accomplishments.

Finally settled back in his chair, Gorgon huddled in a quiet, intense conversation with the earl.

Out among the common tables, Duncan sat down. My gaze was drawn to him, but he was engaged in conversation. He nodded at one of his men, his smile flashing. At the very sight of him, confidence swelled within me. Perhaps he could help hold off this fatal tide that threatened to inundate me. Perhaps. But at what cost?

Back at the high table, a mellow-eyed prince lifted his goblet toward the opposite side of the tables, toward Peg Carey who sat at one of the last tables in the hall. It could have been a salute to the crowd, for the gathering returned the gesture in general, but Peg knew the prince’s homage was for her. Her face beamed, and her normally common-sense attitude degenerated into a flustered lack of control. An appreciative smile burst upon my face, for having recently met a man who affected me in the same disabling manner, I understood her embarrassed muddle.

The hall finally settled, with the various comfortable sounds of eating and drinking, small talk here and there. Platters were passed along the high table and throughout the lower tables. As the night wore on, I moved around frequently in my hard wooden seat. My dress was too tight, the boned bodice digging into my sides.

But servants continued to bring trays into the hall, adding to the bounty. The Simpson brothers, in spotless smocks, approached the high table, one on each end, with trays full of individual baked portions of a meat pastry. The boys made their way behind the table, moving inward. Paul Simpson offered the tray to Thomas, who took two. I declined, as my plate was already full, and I had no appetite whatsoever. I nodded pleasantly at him and he passed on.

“I love these. Have not had one in years,” Thomas said, making room on his full plate. He greedily cut into one of the two pastries with his edged spoon. “It’s almost as exciting as killing the deer, you know?” Red wine and chunks of venison spilled out around his spoon. Thomas took a quick glance at his benefactor, Gorgon, then gobbled it down.

By this time, Gorgon had taken a pastry and the boy had worked his way past him. Gorgon’s hand darted out and tweaked the boy’s buttocks. Paul squealed and turned with astonishment to frown at Gorgon. Gorgon backhanded him with so much force the boy was thrown to the floor, his platter of pastries thrown under the table before the earl’s feet.

“I am sorry, my lord,” little Paul whimpered at the frowning earl. He scrambled to recover the fallen pastries. Chomping and gulping sounds came from under the table. The earl looked further enraged, for it was Boye at his feet, enjoying the bounty. Paul came up in near tears with no more than three pastries and each of those leaking wine onto his tray.

“Boye. Here,” Prince Rupert called firmly with a snap of his finger at his left side. The prince retained his composure, though one corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. The dog quickly came around to the other side of the prince, still licking his red-tinged mouth.

The earl seemed to be holding his breath, his face gone gray. He was furious. But rather than insult the prince, he turned to Gorgon and pointed a shaky finger at Thomas.

“That man does not belong at the high table,” he complained with a snort.

Beside me, Thomas froze, his lips pressed tight together in dismay.

I shook my head in annoyance. Why could the earl not leave Thomas alone?

“The great Lord of the North fears this useful man?” Gorgon boomed.

For once, I agreed with Gorgon’s reasoning. Beside me, Thomas responded with a daring, genial nod at the earl.

“He’s my creature now,” Gorgon spouted, saliva spewing from his mouth. “Are you telling me to leave the table?”

“No,” the earl said. He sniffed in indignation. “But I would have Thomas join the commoners at the lower tables.”

Thomas shook his head, unabashed, now clearly in control of his destiny.

“He stays where he sits. I like it at Tor House,” Gorgon said in a level, menacing voice. “I think Thomas and I will be very comfortable here. We will stay for some time, I think.”

“As you say, my lord,” Thomas said, digging into his meal.

Gorgon bent solemnly over his food.

The earl sat white-faced, a spoon in one hand and a knife in the other, his fists on the table, and stared at Gorgon. The veins throbbed at his temples, a sure sign of his fury. He looked as though he might boil over, like milk left too long over the fire. Spittle flying, he finally managed to speak.

“Steward Gorgon,” he shouted. “Have you forgotten the terms of your betrothal?” The color of his face fluctuated from white to red and back to white. His fist hit the table, rocked the wine in the glasses, and shook the candle flames on the candelabra. “How can you marry Elena on the isle, which was our arrangement, if you linger here?”

Gorgon surveyed the earl with a pleased sneer. Sudden silence dominated the room, servants, soldiers, and cavaliers frozen over their meal or in conversation. The heavy air seemed too warm and thick to breathe. Perspiration erupted on my forehead, my upper lip. It trickled down my back under my dress.

With haughty good humor, Prince Rupert ignored the disagreement and tended to feeding Boye from his plate. The dog’s small gulping sounds stood out in the deafening silence.

“They could marry in the morning,” the countess said in a hoarse whisper. “In the chapel tower. My personal priest, Father Theobald, happens to be here.”

“That was not the betrothal agreement,” the earl growled at his countess. “The isle. He is to take her to the isle.”

“Do my desires not count?” I cried. But my plea went unheard. I might as well have not spoken, for the stern faces around me remained unmoved. Would they force me to marry this animal? Was I no more than helpless chattel, a slave forced into a deadly cage?

My face was on fire with these thoughts. I looked toward Duncan and found his face flat with surprise and gray as the ash in the hearth. Pain hung at the dull center of his gaze. If he had missed it before, he knew everything now. With a wrench deep in my chest, I looked away. I did not want to witness the inevitable rise of hatred in his face.

Beside me, Gorgon drew a massive breath, but before he could speak, Prince Rupert spoke at the earl’s side.

“There is no time for a wedding. I need your forces, Devlin, and yours, Steward Gorgon. We depart in the morning. We must have Liverpool’s seaport open behind us before we strike northward to the relief of York. There is no time for betrothal disagreements and sudden marriages. Put it behind you, gentlemen. The King’s war must be won.”

That said, the prince thanked the countess, hoped she would excuse him, and left the table, Boye at his side. Three of the prince’s lifeguards peeled out of the crowd and fell into step behind him as he departed down the main hall.

Duncan remained at his table, staring intently at Gorgon.

Someone had let one of the hearth fires go out, a relief from the pressing warmth. There was a great hubbub over that discovery. Mrs. Lowry waded into the midst of her servant boys and chastised them severely, though she did not have the fire rekindled.

It was only then that I missed Peg. I studied the crowd carefully. She was not in the hall.

I begged leave to depart the table, but the countess squawked back that I would stay where I was until my betrothed chose to depart. The earl, he who once introduced himself as my good uncle Charles, stared at me in utter hatred. A smirking Gorgon, wine goblet in his hand, leaned toward me.

“You haven’t eaten a thing, my dear,” he crooned at me.

I needed something to quickly fortify me against these onslaughts, and so reached for my own goblet, but never tasted the wine for the sudden chill of wind and driving rain. A dark sea encompassed me. I gasped and struggled against the looming dream.

Not here. Not now.

Something massive shifted within me.

In the stark reality that only my dreams possessed, I found myself thrown about in a sudden chill of wind and driving rain. I wiped the rain out of my face and gawked at a distant shore that disappeared in a swirl of windswept water. At the plunging bow, the ship’s barnacled figurehead slammed in and out of the dark, racing sea. The spouts of water that assaulted me were in fact the wake from the bow streaming over the ship, for a weak sun shone on taut overhead sails that seemed to rise to the sky. The ship plunged onward across high, wind-swept seas. I struggled to keep my footing on the wet deck, my hand clenched on an overhead rope.

My fingers ached from the cold. I attempted to tighten my grip with a frantic grab at the rope . . . but found dry, warm satin and the rumple of lace within my grasp. The old wine stench of someone’s breath blew in my face.

I opened my eyes to an anxious Edward Gorgon leaning over me. He held me in his arms, holding me close.

“What did you see, eh? Tell me, Elena. Were we here at Tor House together? What happens after the war? Um, you smell of lavender.”

“What?” I jerked my shaking hands away from his lace collar and his satin doublet where I had grabbed great swaths of material, not a wet rope on a ship at sea. “Put me down,” I cried in a warbling voice. I put my head down, wresting myself from his intense gaze.

He leaned over and placed me on a soft surface. I looked wildly around. I lay on a huge four-poster bed with half-drawn black hangings. Darkness loomed where the ceiling should have been. We were in the guest room at the top of the private tower with its high ceilings—Gorgon’s rooms. I tried to rise and his big hand pushed me down on the bed.

“What did you see?” He slipped off his surcoat, turned back, took me by the shoulders, and shook me. “Tell me.”

I struggled to recover from the soul-wrenching effects of the dream, yet had the sense to understand the mortal danger that leaned over me.

“What are you talking about? Did I faint?” I asked in a tremulous voice.

“That’s what everyone else thinks.” He stood over me and smirked, a hint of doubt in his stance. “I, and you, know better. My mother had the sight. She would swoon into a trance exactly the way you did just now.”

“I must have fainted,” I insisted. I tried to rise, but my stomach rebelled, reminding me of the soup I had eaten earlier. Its acid taste coated my throat.

“With open, searching eyes, reaching hands? No, you did not faint. Luckily I saw what was happening and got you out of the hall.”

“I remember reaching for my wine, nothing beyond that,” I said, in a sincere tone of voice.

“Has this happened to you before?”

“Do I faint? Generally, no,” I said with some hauteur. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own, clenching and unclenching. I clasped them tightly together to stop their unnatural movement, a sure sign of my immediate terror. If this man knew of my dreams, I was doomed.

“I do not believe you,” he said. He stood over me and studied my dishevelment for some time, then rubbed his palm along the scar within his beard. Finally, he sat down on the great bed beside me. “We have much in common.”

“We have nothing in common.”

“I am not convinced you don’t have the sight. Perhaps it is just developing. You must to listen to your dreams. I have need of their guidance. As well, we share a desire to keep Tor House, your home.”

His words made surprising sense and in his thoughtful face a brutish, lordly attractiveness reached out to me. I studied the ominous ceiling to avoid his further reason.

“Do you really think my uncle would allow a Manx lord on his seat of power in Lancashire?”

“Exactly. Which is why you and I must remove him. We need one another, dear Elena. Should we not combine forces, since we are bound to wed anyway? We are fated, you know.”

“Tor House is my soul and I will find a way to fight for it, without you.” I clenched my mouth against my rebellious stomach and sat up suddenly. I placed both hands on his barrel chest and shoved him away from me.

“Tell me about this captain, this Comrie fellow,” he said, having no choice but to stand up. His brooding gaze bored through me, his lower lip thrust out. “He seems to have feelings for you. I saw his look.”

“I do not have the sight, I hate you, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Duncan has been my protector at the behest of the prince. No more than that.”

“Duncan, is it? You belong to me. Remember that.”

“I will never marry you,” I said in a voice as solemn as an oath. I drew a ragged breath and threw my feet off the bed, reaching for the floor.

“There is another way.” He grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, crushing my mouth. He lifted my legs onto the bed once again, only this time he reached into my bodice with his big red hand and tore the material downward. I screamed and he fell upon me, his mouth reaching down for my exposed breast, a hardness pushing rhythmically at my groin through my dress and underskirts.

A smooth, rubbing sound came to me, but I paid it no mind. Anger swelled within me, lending me strength to fight for my honor, my freedom, and my life. I scratched him, bit where I could find flesh, and kicked at available limbs.

“You would take her in her infirmity?” a trembling male voice asked, right beside us.

Gorgon’s enormous girth rolled over me, and he came to his feet before my uncle, whose face was livid.

The rubbing sound must have been the door.

“What kind of man are you?” the earl railed, sniffing and huffing in umbrage, that terrible grayish-white circling his mouth within his extended mustache.

“You admire my tactics.” Gorgon grasped my arm with one hand and shoved the earl back with his other. “Many times you have told me so.”

Gorgon pushed me into a chair beside the bed. He backed into me, apparently determined to keep me in place while he dealt with the earl, which gave me an opportunity to pull my bodice together.

“You will not remain in this room, nor in this house,” the earl shouted. He struck the bedpost, wobbling the overhead canopy.

“You promised me the heiress, which means this house,” Gorgon rumbled in that cold, guttural voice I remembered from the gallery. “I will have her, and I will have Tor House—and not as your blasted lackey.”

The earl shook his head so hard his fly-away hair ended up in his face. “Her claim has been eliminated,” he croaked, his dark eyes blazing behind the shelf of hair.

“If she has no claim . . .” Gorgon leaned close to the earl’s face and in a sly crooning voice asked, “. . . why do you want her gone?”

“I have paid you to take her.” The earl lowered his head like an angered bull. “You have no rights here.”

A roar ripped out of Gorgon. He whipped a dirk from under his doublet and went after the earl.

“I made you what you are, you ingrate,” the earl cried.

It was my chance and I took it. I raced past the hearth to the door and down the cool, dark stairs, the sound of crashing furniture behind me. My chest rose and fell as though I had run halfway to Bolton. Frantic to escape, I rushed up the short north corridor, which shimmered in moonlight coming through the distant windows at its end. I stopped in breathless horror, for a shadow wielding a flashing sword appeared in the dim light. Gorgon’s hulking Manx officer.

He came for me, his long stride eating up the passage between us.

Chapter Twelve

I ran back the way I had come, past the arch that led into the private tower, which remained ominously quiet, and on down the east corridor to the next turning. My right foot went awry, twisting my ankle, and I went down on my side. Sharp pain slammed up my arm and down past my ribs. After a deep breath, I lifted myself up on a sore elbow, found nothing broken, and looked back the way I had come. No one was there. Had I imagined the man with the sword who had appeared in the moonlight? Stiff from the fall, I got to my feet, limped forward, and gingerly fingered my scraped forearm.

Before Gorgon or my uncle found me, I needed to get to my rooms and away. I had no idea where I was going to go, probably to Uncle Justin in Manchester, but I had to go quickly. I turned up the dark central corridor, feeling my way. The moonlight did not extend to this windowless passage, though it illuminated the stair hallway in the distance. Just past a silent doorway, I sensed movement. Before I could flee a strong arm twined around my waist.

I screeched, found strong legs to kick with the solid heels of my wooden mules. A small groan came from my attacker. His grasp loosened slightly, which allowed me to twist around to face him. A broad chest presented itself, and I pummeled it with all my strength. When that appeared to do no good, I scratched at his face. I had reached high for his eyes, when his hands rose to my shoulders. His thumbs pressed hard into the joints. He pushed me away, and shook me brutally.

“Stop it. It’s me. Elena, it’s me, Duncan.”

I gasped and threw my arms around him. First frightened and then shaken out of my wits, I shivered now uncontrollably. He enfolded me in his arms and held me until I stilled and my frantic breathing slowed. He smelled of wood smoke and ale. His arm around me, he led me back down the corridor and turned into the east corridor toward the private tower. I jerked us both to a stop.

“No,” I whispered. “I dare not go that way again.”

At that moment the light from the corner sconce must have illuminated my torn dress, for he gently grasped me by the shoulders again. He looked me up and down. His eyes widened at sight of my partially exposed breasts and gaping bodice.

“What’s happened to you? Are you hurt?” He shrugged off his doublet, slipped it over my arms, and pulled it around me. Carefully, he pulled the buttons through the button loops.

“No, I am not hurt, just rattled.” I relaxed into the close masculine smell and cozy warmth of the doublet.

“Who did this?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Who else? That monster, Gorgon.”

“I’ll kill him,” he growled through clenched teeth. He spun around and took a step toward the private tower. A cold rasp sounded, that of his sword pulled from its sheath.

“No,” I cried. I stepped after him and threw my arms around his sword arm. “Don’t make it any worse. Gorgon already has his eye on you.”

“He does, does he?” he said. He turned back to me. In the low light, the taut plane of his face sharpened. Within his grim smile, white teeth gleamed.

“Please, Duncan,” I pleaded. I clenched his arm tighter. “Just take me where we can talk and be together for a few moments. Please.”

“The prince does not appear to be disturbed,” he whispered after a long moment.

His sword flashed in the low light as he sheathed it. The outline of his extraordinary shoulders moved closer, his hair a nimbus of orange-tinged light, and he led me away from the private tower entrance down the long east corridor toward the back of the house.

At the far corner of the house, close to my rooms, we came to a dim hallway that I was familiar with. He took me in and stopped just short of running into the stone and mortar wall that closed off the entry.

“I thought there was an entrance here, to an empty tower,” he said, amazed. He ran his hand over the rough wall. “I was sure of it.”

“There is only one door to uh . . . to Amilie’s tower,” I said, not so sure I really wanted to do this. “Actually, it is the safest place for us to go. If you wish.”

He nodded.

“Come with me,” I whispered.

We moved carefully down the south corridor to the stair and out the small servant’s door at the back of the house. Comfortable as the oversized satin doublet was, I had quickly overheated in it. I sighed in relief at the cool, earth-scented air.

The stable yard stood out in peculiar relief in the moonlight. The old storage tower, where Peg and I had been confined, stood in gloomy silhouette along the house’s back side. I led Duncan past the stable area to the tall, dark tower at the opposite, northeast corner of the house. We approached the unimposing door, and I turned to face him.

“There is a kind of ghost here,” I said quickly, my own pulse stepping up at our proximity to the tower. “Will you stay with me?”

His eyebrows, dark in the ethereal light, went up.

“She will allow us through to the roof,” I added hastily.

“Uh, are you sure about this?”

“All the great houses have a ghost. Ours is a gentle spirit. I have used this shelter many times in my life.” A cold fingertip slid down my backbone. “Just not lately.”

“She, you say. What if she does not care for me?” He stared at me and took my arm in an iron hold.

“She will love you, because I do,” I said, only realizing what I had said after the words were irretrievably gone. With a cringe, I put a hand to my faithless mouth.

But he seemed not to have heard my slip of the tongue, for he looked back toward the stable, then turned to me, and nodded. “We must go on. Something stirs behind us.”

We stepped through the entry. The door swung closed behind us, leaving us in unrelieved darkness. The air was dry and pleasant with the smell of rose-scented rushes, though my feet trod a bare stone floor. I took Duncan’s large, moist hand. With my other hand, I felt my way along the walls, and led him up the stone steps that I remembered from my childhood. It was a stairway, like all those in the towers, that clung to the circular walls.

We ascended to the second level. Moonlight poured down the upper turn of the roof stairway on the other side of the landing. I stopped, tightened my hold on Duncan’s hand, and searched the dark room to our right. Though indistinct, the outlines of a bed, perhaps a table, and a bulky hearth ledge stood out.

“Amilie. It is me, Elena,” I said softly, not wanting to alarm the ghost. I took an additional anxious breath, suddenly sorry I had led Duncan here to my childhood haven. It had been years since I had faced this empty room. “May we use your roof for shelter this night?”

The hearth sighed with a sudden flush of air. Duncan stiffened beside me. A further sigh came forth, a pleasant human sound. A questing current of rose-tinted air came to us from the far side of the large, circular room.

Air brushed my right cheek and rested there, like a gentle palm. The feeling moved away, and my hair swung to the languid push of an invisible hand.

Duncan squeezed my hand tightly. I turned my head slowly and looked at him, his face white in the dimness. Amilie must have caressed his face as she had mine, for he put his hand to his cheek and wiggled his shoulders uncomfortably. His hair rose in concurrent clumps as though a hand ran through his bright locks.

The ghostly draft whistled lightly around us. Silence followed. Duncan dared a wide-eyed look at me.

“Wait,” I mouthed at him.

Anxious moments later, a great whoosh of air encompassed us and pushed us toward the roof stair. We clattered up to the roof. A peaceful night sky arched above us, dominated by a bright round moon.

“Is she still here?” Duncan looked uncomfortably back at the stairway we had climbed and then around at the rooftop we had achieved.

“No. She never leaves the tower.”

“How do you know her name?”

“It is scraped into the stone beside the roof stair. Amilie 1425.”

“My God. Was she imprisoned here?”

“I think so. Some call this the Tower of Madness. No one will follow us in.”

“No one told me that name.” He looked mildly insulted, his brows drawn together, but the insult fell away, and concern tightened his mouth. “If she was . . . or is . . . mad, can we trust her?”

“My father brought me here when I was young. He knew of her and claimed she had never hurt him, though he did say she could be quite nasty if offended.”

“How do you offend a ghost?”

“Maybe by not asking permission to enter? A noisy entry? I do not know. She has granted me shelter many a time in my younger life . . . and now at a time when we desperately need it.”

“Why the piles of litter up against the parapet?” He tucked my hand under his arm and into the fold of his elbow, and we strolled around the roof’s perimeter.

“It has always been like that.”

“But roof litter generally moves all over the place in the wind. Look, a stone bench.”

The wide, ornate bench faced south with a view of the stable, the postern gate, and the indistinct hills in the moonlit distance. We sat side by side where I last sat as a child, my feet dangling, nowhere near the roof floor. Self-conscious, I looked up at Duncan and admired the curve of his full lips. His impressive size set off a flutter deep in my stomach.

At that moment, the postern gate below swung open with a squawk. The outer gate opened almost immediately with a similar screech. A loud creak of leather and the ting of metal issued from the stable below.

I rushed to the parapet, Duncan behind me, in time to see horses bolt out of the stable. They appeared to be Gorgon’s Manx followers. The last rider through the stable entrance was Gorgon himself, his vivid blue surcoat visible in the moonlight. He spurred his horse into a gallop, shot past his assembled men and out the gates. His riders followed in a jumble of bounding horses.

“Come back, you blackguard,” a familiar voice shouted far below us. A dark figure strode into the stable yard and raised a fist. Moonlight flashed on multiple golden threads clothing the shape below. “You owe me,” my uncle cried out in an infuriated scream, his fist raised high.

“At least he didn’t kill him,” I whispered to Duncan as we retreated to the safety of the stone bench.

“Who?”

“The earl actually saved me from Gorgon.” I patted my torn bodice under Duncan’s doublet. “But then Gorgon attacked the earl. That’s how I slipped away.”

Astonishment lifted his eyebrows and widened his eyes. “That gets Gorgon out of your life, aye?”

A door slammed shut below. I nodded my head and took a relieved breath. Yet I could not help but question why my uncle had saved me from something that would have gotten me out of Tor House more quickly. Since when had my honor made any difference to him? The lack of logic in his actions rankled in my mind. But Duncan and I moved closer together on the cold stone seat, and my uncle’s unreasonable nature was the last thing I wished to consider.

“Why did you not tell me you were betrothed?” He surveyed me with a bitter, turned down mouth. “Were you simply enjoying yourself, gaining supporters?”

“I would not do that to anyone,” I said, then closed my mouth and studied my shaky hands. “I owe you an apology, Duncan.” My gaze rose to his dim, clean-shaven face. “I cannot abide Gorgon. I tried to refute the betrothal, but it was useless.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“No, long before tonight’s banquet. Before Gorgon even arrived. The earl wants me gone, and Gorgon is his method.” I reached out for his hand, which he gave me after a short hesitation. “What has happened between us has been genuine, for my part. I have just . . . been terrified I would lose your attentions if you knew of my betrothal.”

“You need not have feared.” He touched my chin with querulous fingertips. “No betrothal would keep me from you, unless you chose it to be so.” He leaned close, his dark gaze intent on me. “My promise to assist you remains. With Gorgon gone it will be considerably easier.”

I smiled and nodded in agreement. Something I had thought of earlier crossed my mind. “Did you ask for the Tor House appointment?”

“I did, and the prince was in complete agreement, but I will have to go with him to York when he returns.”

I bent my head to avoid looking at him, to evade his words and their crippling meaning. “And that woman?” I asked, in a voice that trembled. I pulled away from the arm he had snaked around my shoulders. “What is she to you?”

The dimple in his chin deepened. A gentle look crinkled the skin around his dark eyes and lifted the edges of his mouth, as though I were a favored child who failed to understand.

With a huff of irritation, I shifted away from him on the bench and straightened my back, stubbornly awaiting his explanation.

“Do you remember my telling you of Ben Nevis and the events that occurred there? Where I nearly died as a boy?”

I nodded, unable to figure what this had to do with a loose woman hanging off his arm.

“Annie was found there also, a mere babe. We are the last of our family, perhaps even of our clan.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“When our grandmother died, just before the war, Annie had nowhere to go. She was naïve, attractive, and very much aware of her effect on men.”

“Yes, I saw that,” I said with asperity.

“She thinks she loves me,” he said with a little laugh. “I am devoted to her, but I do not love her that way.”

“So you drag her along in the prince’s baggage train?”

“Where else would she go? After the war, it is my hope to find a noble family that will take her in and teach her manners enough that she can attract a respectable husband.”

“Oh.” So, I had been wrong. The girl was simply a problem, not competition. I lifted my chin and gave him my most severe look. “And your name is not Comrie, is it?”

“No,” he said. He lowered his head and his locks, dark russet in the moonlight, tumbled over his shoulders. “If I used my rightful name, I could be slaughtered with impunity, no repercussions, just as my family was slain.”

“You are outlawed?”

“My clan, yes.”

“How did this come to be?”

“Clan Campbell wanted our lands and had the Scottish king’s ear. And so our proscription was decreed. Years ago.”

“Then I suppose I owe you another apology.” He had not offered to tell me his true name, but his fallen face indicated profound unease.

“No.” He looked up and pushed his hair back. “Your reaction was entirely understandable.” He put his arm around my shoulders again and pulled me close. “I am only glad I’ve had a chance to explain the situation to you.”

He nuzzled my cheek, and I leaned in toward him, ignoring the inbred admonition to pull away. He settled his lips on mine, and I jumped back.

“Ow,” I cried, hand to my mouth. “I must have cut my lip.”

“Let me kiss it.” He did so, then licked it tenderly.

“Why do you not wear a mustache?” I ran a hand over his strong cheekbone and the clean-shaven cheek below.

A soft whistle of disparagement came from him. “I have enough problems with the color of my hair. Men assume, as did you when we first met, that red hair denotes a marauding Scot.”

“But I learned better,” I whispered. I rubbed my hands over his broad shoulders, so warm and close under his satin shirt, living the reality of the daydreams I had so often squelched.

He nibbled at my ear, creating a tickle that made me giggle. I twisted my head away and gently brushed my fingers across lush chest hair that lay within the open collar of his shirt. It glinted copper in the moonlight. He took me onto his lap and embraced me, his head on my shoulder. His hands roamed softly over my breasts. Though they resided beneath the thick doublet, I drew back, the memory of Gorgon’s brutal hands still close in my mind.

“I would never hurt you,” he crooned in my ear. He took my face in his hands, rubbed his thumbs across my cheeks, and kissed me deeply. His mouth tasted of tart apple.

I pulled away and smiled at him, wanting more, and so I kissed him, a fire ablaze within me. We crumpled down onto the wide bench.

“I thought you had a cut lip,” he said sometime later.

“Oh, I do.” I put fingertips to my throbbing mouth. “But I wanted to kiss you. I’ve dreamed of it so often.”

“And was it as good as your dreams?”

“Far, far better.”

“For me, too.” He cupped my lower lip with his index finger.

About to roll off the bench, we sat up. I ran my palm over his muscular chest, unable to keep from touching him. He placed a warm hand over mine, held it at his sternum, and gave a small laugh.

“You know, in Bolton, a pike would have gone through here.” He patted my hand. “Right where our hands are, but for an odd happening.”

“Tell me,” I said, stunned. I pulled my hand away, moved to the front edge of the bench, and studied him with anxious intensity.

“It was eerie, as though I had been there before. Have you ever had that feeling? What’s wrong?”

“Go on, please.” I pulled at his sleeve and sucked in a breath. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

He frowned, but continued, involved in his story. “A couple of Roundheads had taken shelter in an old stable.” He shrugged. “But when I got in there, they had fled. I returned to the open door, sword drawn, but something, some inkling in my mind, told me to wait.”

My head shook slowly, unbelieving, back and forth, my fingers pressed to my mouth.

“I stood there a moment.” With a compassionate smile, he pulled me onto the seat and hugged me close. “Then stepped out into the yard, where a pike came down directly in front of me.” He pointed down to his fancy shoes, tied with ribbons. “It was so close the pike notched the tip of my boot. I shall show you later, when I have them on.” With his thumb and forefinger, he demonstrated how desperately close it had come, no more than the width of a small thimble, though I was numb with shock at his continuing words. “If I hadn’t stopped, it would have gone through me, right at the chest. Instead, once I forced him off the adjoining roof, I gave the pike man a sword thrust for his trouble.”

“Oh, Holy Mother,” I cried. The truth thundered within me. I jumped up before him and gasped in disbelief.

“What is it? Your face is scarlet. I did not mean to upset you.”

“Thank God.” I seized his wide shoulders and fell into his lap. “Oh, Duncan, I love you so much.”

My head on his chest, I put my arms around him, squeezed tightly, and took unrestrained pleasure in his strong, steady heartbeat.

“Wait,” he said, a frown, and then all at once, a smile on his face. He dislodged my clinging arms and pushed me back onto his knees so that he could see my face. “I love you too, but why are you so . . . What is it?”

“Oh.” Held at arms length, I wilted. “Well. I suppose you will need to know eventually.” I knitted my fingers together and studied them intensely.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I have visions.” I ducked my head, unable to look at him. “I foresaw your death in just the manner you described. You stepped out of the stable without hesitation and a pike took you in the chest.”

After a quiet moment, I dared to look up. He stared at me, sober-faced, a questing hand at his chest. “I saw you. . .” Sudden tears rolled down my face. Finally, I collected myself and tried again. “You died at my feet,” I cried, with a wrenching sob.

“But . . .”

“I refused to accept the vision, denied it, refuted it.”

“So you have the sight.”

“No, I have dreams, visions,” I croaked. I pulled away from him and paced to the parapet’s edge. “They are not something I search out. They just happen.”

His scabbard scraped as he rose off the bench.

“Did you have one at dinner?” he whispered. His arm came snugly around me, as though it belonged there.

I nodded. “Gorgon knew what it was. He wanted to use it, but I swore I saw nothing, that I had merely fainted.”

“So he knows, too.”

“He thinks he knows. I never admitted to it.”

“Dreams of the future are not so unusual, you know.”

“I do not wish to burn,” I said, my eyes lowered, avoiding his gaze.

“Can’t say I blame you.” With caressing fingers, he pulled up my chin and turned my face toward him. “I shall be here. No one will touch you.”

“You will not be here when you go to York.” My gaze connected with his, dismay writhing in his eyes. “You are the only person that knows of my visions besides Peg.”

“Your secret is safe with me, sweet Elena.” He touched my temples with blunt fingertips. “Thank God Gorgon has fled.”

“Truly.”

He led me back to the bench and sat close beside me. Gently, he took my frigid hands in his and placed his forehead against mine.

“You have twice this night told me you love me.”

“I do, with all my heart. I need you.”

Bleak despair came over his flushed features. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you, when you attacked me on the roof.”

I giggled and we embraced.

In one another’s arms, we watched the night sky. Dark clouds crossed the moon’s face, directly above us now, those clouds slowly obscuring the stars. We were as one with ourselves, with our world, with the universe twinkling above us. After some time, I reached over and plaited a few thin locks at his temple, intertwined with blue ribbon from the underside of my dress hem. He felt after the plait with questioning fingers.

“Why the ribbon?”

“It is a love lock. Many cavaliers wear them.”

“Lovelock, aye?”

“Yes. So you will remember me.”

“Love of my life, you are too beautiful to forget.” He caressed my face. “Your ivory skin, your rousing mouth, your amazing eyes.” He reached up to brush away an escaped tendril of hair. He kissed me tenderly, careful not to press too hard on my cut lip.

We sat back, comfortable in one another’s company.

“There is a terrible defeat coming,” I said. Though I clenched my lips so hard it hurt, I had to tell him. I could not leave him without the knowledge.

“You cannot—” He sat up and turned to me, astounded, lips parted, eyes like fire. “—tell me any more than that?”

“No. All I’ve seen has been a general slaughter and retreat of Royalist forces.”

He shot to his feet and strode to the parapet edge, that limit of our private space. “I should go with the prince to Liverpool.”

“And what reason would you give him for this sudden change of heart?”

Long moments passed before he turned back to me. “You are right.” Crest-fallen, he searched the stone beneath his feet, as though he had lost something. “But there has to be something I can do. If I am with the prince—”

“You cannot. By your own admission, you fought for this assignment at Tor House.”

“I did,” he answered. He returned to me, for he needed my embrace as I required his at that moment.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, snuggling into the cocoon of his strong arms.

“What do you mean? I will not tell the prince what I know or how I know it, if that is your question. I will have to find another way.”

“No, I meant that my uncle will not accept our love.”

“I am certain he will not,” he said with a deep, surprising chuckle. “I have fought alongside him for months and find him as unstable as he is uncaring. But I will help you, Elena. If Devlin wants you gone, I cannot think of anything I would like better than to whisk you away.”

“And there is this, too,” he said, rocking me in his arms. “Prince Rupert’s feet are planted on either side of a huge divide, for the King constantly strikes out on his own, causing endless disasters that the prince frequently has to repair by abandoning vital engagements and running to assist him. Could this be the source of the disaster you foresee?”

“I have no way to know, Duncan. Nor do I know when. It could be years or it could be tomorrow.”

For a long moment he struggled with the helplessness I lived with. He ceased rocking and lifted me onto the seat beside him.

“My duty is to the prince, and I must follow him. You understand this.”

“Yes. I admire your loyalty.” I straightened beside him, though I had no idea how I could stand to watch him go. “After the war? Will you return to me then?”

“Yes, I will return.” His smile flashed, then disappeared. “But as much as I love you, I . . . would not mislead you. It has long been my plan to build a new life after the war.”

“We can build a new life here, at Tor House.”

“No, I meant . . .” His lips pressed together in dismay. “Let me hold you, just a little longer.”

What could he have meant? Was there some dark secret he feared to express? He kissed me carefully, with a nudge at my bruised mouth, and the quandary fled my conscious thought.

We snuggled together on the hard stone bench, happy simply being together, the night breeze suddenly cold and painfully brisk around us.

Chapter Thirteen

With an arrogant sniff, the earl took my hand in a hard grip. “Do as you are told,” he demanded in a resentful voice on the stone steps of the inner courtyard’s formal entry, his fly-away hair whipping at the lower edges of his helmet.

He released my hand and bowed before his countess beside me, though he had nothing to say to her, nor to Duncan, in whose care he left Tor House. In fact, he avoided Duncan’s expectant gaze and turned away. The early morning wind lashed the earl’s loose pants with a sharp repetitive crack. With a dismissive wave at the gathered servant staff behind us, he turned away and descended the stone steps to his waiting horse, where he mounted and took his place beside Prince Rupert on his big gray. An excited Boye paced between the two steeds. His heavy neck ruff, clean and puffed out, gave him the look of a young, white lion.

The prince, dressed for war under his red cloak, executed a slow salute at Duncan, who returned it in a similar manner. Prince Rupert then swept off his plumed hat in an elegant arc and bowed his head toward the gathering at the top of the steps. Exceptionally tall and lean in the saddle, he smiled with deference at his cousin, the countess, dressed in pale brown. He gave me a warm nod, and his gaze finally lingered over an unusually demure Peg at the end of our farewell line.

“Fare thee well,” his deep voice rang out.

Behind us, a crowd of servants pressed forward to get a last view of the great general.

“For the King,” he shouted to his mounted lifeguard assembled around him, fist raised high. He settled his hat on his head, flowing locks astir, then spurred his horse. Under the shadow of the tall inner walls, the crowded courtyard fell into motion.

The prince, the earl close behind him, kept his horse to a soft, rattling canter around the circular drive, where green had appeared within the blighted shrubbery. They continued onward toward the open gates. Prince Rupert’s large company of lifeguards followed, the progress of mounts a muffled chorus of moving horse flesh and creaking leather.

Sergeant Burke, who was his company’s acting captain, stood out among the scarlet-cloaked lifeguards in his buff coat, breast plate, blackened bridle gauntlet, sword, and holstered pistols, clearly visible under his cloak. He was equipped no better nor worse than his compatriots. Under his big, plumed hat, head held high, his brilliant eyes sparkled with pride and excitement.

Horse tails whisked in the wind. Hooves splashed through small puddles left by early morning showers. Trumpets flared and a drum beat solemnly. The prince and his lifeguards, Boye, and the earl passed through the inner gates and onward between the outer gate towers to the sound of multitudinous cheers.

None of us in the forward line on the steps moved, though the servants behind drifted back into the house. Shortly, the rumble of thousands of horses beyond the gates shook the ground. Distant trumpets flared. Many drums took up the solemn beat.

Peg rushed away into the house, headed for the watch-tower. She had told me she would do this, wanting to watch the prince from the tower roof until he passed out of sight into the western wood. I followed, aware that Duncan’s molten, gold-flecked gaze tracked me.

Among the unmanned cannon at the watch-tower’s roof parapet, Peg and I pushed together into an open crenellation, pooling our warmth in the cool, whipping wind. Rupert and his lifeguards in their bright cloaks were already small with distance at the head of thousands of mounted cavaliers, musketeers on foot, companies of pike men, the requisite banners and standards sprinkled throughout the colorful force. At the rear, the artillery train squealed into position, horses and men flowing around the transports. The baggage train, I had been told, had left Bolton the night before, as we had banqueted, and awaited the army’s main body at a prearranged point along their path to the sea.

Footsteps ground onto the rooftop. A light touch settled at my waist. I turned and smiled up at Duncan, his hair brilliant in the sunlight and tossed about by the irascible wind. He gave a quick glance and a dip of his head toward the stairs he had just climbed.

Peg nodded at my words of parting, unable to take her eyes away from the departing spectacle. Hand in hand, Duncan and I entered the sudden stillness of the roof stair entry. Midway down the circular stair, he pushed me to the wall, enclosed me in his arms, and studied me as though I might disappear at any moment. His hands roamed down the column of my back and up again, stirring the desire that lay close under my outer calm. I caressed his face and leaned into a consuming kiss, the soft, male smell of his body, his very closeness an aphrodisiac I could not resist. When he pulled away, I nibbled at his lower lip, which made him smile. To lose myself in him was my deepest desire. Ultimately, afraid where the rising heat between us would lead, I started on down the stairs, and he followed. The second floor landing came up to meet us. We took the little turn there, and strode languidly down the wide stair into the empty great hall.

Neither of us had gotten much sleep. Our departure from Amilie’s tower had been uneventful, though Duncan told me he felt a small guiding hand at his back as he descended the stair to the lower entry level. When I found my rooms empty, I had called him back from the end of the hallway, so that I might return his doublet, which gave us the occasion for another quick, intense, parting kiss.

This morning any mention to the countess of Gorgon’s absence had been met with silence and hard stares. So I had gone looking for Thomas, only to find him missing as well. Had he gone with Gorgon?

“Is your cousin still in Bolton?” I asked as Duncan and I stepped off the great stair.

Small and insignificant in the enormity of the hall, we strolled toward the hearth stones, the ash from the prior night’s banquet already removed, the blackened stone of the twin hearths swept and cold. We stayed as close to one another as we dared, our forbidden feelings for one another carefully repressed.

“Yes,” he said abruptly. “I suppose I will have to find a peasant or merchant family that will take her. I had hoped to find a noble family after the war. She desperately needs to learn manners . . . and restraint.”

The chairs on the dais in the dim depths of the hall seemed to watch our progress across the room.

“Neither peasants nor merchants can teach her manners they themselves do not have.” I remembered Annie’s lack of control well enough. “Bring her here. Peg and I will care for her.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, face alight within the frame of his dark copper locks, the thin lovelock carefully tucked away behind his ear. “Would you truly do such a thing?”

“I will.” I did not expect to find the woman I had met in Bolton easy to deal with. But for Duncan and for Annie herself, I would try. “That is how Peg came to us. She had no family, though she is a distant cousin. Besides, I need to make peace with Annie.”

“She is very distrustful,” he murmured, with a doubtful look. “If you will just teach and care for her, that is all I ask.”

The agile movement of his powerful body distracted me. I leaned into him. His arm came around me, and we remained thus, dangerously obvious within the vacant echoes of the massive room.

The comfortable clanks and murmurs of a meal in progress echoed from the gallery above us. The prince had refused breakfast. He would eat on the road with his men, he had insisted to the countess in brisk dismissal just before his departure. There were shadows at the gallery screens. Someone stood there now, watching us.

“You should bring her today, if you can,” I said, with a discreet step away. “I know you have new responsibilities, but the more time that passes the more likely she will get herself in trouble. I can send Wallace for her, if you like.”

“No. I must do it,” he said brusquely. “I shall bring her tonight or tomorrow morning on my return from a reconnaissance of the area.”

“That is just as well. Wallace and Mrs. Deane have asked to see me this morning. Apparently there are problems with the house guard and the kitchens.”

“Under other circumstances, I would tell you to leave it to me, but I suspect you know your own men, your house and the surrounding country better than anyone. Just keep me informed. Find me if you need me.”

“It would be my great pleasure,” I said.

Our gazes locked in longing.

For the benefit of our gallery observer, we parted as though ending a simple social conversation. Though my fingers ached to caress his fine face, I settled for a quick touch on his blousy-shirted midriff.

Unseen between us, his blunt fingertips swept swiftly over the backs of my hands, setting me afire within. He strode confidently away down the central hallway, where his broad-shouldered form quickly disappeared into the inner house.

Left shaking with desire, I composed myself mentally and physically before I crossed the hall and climbed the great stair again, my footsteps echoing softly around the great room. The fragrant smell of fresh-baked bread and hot honey beckoned.

“My lady, thank you for coming” came Captain Wallace’s fine baritone as he stepped out of the deep shadows within the stable entry. “I did not wish to worry you with this, but the house is in need.” His lank frame was taut with anxiety.

“What do you mean?” I asked, a hand on his arm in concern.

“A full half of the guard, one hundred fifty men, went off with Prince Rupert. That leaves us with less than a hundred house guards. We lost five officers, Captains Fox and Helford, and three lieutenants.”

“Then we need to recruit more men, find horses and swords for them. Train them.”

“I hesitate to call on you, my lady, but the earl would let me do nothing to restore the house guard. He ordered me to do what I could with what I have,” he said to the dark earth at his feet. When he looked up at me, his mouth drew down in bitterness. “And we need to keep up our provisions.”

“Of course.” My face assumed a severe look that surely matched the one on Wallace’s face. “Pick fifteen of your strongest, bravest men. You should report this plan to Captain Comrie, in any event. If he approves, we will scour the countryside, as we have had to do in the past, and take what we need from any known Puritan sympathizers.”

“But we stripped the area last summer.” He wiped his damp forehead with his sleeve. The wind had dropped and the summer sun blared down on us out of a merciless sky.

“Yes, I know,” I said, determined to find a way. “Manchester is some ways off and a staunchly Puritan city.”

“Yes?” He frowned in distress.

“You must find and recruit trainable men that we can trust. For that, you will probably do better closer to Wigan.”

He nodded and his fearful look diminished.

“After you gather what men you can find, organize a raid around Manchester for food, dry goods and anything else you think we can use. I will ask Mrs. Deane about her needs. Captain Comrie is planning a reconnaissance this afternoon. I would feel more comfortable if he were with you, in any event. I dare not accompany you, much as I would love to,” I said, with a tug of affection at his sleeve.

Peg had not returned to her bed the night before. I had seen her briefly at the prince’s departure and now, again, she was nowhere to be found. I retraced my steps to the stable and found her mare missing. Where could she have gone? It was unlike her to stay long from my side, but she was a grown woman and appeared to have taken one of the house guard with her, for Bertram was missing as well. Her disappearance without explanation became a nagging worry that shadowed my thoughts as the day wore on.

Gorgon’s departure lent me impetus to return to the care of the home I loved. The obvious schism between the earl and the Manx steward created a deep-seated hope that my uncle might, after all, grant me a reprieve.

Mrs. Lowry, in a fluster, found me in the kitchen before I could speak with Mrs. Deane. It seemed half the bed linens were missing. We went to the laundress to check for them. In the open area outside the first floor, which was the laundry level of the kitchen tower, I found my maidservant, Rosemunde, plunging large items in and out of one of the big, steaming laundry tubs, her milk-white hands red and chafed. Since I had my own rooms back, I reassigned her there and to my person. She departed the laundry in thankful haste, but Mrs. Lowry’s linens were not there. We even incorporated the Simpson boys in our search, but in the end I sent Mrs. Lowry on to change the beds with what she had and assured her the missing linens would be found.

I had a suspicion that fit with the apparent abandonment of the house guard and the food stocks, but I dared not voice it to anyone, even Mrs. Lowry, for fear it might be true. It was well after the mid-day meal before I got back to Mrs. Deane and coordinated her requirements with Captain Wallace. Mid-afternoon saw me bid farewell to Duncan and a severe Wallace when they rode out in the rising heat, their hand-picked men close around them.

By nightfall I was exhausted. I ate a late supper in the gallery with the countess, who remained cold and distant. She fanned herself, ignoring me, and stared long moments out through the iron screens. My suspicions about the linens begged to be voiced, but I did not want to argue, not this night. Since she had nothing to say to me anyway, and Duncan was not back, I retired to my rooms, concerned that something must have befallen my cousin and friend.

Rosemunde had my nightgown laid out for me, and I changed into it thankfully. Bone tired, I told her I would not need her again until morning, closed my bed drapes, and slid between the freshly changed bed sheets.

Again, Peg came to mind. I sat up in the dark bed, but lay back in frustration. I could not mount a search for her alone or in the dark. After several unsuccessful attempts to figure out where she could have gone, I decided that if she was not home when I arose next day, I would organize a search party. Sunk deep in the dark security of my bed with the knowledge that I had done all I could at the moment, I dropped off to sleep, did not dream, and did not stir until the morning light peeked through an errant opening in my bed drapes.

The next morning, I approached my armoire, which sat next to the entrance to Peg’s bedroom. Her door, open no more than an inch, caught my attention. I distinctly remembered leaving it wide open the evening before. As well, the pulled-to door was a code Peg and I had for privacy. I pushed the door open enough to see Peg sound asleep in her bed. Though I wanted to throttle her, I did not disturb her.

The morning was again miserably moist and warm. Rosemunde helped me finish dressing and put up my hair. I touched up my face with rouge and lip balm that were too moist for proper application, actually spilling a small dot of rouge on my dressing table. The heavy air was hard to breathe. I wiped away the sheen of perspiration that had beaded up on my upper lip, went to the leaded windows beside my bed, and swung them out on their hinges, hoping for a breeze to cool the room. I left my quarters and strode the hallways, feeling more at home than I had in years, headed to the gallery’s small east entrance.

From what he had told me, Duncan meant to arrive early today. Though his support was my strongest suit, the countess needed to be apprised of Cousin Annie. But I stepped into an empty gallery. The sideboard was spread for breakfast—milk, fresh-baked bread, sweet rolls, a selection of cold sliced ham and venison, a crock of butter and another of honey.

I cut myself a slice of warm wheat bread and spread it with clover honey. The milk was cool, as it always was under Mrs. Deane’s direction. I poured myself a tumbler full, and was about to sit down at the table and mentally plan my argument, when boot steps and a lighter footfall came up the great stair beyond the screens in a rushed rat-ta-tat.

The doors at the far end of the gallery blew open, and Duncan entered in a fast stride, his face colored with irritation.

The second set of footsteps entered behind him. It was the countess in one of her huffy states, a snap to her step as she strode across the Turkish carpet. She rushed past Duncan down the length of the narrow room to confront me.

Resigned, I turned back and put my bread and milk on the table.

“You cannot avoid me, you clever little witch.” A small, chubby hand wrenched me around by the shoulder.

“I have no reason to,” I said, though her choice of names stunned me. I pushed her hand away, and a spark connected between us in the charged atmosphere. “What is it, Duncan?”

“She claims you knew you could not offer Annie a home,” he said bitterly. He came up to me in a slow stride. He pointed at the countess with a raised chin. “That your offer was an intentional ruse to put Annie at a disadvantage.”

“You may not take it upon yourself to invite people to this house,” the countess yelled at me. “Why can you not leave things be?”

“But, Aunt, with Gorgon gone, are matters not undone? And should I not be allowed the freedom of my own home, which surely includes the right to invite a guest into my quarters and under my direction?”

“How do you know of Gorgon’s departure?” Indignation flared in her little eyes.

“I was there.” I did not wish to engage in another of the countess’ shouting matches. The air, redolent with the mingled smells of hot bread, sweet rolls, and human warmth, led me to gesture toward the table full of food. “Please help yourself, Captain.”

He ignored my offer, his wary gaze traveling from me back to the countess. He remained taut as a drawn bow, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“You have no rights here. How many times do I have to tell you this?” the countess spouted.

“I was born here,” I shot back. The impression of physical assault from this woman’s words pushed me back a step. “I grew up in this house. I know every stone and corner. You cannot tell me I have no rights. I will invite whomever I choose.”

“Annie has returned to Bolton,” Duncan growled.

“Why did you not stop her?” I cried, settling my gaze back on him, irate as he was. “Surely you did not allow her to go alone, across this treacherous land.”

“Of course not. One of my men rides with her. She would not wait for me to speak with you. The idea infuriated her and she rode off.” He approached me and dropped his gaze, suddenly hesitant.

I backed up toward the screens, unsure of his intent.

“You did not do this intentionally . . . to hurt Annie, did you?” His face relaxed, as though he had thought of something. The color in his face returned to its normal pale flush.

“No. I did not realize I was still under arrest.” I put a hand on the screens for support. They were damp with moisture. I retrieved my hand, walked back around him, and wiped my fingers on one of the linen napkins neatly laid across the table end. At his questing expression, guilt and concern battled within me. “If I did not want Annie here, I would not have offered her a home,” I said solemnly.

“Then I owe you a sincere apology for doubting you. I should have known better.” Stiff and formal, he bowed.

“You owe me no apology,” I said.

The countess’ smug enjoyment of our disagreement was obvious.

“I suspect the countess has misled you.”

“Me?” she gasped. She pressed down the stomacher of her dull gray gown and seated herself in one of the fireplace chairs. “I merely agreed with the child’s comment that Elena must have overstepped her bounds intentionally.” Her gaze shifted to me. “You knew full well she would be rejected. She said you would do this to get back at her and at the captain for supporting her in Bolton.” She looked up at me in defiance, eyebrows raised. “The very essence of her words.”

“I will bring Annie back.” Duncan caught my arm and pulled me toward him. “The sooner I leave the better. But first we must settle matters here.”

“My gracious, yes, you must,” the countess screeched, erect in her chair. “Make no mistake, young man, in my lord’s absence, I am in control here, as I have been for many, many months. You are a mere tool left me by the prince. You might remember that.”

“Countess Marie Louise,” he said with a rigid little bow in the countess’ direction. “Prince Rupert assigned me to act as his representative in this place, his chosen headquarters. Are you saying you tell the prince what to do?”

“No,” the woman quickly countered. A brilliant flush advanced from her chest to her cheeks. “But I tell you what to do. I require your oversight to secure the house and that is the sum of it. This is my lord’s property and you have no right—”

“But I do,” Duncan responded in a strong, chilling voice reminiscent of the prince. “I have given you every courtesy and consideration. Up to this moment, I have given you the full benefit of every doubt I have encountered in your actions here, as my prince required of me. That is finished. From now on I will follow the literal letter of my orders.”

“What orders? You are here as protection, no more.”

“That is not the case. Tor House is under my direct command in the prince’s stead. The earl passed his authority to the prince, and, in his absence, the prince to me. If you will remember, Countess, Lady Elena and Mistress Carey are under the particular protection of the prince, for which I shall be held accountable. In accordance with Prince Rupert’s agreement with your lord and husband, you have only the right of suggestion as to the security and upkeep of this house, bounds you have already exceeded. If you interfere again, I will be forced to confine you.” He pivoted and strode away.

“What?” My aunt’s lower jaw dropped. She regained her feet, her voice and her intent before Duncan reached the open doors at the west end of the room. “You dare threaten me,” she screamed. “Your prince’s own beloved cousin. I shall report you to the prince for outright rebellion, Captain, if not treason.”

He turned back to face her, his face and posture severe and unyielding. “You may do whatever you wish when the prince returns,” he said. A cast-iron smile rested uncomfortably on his face. “In the meantime, I will brook no interference in the running of this house. You will refrain from antagonizing Lady Elena, Mistress Carey, Annie, or any member of their staff.” His solemn gaze searched me out. “Elena, the matter of Annie will be under your control to do with as you please. I would like to see her join us at meals and, while I am here, to receive regular reports on her progress. As well, you may regain your discussions with Captain Wallace regarding the house guard and victualling the house.” His gaze snapped to the livid countess, who seemed to glare through him. “If you do not comply, Countess, I will confine you. Perhaps to that miserable tower where you recently imprisoned Lady Elena and Mistress Carey.”

He left the room in a brisk, no-argument-brooked pace, took the stairs two at a time by the rumbling sound that came up through the screens. His footsteps clacked away over the slate floor of the great hall, diminished, and were gone.

Marie Louise went to the screens and watched him go. She wrung her hands and turned back to me, her skirts whispering, her expression oddly melancholy.

“I had no idea my lord and husband literally turned the house over to the prince, and thereby to this upstart young man.”

“It is a time of war, Aunt. I doubt he had much choice. The prince can be very persuasive.”

“But now what do I do?”

“Why did you push Annie away?” I asked, still amazed at the needless problem a simple invitation had become. “She is but a mere girl, despite her appearance.”

“I had nothing to do with her actions. I told her she could not stay. It was the girl’s own words that upset the captain. I merely supported her belief.”

She watched me with a sly expression as I picked up my breakfast that languished on the edge of the table.

“You must intervene with Captain Comrie, my dear. He seems to listen to you. Tell him I wasn’t aware that I had limits to my authority.” She put a dramatic hand to her brow. “I shall perish should he imprison me.”

“Why did you not tell him this just now?” I turned toward her, my gaze locked on the humid shine of the black iron screens behind her. What had she seen . . . or heard?

“If there is nothing else I have learned in my life,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “it is to never argue with an angry man. There are other ways to get one’s point across. Since the war began and we moved here, the earl has been constantly away, leaving me no choice but to oversee and run the place as best I knew how.”

“I believe you had some help, Aunt,” I said, resentment boring into what patience I had left for this woman.

“Why—” Her little eyes widened. “—yes, of course. But now, I cannot believe my cousin the prince meant to do this to me. I feel certain he will make amends.”

“This is why you choose to accuse the captain?”

“Of course. The prince rescued me once; he will do so again. But the earl is quite another matter and that I am most concerned about. When here, the earl is committed to this fortress, as though it were some precious thing. Tor House might as well be a mistress, one I cannot compete with.” She sniffed and took her seat again near the empty fireplace, her mouth drawn down into the folds of her face. “You see, I fear he may set me aside, especially should I fail to protect Tor House. I am lucky even now to have him in my bed on occasion.” Her pathetic gaze caught my eye. “Do you not see?” she whined. “What would become of me? I dare say he could desert me and leave me destitute in this war-torn land.”

“And what would you have me do to change this?” I asked warily.

“In some ways you are no better than my lord, with your devotion to this ancient pile of haunted rock.”

“What do you mean?” I cried, offended at her unfair comparison, though a vague concern rose within me as to what experience she might have had of Amilie.

“You fail to understand.” She waved me aside as though I were a pesky fly. “Before we came here, my lord loved me. But this place, this obsession with removing your claim has devoured him. He sees his manhood in the very stones of Tor House. In fact, that is undoubtedly the basis for what has happened to me this day. All for the house. I am expendable.” With calculating eyes, she looked at me straight on, her mouth prim and flat-lipped. “What you must do is to stop interfering in the business of this residence. Submit to your uncle’s wishes, marry Gorgon, and depart. For that accomplishment, my lord will love me.”

An incident from last year came to mind. While my uncle was on the Isle of Man rounding up an army to defend the island against a possible invasion by the Scots, I had built up a garrison of three hundred men to defend Tor House and carefully topped off its supplies. I later learned that Marie Louise took credit for what I had done. This travesty had upset me, but at the time it had not seemed in my best interests to pursue the credit I deserved, so long as the house survived. Now, I understood why she would do such a thing.

“You would win your husband’s affections at the expense of everyone and everything around you?” I finished my honey-hardened bread, took a last swallow of milk, and looked at her with pity. She had not made this situation, was instead an unwilling participant trying to regain her husband’s love. Yet she had shown me no mercy. I quietly put the tumbler on the table and turned back to her, latent anger simmering in my veins.

She did not answer my question, but strutted off through the east door, probably to her rooms, to scream, to cry, whatever the woman did when she did not get her way.

When I entered my miserably hot rooms, Peg sat perkily atop the padded seat before my dressing table. Her tortoise-shell brush slid through her shiny auburn hair again and again.

“Where have you been the last two nights?” I asked, coming up beside her, hand on hip, demanding enough, but hardly overbearing.

“Do not ye lambaste me,” she said. She rose quickly and walked away to the round table beside the door where she plopped into one of the gilt chairs.

“Oh, that was most graceful.”

She glared at me, her flushed face an agony of apprehension.

“You are not going to put me off by acting insulted.” Slowly, I walked over to the table, sat to her left, and studied her pink cheekbones. A limp breeze from the open windows cooled my moist face. “I am the one who should be offended. You have not slept in these rooms for two nights. How was I to know you had not been murdered in some dark corner of the house? By the way, we will have a guest in our rooms. Duncan’s cousin, Annie.”

She shot me a startled look. “Where will she sleep?”

“On the trundle bed. Rosemunde will have to sleep in the servants quarters.”

“Oh.” She relaxed somewhat and studied me with interest. “This Annie is now thy friend?”

“I was mistaken about her.”

“And ye be wrong about me,” she announced, warring emotions rampant in her piercing gaze. “I have done nothing amiss.” Yet where she had been, at least the night before the prince departed, spoke like a litany in her beaming face.

“I did not say you had. But spending the night in Prince Rupert’s room is hardly ladylike conduct.” I wiped my face on the hand towel left on the table for that purpose, the warmth in the room overbearing. “I find it hard to believe that you came out still a virgin.”

“Ye will have to try harder, then, to believe,” she said, strikingly serious.

“Peg, please,” I said. Her attitude alarmed me.

“Please what, aye? The prince and I share the same desires for that between us. We would have sincerity. And besides, we get on famously. We spent the night in his rooms for privacy, yes, but I be still a virgin. Would ye like Mrs. Lowry to confirm this?”

“No, no.” I had to smile, having had a need for that kind of privacy myself very recently. “That is not necessary.” I waved a hand, feeling like a soldier waving a flag of truce. “I believe you.”

“Oh. Ye do? Well. Good.” She looked around and seemed to gather her bearings.

“What did you think I would do? I do not wish to see you hurt. A bastard growing in your stomach would be a disaster you would never overcome.”

“And where were ye that same night?” she asked, arched eyebrows raised.

“That is not your business.”

“See? I should hate to see a bastard growing in thy belly, as well.” She watched me covertly for some time, then apparently felt vindicated, for she patted my arm. “Have ye dreamed? I should ha’ been here for thee, I know. What have ye done in here that it smells so strong of roses?”

“The rouge melted and I spilled it.” I rose from the table and went to stand beside my bed before the open window. But the damp turgid air had ceased. The normally fluid curtains now hung taut and unyielding. I rubbed the nap of my heavy bed drapes between my fingers, considered climbing behind them into my bed to sulk, to consider, to think in dark comfort.

“Yes, I have dreamed,” I said, with considerable melancholy. “Two visions.” I returned to the table and told her my vision of sailing away and of my seizure by Gorgon. “He tried to take me by force. Though I never admitted to having dreams, he knows. Oh, Peg, he wants to harvest my dreams for his own gain.”

Her mouth opened in dismay. She clasped my hands tightly between hers to comfort me.

“I have the same dream, night after night.”

“The one of the great battle?”

“Yes. It keeps changing.

“So, ye think ye see the future, though it does not stay the same?” Her face blanked in incomprehension.

“Yes,” I said, hardly able to sum it up any better. “I think it may be the possible future.”

“Yet what is to come is what ye see, yea?” The skin around her dark eyes wrinkled in hard consideration.

“I think so. Every time I dream, I see more and more of this horrendous landscape, sometimes differently, as though the fine details are not yet set, the fabric of this battle unfinished. Like an artist would improve a painting until it met with the vision in his mind.”

The light at the open window wavered and dimmed. A blessed breeze swept through the room, flapping the curtains, the smell of rain behind it.

“Oh, I have known. I have known it.” Peg stood up, her face pale. Her gleaming hair flowed in the draft of air. She paced around the room and returned to me. “Ye have the sight.” She stood above me, a heavy hand on my shoulder and stared at my face, my eyes. “And ye scare me, Elena. For thyself, ye scare me.”

Her scrutiny pierced my sense of comfort. I returned her frantic stare, suddenly uncertain of her continuing loyalty. The cloying taste of roses hung at the back of my throat. The blood left my face, and I gulped noisily.

“So, with the prince gone, where were you last night?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Following Thomas.” She patted my hand and sat down as though nothing had changed between us and gave me a look of utmost civility.

“Why?”

“I took Bertram.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. Thomas be slick as an eel when he wishes to be, ye know.”

“You rode all day and half the night to find him innocent of whatever it was you suspected him of?”

“I think he met with a big, crop-haired Puritan and his Roundhead escort. I saw them. But I could not catch them together.”

“Peg, you must leave Thomas be.” I shook my head in disgust. “He has enough to do just to keep his head on his shoulders these days.” Still, the thought of my childhood friend in the company of the enemy did little to ease my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Early the following Sunday, Thomas and I strode arm in arm down the central hallway toward the great hall. The soaring windows shone in the distance, floating dust motes visible in the wide stream of morning sunlight. He had been missing some days after the departures of Gorgon and the Royalist Army, but had returned just the day before. The countess had objected to his presence, but Thomas simply avoided her, knowing she was essentially powerless at the present time. She was in the chapel tower now, probably on the second floor, which she preferred because it was near her rooms. Quiet dominated, accentuating the tap of our measured footsteps along the wide, stone corridor.

Thomas had changed markedly. He now wore elegant clothes of current style and color, where I had previously only known him to wear worn, old-fashioned dress. Today, it was a flamboyant white satin shirt with full sleeves and turned-back cuffs under a black, partially buttoned jerkin, and matching pants. His blossoming attitudes, now rich and outlandish, had before been restricted, though ambitious and generally bitter as a necessity of his blighted existence.

“I have been here all along, you know,” he said, with a wink at me. “In his absence, I am my lord’s eyes and ears.”

“What do you tell him of me?” I studied him with carefully restrained concern.

“What I wish to tell him, which is not much.” He waved a postured hand, dismissing my apprehension, then leaned toward me. A smirk settled across his lips. “Though I am most appreciative of Lord Gorgon’s patronage, I want you for myself, you see.” He stopped, and I with him. Both of us admired the room before us, the echo of our footsteps fading away.

The graceful curve of the stair, redone in the previous decade, loomed beside us in the sultry air. There had been hopeful showers early, but the day had come up hot and heavy. Thomas studied the chairs sunning on the dais and my gaze picked out the one central, oversized chair, the earl’s throne, at the center. Faint boot-steps sounded in the distance down the hall behind us.

“Gorgon is not an English lord, Thomas,” I said, ignoring his banter, as I had learned to do throughout our childhood.

“He is my lord and wishes to be addressed as such.”

“Address him as you wish then. I have no interest in the man and hope to be relieved of my betrothal to him. If I can show the earl that I can tend my duties and remain out of sight, no threat to him or his stupid countess, perhaps he will allow me to stay.”

“Well . . .,” he hedged, then finally smiled, one of his slow, patronizing shows of teeth that never made it to his dark eyes. “I still love you, Elena, no matter what happens with Lord Gorgon or your uncle.” His hand came around behind my shoulders and settled, warm on my upper arm. He pulled me close. A teasing smile played at the corners of his mouth, which moved toward mine.

“I have told you over and over. . .” I pushed him away, my face undoubtedly cross with irritation. “You are my dear friend. Anything beyond that is out of the question. Besides, my heart lies elsewhere.”

Thomas squinted at me, suspicion rampant on his darkening face. “My guess would be with the good captain, yes?”

At that moment Duncan strolled up behind us. He jerked Thomas across the hall, slammed him against the stone wall, and twisted his lace neck-piece tight in his fist. Thomas gasped for breath. Held in nerveless shock, unable to move, I witnessed these events in absurd slow motion.

“I saw that,” Duncan growled, his arms extended in murderous rage. “From this moment, stay away from Lady Elena. Or you will answer to me . . . and Prince Rupert.”

“Wait,” I finally cried. I pulled at Duncan’s rock-solid arm. “Stop. Leave him alone. Thomas is my friend.”

Duncan dropped his hands to his sides, and Thomas collapsed against the wall, caressing his neck with both hands.

“He was taking liberties, misleading you,” Duncan said, his face still frozen in a sneer, dark eyes kindled with hatred. “I could see it in him.”

“That is my affair.” Affront spiraled through my veins. “If I require your help, Captain Comrie, I shall advise you. Leave him alone,” I said, stone serious.

“Captain Comrie, is it now?” Duncan pivoted toward me, ruddy hair swinging around wide shoulders. His face brilliant with anger, he strode away forward through the great hall and out the entry doors.

I turned to find Thomas well down the hallway. He marched away toward the back of the house, his manner jerky, his face red. I was just as happy to see him go.

The smell of hot bread and venison wafted down from the gallery, breakfast awaiting the countess. My mouth watered, but I did not want to encounter my aunt.

So I returned to my rooms where Peg flayed a finger at a frustrated Annie, who was learning the basics of etiquette at meals. I sat down at my disturbed dressing table, every pot, brush, and container askew. Perhaps Annie had never had things like these. I shrugged, not really caring at the moment, and ran my fingers over the dressing table’s fine oiled surface.

Duncan had overreacted, and I could not blame him. How had I reacted at first sight of Annie hanging off his arm? Annie, who sat demurely across the room from me now, moving a tin knife and spoon around a wooden trencher. Yet it was too late for these thoughts. I had already alienated him.

Under Peg’s suspicious eye, I paced around our quarters, unsure what to do next. Consideration of my hope to break my betrothal, deliberation as to how to mend the rift I had created between Duncan and myself, and how to leave Thomas in peace at the same time heckled me. These issues required my undivided attention—in solitude. But I could not resort to my bed and the escape of sleep, though it seemed a convenient excuse. Dreams lingered there. Night after night, the colossal Royalist defeat waited to sweep me away yet again.

That vivid reality that I had experienced of a ship slamming across a windy sea had not returned. Hopefully that possibility had ended with my escape from Gorgon’s clutches.

In the end, I took one of my stiff, gilded chairs and sat down at the table, Peg and Annie by then intent at a game of draughts. They were well matched. Next game, I would play the winner. It was a diversion, until I could figure out what to do.

Duncan was nowhere to be found. When I inquired, Lieutenant Penrod, Wallace’s best officer, stood at precise attention, his protruding gray eyes alight and advised me that Captains Comrie and Wallace had gone for a long reconnaissance and should return soon.

Though I was dressed to ride, I found my own lengthy respite . . . in Amilie’s tower. No one was about when I stepped into the stable yard, and so I followed my inkling and entered the tower, which I had never before done in daylight. In the rose-scented air, the vague ghost quested around me in a sprightly manner. The hesitations and sudden touches put me in mind of a younger sister wanting to know where my lover had gone.

“He remains,” I announced to the dim, somehow organic room. “He is not about just now.”

Fingers slid across my cheeks, seeming to search for tears. Could she somehow sense my discomfiture? With a light pressure at my back and a gentle breeze, she led me to the roof stair, and let me through.

The roof was littered, just as it had always been. On closer examination, the leaf, dirt and rock debris appeared deeper though, forming wide shelving piles along the parapet wall. Did Amilie’s presence somehow attract this clutter? I wiped the grit off the bench and sat, feeling stiff and alone. My last moments in this place came to me, and I wished fervently for Duncan.

Finally alone with my thoughts, the truth of the situation with Thomas came full upon me. Because, by his own admission, he was Gorgon’s creature, I should avoid him, no matter my old feelings of trust and support which were left over from a childhood admittedly long gone. Of all people, I knew Thomas’ manipulative, greedy ways. He would survive without my friendship; it was his nature, but I dared no longer trust him. I vowed to approach Duncan as soon as I saw him and apologize.

Careful to emerge unseen, I left Amilie’s tower and made my way to the stable. I saddled my great bay, mounted and rode out only to find Wallace before me, waving me aside. He and Duncan must have returned. My stomach went suddenly hollow with anticipation.

“Where is Duncan?”

“At the gate towers, my lady. A force approaches. You must remain with me. Come.” He raised a commanding hand to help me dismount.

My spurred heels jabbed my mount’s sides. “Apologies, Captain,” I called back to a frowning Wallace as I whipped past him on Kalimir at a full gallop. I drove my stallion along the stable road at the west side of the house, past the courtyard, and out the inner gate.

Duncan was mounted on an irritable Ajax, one pistol drawn. He obstructed the way through the open front gate. Anyone could simply walk around him in the wide gateway, but threat was apparently his intent.

Movement from above caught my eye. The massive towers that sided the gateway were crawling with armed men, marksmen with fowling pieces, who moved into place in the crenellations along the tall battlements on the roofs of the sun-drenched towers. Duncan had returned at an opportune time, though from Captain Wallace’s attitude I suspected they had seen the approach of this force and raced back to Tor House to confront them.

Was it Rigby again, that Parliamentary colonel who had kept us so long behind our walls? I settled Kalimir and waited anxiously. Our food stuffs were replenished and the house guard comfortably expanded from Duncan’s recruiting around the area. If it came to it, we could hold the house.

Framed by the open outer gate, a force of men in tunics appeared in the open meadow, still some distance away. A good look at the consistent, gray tunics brought home the bitter truth. Their broad, menacing leader urged his men into a gallop with a sweeping wave of his arm. This was no Roundhead threat. The distant sounds of hammering hooves, the chink of metal and the creak of leather, hurled toward us in the form of a hundred men or more. It was Gorgon, returned in strength.

Duncan turned back, his highly-colored face shiny with perspiration in the relentless heat, and brought his stallion up beside mine. Kalimir snorted and danced in objection.

“I will keep him out if I can.”

“Why do you not use our defenses?” I blared back at him, anger heating my face. “Close the gate. Close the portcullis. Pull up the drawbridge.” Though it was too late for that. “Keep him out, for God’s sake.” I glared at him, my chest heaving in fury.

“I cannot.” He set his jaw. “I am empowered to preserve this house against Parliamentary attack, not against potential allies. I understand your situation and will attempt to defray him. I can give you time if you wish to flee. But you need to go now.” His look softened, though Ajax chose that moment to shift under him. “I apologize for the other day. You are my heart.”

“As you are mine.” Every injustice melted away in the heat of sudden arousal. “It is I who was wrong. Forgive me. I will stay.”

“Though you are endangered?” he asked with grim hopefulness.

“I stand with you.”

We clasped sweaty hands across our blowing horses. Welcome strength flowed from his grip into my fearful, flagging spirit. He reined Ajax around, and I followed him as he resumed his position under the open gate’s substantial archway, where we at least had some relief from the sun’s pounding rays.

The approaching force slowed as it neared the other end of the drawbridge and finally came to a stop there. Heavy dust blew up my nose and I sneezed. Gorgon’s bulky girth was magnificently arrayed for war in gleaming breast plate and plumed helmet. Alone, he clattered across the bridge atop a black great horse with hairy white fetlocks. His steed clopped into the gate’s shadow where Gorgon reined him in beside Duncan, the great horse overshadowing even Duncan’s substantial Ajax.

“Well, well. Captain Comrie,” Gorgon said in a carrying whine. From under his helmet, trickles of sweat ran into his beard and brows. “Why this stance? What do you fear?” A sly smile compressed his mouth, demonstrating the scar in his beard. With a lustful stare, he then looked me over as he would a prize brood mare.

“You are not welcome here, Steward Gorgon. We would that you return from wherever you came,” Duncan challenged in a deep, spirited voice, pulling Gorgon’s gaze back to him.

“Oh?” Gorgon’s face vacillated between red and purple. With a great effort, he controlled himself. “Does not your prince desire recruits for his attempt on York?” He twisted in his saddle and held out a demonstrative hand toward his rough-looking men waiting at the other end of the drawbridge. “These are experienced fighters, worth three times their number in raw recruits. But before going to war, I am here to claim my bride and her house. Move aside.”

“And I represent Prince Rupert’s wishes,” Duncan called out. “This house and the heiress, among other people, remain under his protection.”

“That has been made abundantly clear to me,” Gorgon rasped. He cringed in hatred and fury. To gain entry, he needed to get around us. Yet now, when he expected capitulation, he was forced to use persuasion, where normally he would simply gut any man who challenged him. I had seen him do it. His hand moved to his sword hilt, and his face curled into in an intense sneer. “However, I do not conduct talks with subordinates. Your prince and I will discuss this matter . . . upon his return. Move aside.”

“Take no liberties, Gorgon,” Duncan said, his words tense with threat. He reined back, leaving the way clear.

The steward signaled his men with a violent swing of his arm, and they clattered onto the drawbridge. Gorgon’s steed broke into a canter, but his forward momentum was cut short with a brutal wrench of the reins, directly in front of me.

“You attack the earl and dare return here?” I asked, giving him no quarter. The ripple of Kalimir’s tense muscles under my knees heightened the sense of danger that emanated from this man, and I reined him in hard.

“He lives. That between us was of no import.” He looked me over once more with an intense smile. “My dear beloved, why are you here at the gate astride that horse? I am impressed at your ardor, but don’t ladies generally greet their loved ones at the house steps?”

“I have no need or desire for you, Edward Gorgon. I reject your suit. And, by the by, I follow no one’s rules, maybe especially yours.”

“A worthy bride.” His smile widened. A thin tongue licked at dried, barely visible lips within his beard, bushier than when I had seen him last.

Disgusted, I touched my spurs to Kalimir’s flanks and he leapt away, carrying me through the inner gates. There, Thomas stood conveniently positioned at the entry steps beside the countess. The two of them eyed one another in choked distress, then gawked in unison as I flew by.

Peg had left Annie in our rooms dressed suitably in one of my old serge gowns that buttoned to the neck. Rosemunde must have done her hair, for the girl’s straight blond tresses were pulled into a neat knot at the base of her skull. Her welcoming smirk and duly lowered eyes greeted me when I entered our rooms.

“A lady we have here now,” I said in a kindly fashion, still struggling to befriend the girl. “Where has Peg gone?”

“She didna say,” she said with a glare at me. Her gaze followed me around the room. She lowered her eyes when I turned toward her. “And Duncan? I ha’ not seen him for days.”

“He is below with a guest. I shall have him look in on you. I think he will be pleased with your appearance.”

In answer, she threw her chin up in defiance, but could not quell the pleased blush that crept into her cheeks.

I stripped off my riding habit and changed into a simple black housedress. The girl remained standing, awaiting something. Her tenacious eyes followed me intently.

“If I take you to the mid-day meal, will you behave?” I had a secondary motive in this offer, but Annie desperately needed to get out and practice her new-found skills, though her language would take considerably more work. She had been at Tor House for almost two weeks now. Despite her initial pouting ways, she was actually quite intelligent. She had shown a clear aptitude for and interest in learning, though she had remained sequestered in our rooms, her meals brought to her, allowed out only on short forays with myself or Peg. This was the case, not to confine her, but to protect her in her early learning stages from Marie Louise’s acid tongue.

Her face brightened. “Will Duncan be there?” she asked.

“Possibly. But you must keep silent and act the part of a lady, as Peg and I have taught you. No swinging hips and no fingers in the food.”

“I promise, Lady Elena,” she said fervently, though distrust of me remained in her strange hazel eyes.

“Let me see your curtsy. Good. Just a little wobbly. Let us go to the gallery and practice, shall we?”

As it turned out, Duncan was not present in the gallery. It was not uncommon for him to take his food throughout the day straight from the kitchen, as Wallace did on a regular basis. Beyond that, though it would be our guard captain’s responsibility to find quarters for Gorgon’s troops or to declare that they must camp outside the walls, Duncan was assuredly overseeing their disposition. Or some problem had arisen. Duncan had always insisted that house security came before all else, which I agreed with, though his presence at this time might have helped relieve my sense of looming disaster. As it was, Annie was my witness and thereby a deterrent.

I was not surprised to find Gorgon there. He lounged in the larger of the two fireplace chairs, a goblet in his hand, still in his dusty travel tunic. His helmet, breast and back plates had been thrown down beside the chair. Thomas resided in the second, smaller chair, self-congratulation written all over his face. The heavy-set countess sat, white-faced, at the family table farther down the long gallery, beyond the fireplace, and opposite the screens.

After a quick curtsy of my own, and her elbow solidly within my grasp, I presented Annie to Gorgon.

“This is Annie McGuire, a guest in this house.” I had been surprised at Annie’s surname, but accepted it without question. She was his father’s sister’s child, Duncan had informed me. “Annie, this is Steward Gorgon, of the Isle of Man.”

I released her and Annie dropped into a tight little curtsy. She arose with a flush of success and, after a similar introduction to Thomas, I urged her toward the long sideboard, which was crammed with sliced veal, pulled pork, a small wheel of cheese, a huge meat pie, loaves of hot bread, a tray of comfits, and several beakers of wine. Despite her disappointment at not finding Duncan present in the gallery, she stepped forward sedately, took a plate, served herself a portion of the meat pie with the appropriate utensil, then took a seat at the table, looking lost and hungry.

I lingered at the sideboard, where I carefully sliced myself a piece of bread, and with a pointed table knife politely stabbed a few slices of the thin-sliced, succulent veal and took a wedge of cheese, after which I joined Annie and the countess at the table, where tall, pewter tumblers of water were set at each place setting.

The countess sat at the head of the table. She ate her meal, ignoring our presence, though the white face I had seen on our entry into the room was now a brilliant pink.

“I understand from the steward,” the countess said with a sudden explosion of breath, her small eyes gleaming. She indicated Gorgon with an adjustment of her gaze in his direction. “. . . that Captain Comrie was deprecatory and overbearing at the gate.”

I leaned across the table into her line of sight. “The captain was doing his duty, Aunt.”

“Duty, you say?”

The clank of Marie Louise’s spoon thrust down onto the table startled Annie, who jumped, her glowing skin suddenly pale.

“Things have changed, my dear,” the countess prated on.

“Not at all,” Gorgon interrupted in an amiable manner. “Let the good captain run his ship.”

“This ship is my home,” I stated flatly in answer to Gorgon, though my gaze remained relentlessly on Annie across the table from me.

“Of course,” he said, in pompous irritation. “But I have received intelligence on my ride from the coast that Prince Rupert holds Liverpool. Once the prince returns—”

“I shall report the captain and his abominable treatment of myself, and of you, Steward, directly to my cousin.” Marie Louise threw a condescending nod toward Gorgon.

It amazed me that she dared interrupt him, no matter how covert her true intent. How could she not know of his brutal nature?

“And then we shall see who controls the house and the entry of guests,” the countess finished, with a flat-lipped frown directed at Annie, whose gaze remained locked on her food.

Gorgon glared at the countess in silent menace, his mouth clamped shut, his chapped right hand twitching.

“I feel certain,” she continued blithely, “from your detailed description of the event that prompted your recent departure from this place that the earl will in fact completely agree with you, enforce the terms of the betrothal, and you shall finally be married.”

Astonished at her words, I twisted my head at her with a frown of disbelief.

Gorgon sat up in his chair and bowed his head toward my obese aunt, who returned his bow with a look of flushed victory.

“Thank you, Countess. You describe my thoughts exactly.” His gaze floated beyond the countess to me, where he raised his eyebrows knowingly, and then went on to survey Annie, who discreetly lowered her eyes, struggling to retain her ladylike conduct, yet unsure how to react.

“I was deeply hurt that Captain Comrie suspected me of attempting, of all things, to attack this fortress,” he continued in a heavy, grating voice, though his complete lack of sincerity amazed me. “I could not so much as scratch the walls, if you, Countess, chose to prevent me. Your understanding and deeply felt respect warm me.” His manner changed abruptly to angry invective. “You see, I will take what I want in my own good time. I am destined to rule and I find it hard to accept restraint forced upon me by such lowly creatures as that heathen captain.” A loud laugh lightened his intensity. “He is no more than a cowardly underling attempting to usurp your authority, Countess.”

“Yes, dear Steward, how right you are,” Marie Louise crooned in an appreciative gush of relief. She pushed her plate imperiously aside and left the table to join Gorgon in the nest of chairs around the cold hearth.

I stared back and forth between the two of them, at their insane presumption that I, whose house this was, was not even present.

But Gorgon hauled his big frame out of the chair where he had remained up to this time. He put his empty goblet on the table, went to the sideboard, and took a large helping of meat pie, the remainder of the cheese, and cut himself three thick slices of bread.

“Come, Thomas, eat.”

It was unlike Thomas to refrain from eating any food available, wherever he found it. Now that Gorgon had invited him, he jumped up, took a plate, and joined the steward at the sideboard.

A loud “humph” issued from the countess, left alone and awkward in her chair before the fireplace.

Plates full, Gorgon and Thomas came to the table and sat on each side of me in the high-backed chairs. Gorgon’s dusty sleeve rubbed against my arm.

Little Paul Simpson appeared with fresh wine and filled their waiting wine goblets. I smiled at him, for I had not seen him in some time, but he never looked up. He finished his duty and left quickly and quietly.

Annie sat opposite us. She seemed intimidated, yet entranced by Gorgon. Her cheeks plumped up now as she smiled coyly at Thomas, who reciprocated with his old arm-stretching self-appreciation.

“Hello there,” he said to Annie.

Gorgon’s hand hit the table in anger, rocking everything on it, and creating small waves in the wine goblets and water tumblers. “I did not give you permission to speak, Mr. Reedy. I must have silence while I eat.”

“Forgive me, my lord.”

Mollified by Thomas’ response, Gorgon fastidiously cut the chunk of cheese into thin slices, which he put into his meat pastry, then proceeded to take a mouthful of the pie, carefully including a cheese tidbit in each bite. Each portion was precisely followed by a small chunk of bread and chased by a measured gulp of wine. He eyed me solemnly as he ate, undoubtedly planning his next avenue of attack.

My discomfort around him left me desperately unsure.

“Excellent meal, Countess,” Gorgon finally said. He wiped off his spoon with his napkin and placed it beside his bowl with a gust of satiated appreciation. “I was starved. Please forgive me for attending without changing out of my riding apparel.” He slapped a sleeve and dust spewed around the room.

Though the countess appeared prepared to respond, she closed her mouth and apparently thought better of it when Gorgon let out an arrogant laugh, as though he had told a hilarious joke.

“You are very sweet and appreciative,” Gorgon said to Annie. He poked his forefinger into the dimple in her cheek.

Annie put her hand to her face, uncertain and shaky at his compliment. Her gaze tracked to my face. “Than’ ee, kine sir,” she responded, against all advice.

Gorgon’s eyes opened in subdued amazement.

“A little more work there, eh?” the countess said with sour disdain.

Under Gorgon’s stark, disturbing stare, Annie and I finished our food, no fingers, no further conversation, and quickly returned to the safety of our rooms.

Chapter Fifteen

Too anxious to remain cloistered in my room, I took Kalimir out for an extended ride, avoided more than one desperate looking character, and evaded what appeared to be a Roundhead scouting party. The land truly was not safe. By the time I returned to the house late in the evening, I was sore and starving.

The stable boy took my horse and I limped, aching in every muscle, to the door that led into the back hall. It was warped and difficult to get through at the best of times. A shove with my shoulder pushed it open, but only halfway. From within, Duncan jerked the door open and offered his hand to me. Under his gentle guidance, I entered and we stepped back into the shadow of the corner leading into the lower south corridor.

All day I had yearned for his touch, his voice, his presence. I extended my arms to embrace him, but he held me in place with an outstretched hand.

“I have something to tell you while there is time. These men with Gorgon were told they would be taking over for the house guard.”

“Have you warned Wallace?” Hand at my throat, I stepped away in distress.

“Of course. The guard has been doubled and is on high alert. Our advantage is that we know their intent.”

“How did you find this out?”

“We helped one of their soldiers to a bottle or two of good wine, and he cracked like a ripe melon.”

“And that bastard is treating Marie Louise like a long lost sister,” I said in disgust.

“He’s waiting. He changes his tactics to match the landscape.”

I remembered the prince’s comment—My most trusted officer, a brilliant tactical strategist—and felt a surety in Duncan’s words that went far beyond simple trust.

“You are his way into this place. You must be very careful. Keep people around you. I will be close by, though you may not see me. I dare not challenge him directly. That is for the prince to do, if he so chooses.” He looked suddenly, desperately unsure. “Though you must understand that the prince’s priorities are elsewhere.”

With a furtive reach, he took my hand, and caressed the palm with his thumb. The passion between us leapt and flared. His longing gaze held mine. I reached for him, needing to hold him and to be held safe in his strong arms.

Footsteps rang out along the corridor. I looked that way, felt an emotional wrench, a separation, and in that moment Duncan was gone.

I urgently needed a bath, but did not have the privacy in my rooms to indulge in a barrel bath and so washed at length from the basin, Rosemunde having to refill the ewer numerous times. A knock came at our door and Annie came in to the dressing room, all afluster.

“Thomas is here to see you,” she said, excited.

I studied her in bland irritation. Then it struck me that perhaps Thomas had something important to tell me. It was not like him to seek me out. Maybe, after all, he had decided to abandon Gorgon’s patronage. With a thrill of expectation, I decided to take the chance, ready to do anything I could to avoid Gorgon and his intentions.

“Ask him if we could meet in an hour,” I told Annie. Should I steal away or even subvert Gorgon’s spy, my position would be all the stronger.

“He will meet you in the gallery,” Annie relayed moments later.

Finally clean and clothed in a fresh gown and wearing my good black mules, I fluttered about the room like a trapped bird. Anxious to see what Thomas wanted, I left Peg and a newly confident Annie working on proper social conversation, their pulled-down beds awaiting them.

My rooms were on the upper southeast corner of the stronghold, beside Amilie’s tower. To avoid the private tower entry on the east corridor, where Gorgon was likely to be, I moved quietly down the long south hallway until I came to the west passage, which connected to a short expanse of the watch-tower stair and thereby to the gallery.

I opened the doors on an empty room. Dinner had gone on without me, it seemed, for the picked-over sideboard had not yet been cleared away. With an available table knife, I stabbed a slice of ham off the tray, and munched contentedly. I quickly grew tired of waiting in the oppressive humidity, and finally descended the great stair, my wooden heels clicking on the steps. When I reached the bottom, the loud scrape of a footstep sounded atop the stair. It was Gorgon, not Thomas, who grinned down at me with obsessive pleasure.

“Come to me, woman,” he commanded as he moved quickly down the stair behind me.

I fled down the main hallway.

Another figure began to walk toward me from the far end of the hall. It was Thomas, his wavy brown hair tousled, as though he had been running. With a rueful grin, he spread his arms to collect me. That action confirmed my sudden suspicion that Gorgon had used him to deceive me.

At the next intersecting passage, I raced up the left corridor that led to the library on the lower level of the private tower. I took a quick look back down the hall, where the two men met. Gorgon waved Thomas away and ran toward me. His bulk in no way impeded his ability to run, and he quickly closed the gap between us.

The library was, of course, locked. I did not even try it, but rushed up the tight, dark stair toward the second floor guest room.

Behind me, footsteps stumped heavily onto the stairs. If the second floor entry was clear, I should be able to outrun him. The dry, slightly acrid smell of the walls closed around me like a tomb. To overcome this disabling sensation, I concentrated on my feet, forcing them quickly up the narrow, unlighted stairway.

I topped the stair and turned left into the open archway, where a single sconce illuminated the entry. A heavy step sounded behind me, and a muscular arm collected me like so much bagged chaff.

“Put me down,” I demanded.

He lowered me to my feet. His hand still on my arm, I turned into Gorgon’s despicable, bearded face.

“You want to see me so badly you come flying into my arms, eh?” This comment I assumed pertained to my coincidental presence at the lower entrance to his quarters. His strong hand tightened on my upper arm.

“Get away from me.”

“You want to keep your home, do you not?”

“You have broken any faith you might have had with my uncle.” I struggled to break his hold on my arm.

“Not at all, my dear.” A deep, resonant chuckle bubbled out of him. “Our betrothal is not so easily broken. But we can hurry things along by consummating our union. Come, let us finish what we started before the earl interrupted us.” His gaze probed mine, the heat of his desire clear and malicious. “I need your seer’s mind, your sensual, lavender-scented skin. Engulf me, Elena.”

“You only want Tor House.”

“As do you. Come with me.” He released my arm and attempted to embrace me within his bulk, but stopped and cocked his head, listening.

At that moment, a sword slid artfully between us, its flat edge slipping past my face. With a truncated gasp, I froze.

Gorgon took an instantaneous leap backwards, dropping his hold on me. The blade followed him and pinned him against the curve of the archway, pressing hard into his chest.

Footsteps rushed upward. The countess puffed onto the landing behind a grim-faced Duncan, who stood at the other end of that long sword, his arm extended in knotted solidarity, an incongruous love lock hanging loose beside his face.

“You would deflower the heiress when you have no continued agreement with my lord?” cried the breathy countess, still in the pink house dress she had worn much earlier in the day. She brought up her fan and fluttered it prodigiously, her jowls wet with perspiration.

“My betrothed beckons me,” Gorgon spit at her. “Get out of my way. Call off your watch dog.”

“You will lay no hand on Elena until you are married.”

The sword moved and Gorgon yelped, bright blood spreading over his fine coat.

“I will do as I please. You, sir,” he snarled at Duncan, “are a dead man.” He gasped for breath. In the shadows, his long eyeteeth resembled viper’s fangs emerging from his beard.

Duncan withdrew the sword, but watched for the slightest movement from the devious steward. He smiled his wide, white smile, no humor in it, inviting Gorgon to try, but the larger man turned, took the steps up to his third-story quarters, and slammed the upper door behind him.

“What . . .?” I gaped at these two unlikely comrades.

In one quick, shielding motion, Duncan’s arms enfolded me, a kiss touched the top of my head, and he stepped back, aware of the countess’ continued presence. Lips compressed, his face soured in intense dislike as he deferred to her.

“The captain saw the steward follow you up the stair,” the stout countess explained, her overgrown eyebrows pushed together in disapproval. “He broke into a run, and I made him wait for me. I want no murder on my hands. In terms of your virtue, Elena, I felt it my responsibility to protect my husband’s interest in this matter.” She gave me a look of utmost discomfort, the fan flipping across her face again.

“Of course. I should have realized.” I looked aside in chagrin.

They accompanied me to my room where I was forced to say goodnight to Duncan with the countess’ stern glare over his shoulder.

“Annie has been wanting to see you,” I said to Duncan, hopefully.

“Not tonight. The morrow will do,” the countess croaked with a huff. “The captain must see me to my quarters as well. We are none of us safe from Gorgon now.”

They turned away. I closed my door and stripped off my clothes in the dark. Sick with concern for my situation, I slipped into bed without tripping on the trundle bed or stepping on Annie. I snuggled beneath the cool sheets. My mind played over my options, but before any ideas or solutions could emerge, I fell into a deep sleep.

The dream came, this time . . . to the sound of a sudden trumpet blast.

“Ironsides away,” screamed a man from far beyond a tangled line of hedgerows that lined a ditch.

Royalist musketeers scrambled out of the trees where they were meant to be a deadly sniper force to stationary mounted troops beyond the ditch. The foot solders struggled to retreat as the leather and thunder sound of a sudden enemy cavalry charge flooded their hearing.

As the Parliamentary cavalry made their move, the Royalist Horse rushed into a long wobbly line, men still loading their charges and unsure of their positions, as though they had been taken unaware. They pulled up quickly in tight formation and at their captain’s scream, pulled their pistols and charged. But the Parliamentary troops were already over the ditch and among the Royalist musketeers, whose position between two opposing cavalry charges left them milling around in confusion. They fell back upon one another in useless attempts to get out of the line of fire.

Pistols discharged, horses screamed, men cried, as the charge disintegrated into a monumental hand-to-hand struggle, the sound of clashing swords accentuating the enormous effort taking place in the smoke-tainted air.

At the back center of the battlefield, the red-cloaked lifeguard troop clustered around their tall general. The commander’s arm went up and, as one, the elite force galloped to the Royalist right rearguard, where men stood in hopeless disarray. A bounding blur of white followed them.

“Damn, do you flee?” a voice screamed. The tall commander twisted in his saddle to encompass every man within his sight. “Follow me.”

My heart clenched, for there was no question as to the identity of that rousing voice.

Prince Rupert led the second charge into the melee in support of his overrun right. Pistols went off in a unanimous shattering volley. Swords came out with a metallic clang, the tide of the battle a long uneven rush of push and shove, kill and be killed. Men hacked at one another in the heavy smoke. Horses screamed and went down. Men grunted, groaned, and strived. The earth, purged red, trembled with their effort.

I awoke, my limbs shaking, to sore, reluctant muscles, and the dream’s slow seep from my mind. My head felt like it was stuffed with shifting rocks. Excruciating sunlight blasted through my eyes when I threw back my bed drapes. I clamped shaky hands to my head.

Peg, brush in hand, and Annie watched me accusingly from the table by the doorway.

“What?” I croaked at them.

“I heard what the countess said when you came in last night,” Annie said in her provocative manner. “And Peg thinks—”

“The countess is right, for once. Ye should heed her word. Gorgon has a black heart, remember?”

“Thank you for asking Duncan in to see me,” Annie said quietly, looking uncomfortably at her hands, as though they were the last words she wanted to say to me, of all people, her perceived competition.

“Are ye sick?” Peg rushed over to me, took my shuddering hands and held them against her chest. Her face changed, suddenly intent. “No, ye’re pale as death. A dream ye’ve had now?”

I shook my head in a quick, painful negative. How could I ever explain to Peg what I had seen and felt on that monumental battlefield? Who I had seen would undo her.

Peg made a sound of disgust, her troubled gaze still on me.

Chapter Sixteen

On a sweltering Monday in mid-June, Prince Rupert and the Royalist Army returned to Tor House. Though light showers had cooled the house and its environs overnight, the day had come up unseasonably hot, muggy, and still. The humidity exacted its toll on the army in general, which took the better part of the day to set up camp outside the walls. Musketeer buff coats stood open and loose to allow their owners to breathe, most of the arriving cavaliers’ gear relegated to a roll behind their mount’s saddles. Horses were curried and let out to a well-earned, quickly enclosed pasture. Water was in high demand, house and personal servants making constant trips to fill the troughs and containers required by the army, which would have to be continued until soldiers could re-open the ditch from the spring they had used previously. The artillery finally arrived and settled closest to the walls, their horses and oxen joining the steeds already at pasture.

I had avoided Gorgon since his most recent attempt to take me, and so, it was with a breath of relief that I stood beside the haughty countess and watched the prince, white Boye bouncing along beside him, the earl, and the prince’s lifeguard come through the inner gates. Relief and yet deep concern assailed me, for Duncan was out on a long-planned raid to Bury. Gorgon took full advantage of Duncan’s absence. He strutted along the top of the steps with a grandiose sneer, like the lord he considered himself to be.

I greeted the prince, who wore a peaked, white-plumed helmet over his long black hair, a breast plate, his legs covered in leather greaves. Boye bounded up to Peg and then to me. I patted his tangled curly coat. I waved at Sergeant Burke, his scarlet lifeguard cloak and those around him uncannily familiar from my nightly dreams.

“How have things gone?” my uncle asked with a genial nod. He took my hand, gently this time.

“I ask that you note my care of the house. May I speak with you at the earliest possible moment?”

His expression hardened and he passed through the receiving line and into the entry without response, the first to enter. At this, the countess and I looked at one another with widened eyes and raised eyebrows. It was proper etiquette for the prince to precede any lord of the land.

Luckily for my uncle, the prince was either tired or preoccupied, for he entered without reaction to the earl’s breach of conduct. This was not like the prince, who generally insisted on precedence, going so far as to physically remove men from his path. Nor was the prince in a mood to deal with Gorgon’s antics. He simply passed him by without greeting or comment and followed the earl into the great hall.

Later in the day, I attempted to see my uncle to plead my case. He, the steward, and the prince were in deep consultation in the library and had been for many hours.

“I must see the earl,” I demanded of Sergeant Burke, the apparent head of the lifeguards gathered before the entry.

He immediately stepped within the library. Within moments, he returned, closing the door securely behind him.

“You are not to return to this library. The earl’s words, my lady,” he said, unable to blunt the impact of their meaning. “Lord Devlin will summon you if he wishes to speak with you.”

My face held rigid, I walked sedately away.

Though the prince would moderate those things that affected him and his men, Gorgon was certainly in that room making demands. I stood in the hall beyond the private tower arch, fingers quivering against my lips. Doubts as to my position and my ability to retain my home assailed me, immediate and pressing.

I turned into the short hallway that led to the central stair, that stairway closest to my rooms, only to find Thomas in my path. He leaned against the wall in easy unconcern, apparently waiting for me. With a haughty smile, he put out his other arm and gathered me to him.

“You must not touch me.” I wriggled out of his embrace. “Nor do I want any more of your advice. You may no longer attend me.” This had to be done. His allegiance to Gorgon was reason enough.

He jerked back into the wall as though I had slapped him. “Just that easily, you discard me for Duncan,” he accused me in an urgent upper octave. Hatred writhed in his face.

“You are my friend,” I said gently. My heart went out to him, my long-time companion. “Just no longer my confidante.”

He stared at me in contempt and tramped off.

Disturbed by this scene, I returned to my quarters, where I felt safest.

Soon thereafter, I was surprised by an early dinner delivered to the three of us in our rooms. With considerable irritation, I found myself and my friends excluded from the evening victory feast by the countess’ order, which was her right now that the earl had returned.

The evening dragged on into night and I remained silent in my room, reading a poorly printed novel that Thomas had given me years earlier. The subject was a lovesick maid whining around a lord who ignored her. While I read, Peg left without explanation. I did not get through fifty pages before I threw the book down in disgust.

Annie kept busy attaching a length of French lace to one of her old dresses. With little choice, I went to bed early, steeling myself for the changes in my dream, for the detail now had become unique and recognizable, the fabric of events tightening into place.

But I did not dream and awoke fresh and eager the following morning. I was up and about the house early, anxious for Duncan’s return, and for Peg, who had not returned in the night. I had grave suspicions as to her whereabouts. I had not found her in any of her familiar haunts and was on my way to the watch-tower when beyond the great hall’s solemn darkness the blaring light of torches and muted sounds of departure drew my attention.

I flew down the steps and across the hall to the entry, unable to muffle my heels on the great chamber’s slate floor. Through the open doors, a bright dawn radiated over the distant eastern hills. The early morning simmered like a banked fire, which did not bode well for the coming day.

The countess stood atop the steps. Her horse, with its distinctive tooled side saddle, awaited her just beyond a wagon in the process of being loaded. A party of six Manx troopers waited closer to the gate. She was dressed in her stylish, wine-colored riding habit. Her dejected gaze followed two moths as they circled one of the entry torches, slowly decreasing their circle until one of them expired on a sudden sizzle of flame.

“Good morning, Countess,” I said quietly.

Moments passed. The two of us watched the expanding white light where the sun would soon broach the eastern horizon.

“I feel for you, Elena,” Marie Louise said finally. She surveyed me with an unlikely look of sorrow and put a comforting hand on mine.

That incredible act was so unlike her that I shook my head to clear away what seemed like imbedded cobwebs in my mind. But that reassuring palm remained. The warmth of her flesh quickly became sticky and uncomfortable in the heavy atmosphere.

“What is happening here?” I asked, as Ipulled away.

“I am off to the isle, sent away actually.”

“Alone?” Only two horses were saddled. There was no sign of additional travelers. I studied the shadows beyond the steps for evidence of skulking footmen set to truss me up and throw me bodily onto the second horse or into the wagon.

“No. I have my guard, a small convoy provided from among the steward’s men.” She hesitated, then blurted out “And Father Theobald. What better escort could I ask for?”

“Father Theobald?” I slumped in graceless shock, my mouth hanging open. “But he has to be the only priest in Lancashire, if not in the northland.”

“He is my personal priest,” she crowed.

“Yes, he is.” I was not about to remind her that Father Theobald was also necessary for any marriage the earl and the steward planned to foist off on me. I struggled to keep a straight face. It struck me then that she knew very well what she was doing.

In the rising light, the inlaid top of a large oak chest, dark with age, shone in its position where it had been shoved up under the wagon seat. I frowned and shook my head, for there lay the answer to Mrs. Lowry’s ongoing questions, and the fulfillment of my own suspicions, as to where the best linens had gotten off to. The chest had been my father’s. It had always held the earl’s linens and stood at the foot of his bed.

“I might as well tell you,” the countess said with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. She pointed a pudgy, accusing finger at me. “As I promised I would do, yesterday I complained to Prince Rupert about Captain Comrie’s insubordination. The prince was respectful, though noncommittal. But later, despite our close relation, he questioned my lord’s ability to control his wife. At that time, Steward Gorgon apparently presented a sly case of female mismanagement against me, which my lord and the prince accepted without question. A hurtful betrayal,” she huffed, her old self for the moment.

“Steward Gorgon can be a deceitful beguiler.”

Servants scuttled around us with a heavy chest. The aroma of spices floated past me. Hopefully, she had not completely stripped the spice cabinet. She had certainly had the opportunity when she orchestrated the prior night’s festivities.

“You have known this? That’s right, you knew him on the isle before the war. Why did you not warn me?”

A soft boom sounded as the arriving chest dropped into the wagon bed.

“Would you have believed me?”

“Probably not.” A great sigh escaped her. She wiped at her face and neck with a lace-edged handkerchief, the aroma of spices mingling with her underarm odor. “Why is it so abominably hot? The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“The isle will be cooler.” I regained my poise, lost by these multiple revelations, and studied her in genuine concern. “The earl has sent you away?”

“Something has come over him, Elena.” She nodded slowly, her tight-lipped mouth turned down in dismay. “He did not rail against me, nor did he hit anything or anyone. He was perfectly calm and explained that he could not accept my overlooking his authority, for it had embarrassed him greatly. But he forgave me and insisted that he needed me safely away.”

“Do you believe him?

“Yes. I suspect the steward demanded my departure, though it seems to be what my lord truly desires. It is hard to tell, the earl is so serious, so distant.”

“Could it be the push to York?”

Yet another chest dropped into the wagon bed.

“I cannot imagine it. He has often spoken of what a great honor it is to serve with the prince.”

I nodded, though bitter experience had shown me that what the earl said was not necessarily what he meant.

“Oh, here,” she whined. She dropped the household keys into my hand. “We held this house against besiegers, you and I, yet our word as women carries no weight.”

The convenient we now.

“You should know women are overlooked and underrated,” she went on, her voice rising. “That is one of the things that has always infuriated me about you, Elena. Your high opinion of yourself. You have never kept to your station in life, as though social rules could not possibly apply to you. Well, your self-love did not get you into the library yesterday, did it?”

Surprise caught me unaware. My face went slack.

“I needed to see the earl regarding my own matters,” I said. I rubbed nervous fingers together. “He told me I would be summoned.”

“He will not see you. He told me so.”

“You were there?” I asked, in the most genuine manner possible, not wanting to startle her out of her comfort in providing these facts.

“No,” the countess said. She put her finger across her lips in petulant consideration. “The earl confided in me.”

“And what did he say?”

“After his accusations against me,” she said with a quick sideways glance of uncertainty. “ . . . Gorgon played the part of a great martyr, which antagonized the prince, for Rupert immediately set out to see to the disposition of his troops and did not return until the victory dinner. After the feast, my lord was exhausted and came to our bed.” And her desires fulfilled, if her earlier protestations were true.

A dismissive flip of her hand and Marie Louise waddled out to her horse where two burly footmen waited to hoist her into the saddle. Already mounted, Father Theobald smiled sweetly at me, his face shining with otherworldliness. I had not seen him mount, or even approach. He had not come through the entry.

Reluctant empathy stilled my irritation with this woman who, for lack of love and simple physical warmth, had alienated everyone around her. Yet her expulsion seemed unreal. What had changed? I never would have expected this of my uncle and could not help but wonder what had driven him to it.

Nor could I fathom why my uncle, who had saved me from Gorgon’s first attack, after all, and been attacked himself, now honored the steward with his presence in the making of policy and the disposition of my future. Among my thoughts, the vivid, overheard memory of their indisputable collusion regarding poison and someone’s untoward death surfaced as the most likely factor in their sudden congeniality. Their deviousness would be the death of me, if not by childbirth, than certainly at Gorgon’s own hand. I had heard it; it was their plan. Their reunion told me that my future had become deadly and my choices limited.

I went back to my rooms and chafed at my unhealed cuticles. My hope of a life with Duncan at Tor House was severely curtailed, if not doomed. Change, that life force I so dreaded, had begun to shift toward a precipitous transformation. Though lack of a priest would indeed complicate matters, at least for a time.

Later in the morning, neither Duncan nor Peg had returned, so I made my solitary way to breakfast in the gallery. Unlike great hall banquets, gallery meals were small presentations of a variety of foods arranged on the sideboard, or buffet, and sometimes on the table itself for the sustenance of guests and family members who wished to partake at mealtimes. It would be like my intractable cousin to reappear at such a place and time, as though nothing in the world was amiss.

But Peg was not present. Instead Thomas lounged in the large fireplace chair, and Annie kneeled beside it. She looked up at him in awe. She had finally learned the art of understatement in facial makeup, her toned down rouge, eye kohl and lip balm artfully applied, which lent her face a soft beauty that had not been previously apparent.

“You eat only at table, Miss McGuire,” I intoned as I slipped past them, my skirts rustling over the carpet to the sideboard.

The sliced beef smelled slightly rancid, though I had never known Mrs. Deane to present such at any table. The heat, I presumed. I took a plate and a spoon and helped myself to some cubed apples and walnuts soaked in a honey sauce. I followed up my words with a withering look at Annie, which had the intended effect of eventually bringing her to join me at my breakfast, though with a decided sway to her hips.

But before she left him, Thomas stood, lifted his arms and rolled his shoulders as though to better fit into his fashionable doublet, which was adorned with seed pearls. They turned away in unison, heads together. Their conspiratorial exclusion left me with an acute sense of being outside the run of events and looking helplessly in, similar to my earlier distress at Marie Louise’s sudden departure.

Change on the move. Gooseflesh set up all down my arms.

“Thomas and I were just discussing the steward,” Annie said, rebelliously. She took her seat with a distinctive plop, as though anything to do with Steward Gorgon must inevitably impress me and thereby allow her liberties.

“Annie,” I said from across the table. I leaned toward her. “I do not want you around Thomas.”

“I thought he was your friend.” She batted long, blond-tipped lashes at me.

“That is none of your business.”

“Oh, we can talk about your friends, yet mine are circumscribed,” she said with aplomb. Her language and pronunciation had improved dramatically, but circumscribed was surely the word of the day, for I was not even certain Peg knew it. I had certainly never heard her use it.

“Did you learn that word from Thomas?”

She blushed heavily but kept her gaze firmly on me. “That one, yes. But Steward Gorgon has taught me quite a few others.”

“Gorgon?” I had turned away in disgust, but looked back at her in disbelief. “You have been spending time with Steward Gorgon?”

“He is a delightful, impressive man.”

“His own description of himself, I assume.”

“Well, yes.” Her face went a furious red, and she ducked her head. “But I know now what the words mean. He truly is—”

“When did you happen upon the steward?” I asked, interrupting her blissful dialogue.

“Yesterday evening and again this morning. He is so considerate. He enjoys teaching me.”

“You will stay away from the steward, as well as Thomas,” I said, aghast at that monster playing with my charge’s developing social instincts. In my distress, I dropped my spoon. It hit the table along the edge of my plate with a clank and a chink. “Do you understand? Or shall I have the captain discuss this with you?”

“No, please do not tell Duncan.” Though her glowing face assumed a faint gray hue, her red mouth puckered into a chin-raising pout. “But, I do not understand why I must not see the steward.”

“Men are untrustworthy around a comely lady like yourself. Peg has talked with you about this. I have heard her.”

A whiff of lavender floated over from Annie, in her low-cut gown now neatly edged with lace around the bodice. Her deep cleavage remained, the lace merely a tantalizing frame. I had told her over and over again not to wear revealing clothes, even if it meant wearing the same dress again and again. And there was only one place Annie would get the smell of lavender about her. She had used the emulsion I had just replenished at considerable toil.

“Yes, but men are so much more entertaining than sitting at a table playing draughts with you or Peg.”

“You must learn to control yourself, Annie.” I followed up that admonition with a hard stare.

“What do you mean?”

“You will not swing your hips in this house.”

“Oh. I guess I forgot.”

“Thomas, have you seen Peg?” I asked. He remained slumped in the large chair by the fireplace.

“No,” he said in a snide undertone without looking at me. He studied his fingernails. Finally, he stood, walked over to me and pressed his hot cheek against mine, a clear assertion of his intention not to be ignored. “I must be off. I have an errand to run for my lord,” he announced and promptly departed.

I finished my fruit and scraped up every bubble of sweet liquid on the plate, followed by a glass of warm, fresh milk, Mrs. Deane’s magic chill on the milk swept away by the heat of the already breathless day.

“I have no interest in going to the watch-tower with you. I want to try on the dresses Peg brought me last week,” Annie insisted.

We stood outside the gallery doors.

“Fine, just stay in our quarters,” I instructed her. We parted and I walked quickly down the south corridor to the watch-tower stair and climbed to the roof.

The day was well gone toward noon, and the baked outer air hit me like a hot wall. Intense sunlight radiated up through my feet off the roof, doubling the effect of the already sweltering heat. I would not be able to stay for long. I shaded my eyes with my hand and studied the distance off to the east, the direction I expected Duncan to arrive from. Beyond the army’s vast camp, a plume of dust rose from a galloping horse headed in the opposite direction, toward the west. It was Thomas, easily identified by the extravagant plumed hat and the flashing, silver-edged saddle.

So his errand took him out of Tor House. I could not help but recall Peg’s long-standing accusations, for there was nothing to the west but newly overrun, staunchly Puritan towns and residences. With that thought, I hoped the countess had encountered no problems in her forced flight along that same road to the coast. Though she had not treated me well, I held no animosity toward her, especially as the situation had turned out.

Perspiration ran in a rivulet along my backbone, wetted my underarms, and trickled down my temples. Dust lined my throat and clung to my tongue. The blinding sunlight quickly drained me of my resolve. I turned to go, but looked back one last time.

Out to the east another large dust plume roiled into the sky—riders coming in fast. Moments later, a black warhorse raced out of the woods well ahead of the remaining riders, carrying a distinctive, bright-haired man with a turquoise feather in his hat, who threw up his hand in greeting to the massive camp before him.

On my way down the tower stairs, I found Paul Simpson hiding from his duties and sent him to request a stable boy for the front courtyard. Excitement and unease warred within me as I lingered within the shade behind the big doors at the entrance. After all, with the prince back, Duncan would be leaving soon, a thought whose implications left me wringing my hands. I identified with Marie Louise’s uncomfortable presence within these same shadows and understood how helpless she must have felt when her own lord appeared after the Battle of Bolton to find Gorgon at his door.

Thudding horse hooves trod the roadway between the inner gates. The majority cantered back toward the stable, noses lifted to the smell of hay and grain. The lead black charged around the formal circle before the house toward me. I rushed down the steps, no one else in attendance. In a swirl of dry dust, the horse stopped before me, and Duncan swung down off his broad back. I stepped toward him, but he brushed past me. He held up his hand to keep me at a distance.

“I must see the prince. Wait for me on the second level.” He strode away and into the house.

A stable boy pelted around the corner of the house and caught Ajax’s trailing reins. In confusion at Duncan’s rebuff, I patted the black’s sleek, muscular shoulder and turned away, for I did not want the boy to witness my chagrin.

Anger flared within me, quickened my breath, and heated my face. I forced myself into a measured pace back up the steps and into the house, my attention directed downward toward my white-knuckled, clenched hands.

Duncan had warned me more than once, and I had accepted it. But the attitude that had extended that warding palm against me was now a bitter truth to contemplate.

My duty is to my prince, whom I honor above all things.

I awaited him in the dark walled-off hallway that had once led to Amilie’s tower. We had met there often, and now, as always, time seemed to creep along. Minutes ran into an hour and more, for the wide shaft of sunlight on the south corridor had moved from the east to the center of the hallway. My feet and knees hurt, but I dared not leave. There were too few chances for us to meet alone. Finally, his clipped boot steps echoed down the east hallway. He must have come up the private tower stair from the library, or perhaps they had met in the prince’s rooms.

We came together in a heated rush of built-up desire that brought our mouths violently together. His arms wound tightly around me. The crush took my breath away. His arms loosened and his head dropped to my shoulder where his lips sucked at the soft skin where my neck joined my shoulder. We shuddered in unison.

“Oh, God, Elena. I need you so.”

He kissed my clothed stomach, and I ran my hands through his fabulous, weathered-red hair, the blue-beribboned love-lock hanging loose. We kissed again, a gentle, quiet searching. I tore his shirt open and rubbed a cheek over the warm copper nest that I so often longed for. He groaned and leaned to kiss each breast, my nipples erect under my dress, awaiting the warmth of his mouth. Frantic grasping and uncontrollable kisses followed. We had never allowed our desire to drive us this close to union. With a sudden jerk, he dropped my rucked up skirts and pushed me away, his breath coming in gasps. I leaned toward him, wanting more.

“Elena,” he croaked, suddenly sane and deadly serious. His gold-flecked gaze bored through me. His hands cradled my face, black hair hanging off his thumbs. “We depart for York in the morning.”

I took a deep, steadying breath. “Has the prince heard from the King?”

“Yes, and he has new orders that make him uneasy.” Unbridled excitement rolled over his flushed features. “Yet they are the King’s orders, and he is impatient to get this advance underway. It will be a massive undertaking. We could conceivably face not only Fairfax’s Northern Army and the Eastern Association Army under Manchester, but the Scots under Leven, as well. Together, they are strong enough to inflict a rout upon us, but Prince Rupert will prevent it. You’ll see,” he boasted. He wiped a fist across his full mouth, the bravado gone and replaced by a hopeless look that lingered on a face gone suddenly gaunt.

His last words told me it was his choice to override the relevance of these developments to my dreams, but I did not pursue it, having more personal concerns on my mind at the moment.

“Does the King have my deed?”

He shook his head, significance finally weighting down his exuberance. “The prince says he does not believe the King had received his last letter before he sent off his current orders. I did ask him.”

“Thank you,” I said. I leaned on his arm in sincere appreciation and gazed up into his impetuous face. “How will I survive without you?”

“I have not forgotten your situation. By the way, did you know that the earl has named Steward Gorgon as Warden of Tor House during his absence?”

“What?”

“I will not leave you here unprotected with a predatory Gorgon roaming the halls.” He pulled me into his arms, his steady heart booming in my ear. “You would be helpless against him.”

Numb, all I could do was nod in agreement.

“I have found a place, an older manor out beyond Bolton, owned by an old Royalist merchant and his wife.”

“What are you talking about?” I pushed away from his embrace and shook my head to clear it.

“You, Peg, and Annie can stay there while I’m gone. When I return, we can decide what to do. If the coming battle does not turn the tide in the King’s favor, we will have to find a safer residence for the three of you. If we win, I will take you away to a new life.” He came near and rubbed a gentle fingertip under my lower lip. “I know you do not want to leave Tor House, but I hope to change your mind. In the meantime, this isolated ancestral home out on the moor is a perfect spot to hide. It is nothing like Tor House, but the Ramseys would be honored to have the three of you. You will have to stay hidden to avoid Gorgon’s searchers, for I am certain he will scour the area for you. You are the key to everything he wants.”

“But this is my home.” I shoved him away. “I don’t want to leave.” This had been what he had meant all along—to steal me away from everything I cared about. He expected me to give up Tor House, my father’s legacy, my heritage. My stomach lurched.

He stepped close to me, regaining the space I had demanded. Skeptical, his thick russet eyebrows drew together. He squinted at me as though he did not know me.

“For your safety, I could take the three of you with me, with the army.”

“In the baggage train?” I cried.

“Sh-h-h.”

“You would drag me around like a whore?”

“Your choices, Elena . . .” he began quietly. But his stern words stopped. He straightened and threw back his wide shoulders. His mouth tightened, his eyes darkening ominously. “Your choices are to succumb to Gorgon, follow me, yes, in the baggage train, or stay in the comfortable, safe environment I have negotiated for you.”

I opened my mouth to scream my refusal to do any such thing, then promptly snapped it shut so hard my teeth clacked. He was right.

“Your stay at the Ramsey’s is arranged,” he went on, drowning out my concerns. “They have been well compensated. All we have to do is get the three of you out of Tor House undetected. Wallace and I will work out the details. It has to be tonight, so make ready.”

“But—”

“Sh-h-h.”

Heavy footsteps came toward us from the far end of the east hallway. We stepped into the light, disheveled as we were, and bid one another good day, as though we had happened to meet at the turning of the corridors. Duncan strode on toward the oncoming individual, and I moved away up the south corridor toward my quarters, my mind in a whirlwind of denial.

Chapter Seventeen

Peg stood in the sunlight before the tall windows of the south corridor that overlooked the stable and the back courtyard. Her auburn hair fell like liquid satin down her back. She turned to me as I approached, the hard glory of her dark eyes piercing my essential sense of well-being.

“There is something I must tell you.” Her hands moved about in nervousness. “I will always be thy friend.”

“I would hope so,” I said, still combative and reeling within from Duncan’s intent to remove me from this place.

“My heart belongs now to the prince, to do with as he pleases,” she announced with a nod. “I wish to follow him, ye know, in the baggage train. Annie says it is not so bad.”

“And your life here with me?” I stared at her in disbelief. This woman’s tart support had carried me through many an event and countless disasters.

In heavy silence, she took my hand and led me down the hall to our quarters. We walked in and Annie turned toward us from her seat at my dressing table, her mouth red with carefully applied rouge. She froze in place, immediately alert to the tension that had entered the room.

“Not seeing thee each day, living through thy concerns and thy caring are the hardest part of what I must now do,” Peg said. She leaned against the closed door, my limp hand still in hers. She caressed my fingers with her own.

Unable to believe that she would desert me in this indecent manner, I jerked away my hand. She moved to the table, picked up her tortoise-shell brush, and absently ran the brush through her shiny, slick hair.

“You have given your body to him.”

“I love him, Elena, with all my heart.” She looked up at me and her cheekbones flared with color, though she spoke with unwavering passion. “I gave myself freely. He is all that matters to me.” She put the brush back on the table, disappointed somehow, as though it had failed to comfort her. “I want to be with him, while I can. He is a prince of the royal blood, doomed to a state marriage someday, like thy situation with Gorgon. We have spoken of this, and I have accepted it. He has responsibilities to the King, to his command, yet we wish to be together. He has promised to take care of me, always.”

“You will be his mistress? Does it not bother you to leave all you know?”

“Bother me?” The neatly arched eyebrows rose. “No, I look to the future. I always have, Elena. It is one of the great differences between you and me. Though ye dream the future, ye dote on the present.” She distanced herself from me in a move around the table. “I am his mistress. I belong to him, heart, body, and soul.”

“This will destroy your life.”

She shook her head. “He is my life.”

“So you plan to depart with him tomorrow? He is leaving in the morning, you know.”

“Yea, I know.” She gestured at Annie, who remained on the stool, watching us intently. “Since Annie wishes to stay close to Duncan, her only relative, I was hoping we could go together. Would ye come with us? We could share a wagon.” She surveyed me doubtfully.

“I will not.”

“Ye are stubborn as an ox.” She studied me in dismay, her mouth prim and determined. “Ye love Duncan. When ye came to me in the hall just now, his love beamed all around thee, like a shining cloud because ye had been with him. I know. Why can ye not accept this, instead of ruining what ye have with Gorgon’s black-hearted presence?”

“I could ask you the same,” I said with a difficult swallow, “about the prince’s future state bride.”

“Ah, yes, thee could ask this.” Her eyebrows rose again, but this time her face assumed a look of reluctant righteousness. “But the prince and I are prepared for that duty, whenever it arises. Duncan, however, has not accepted Tor House as your bridegroom, nor should he have to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do not look at me with thy big jeweled eyes like that. I have thought about this. It comes down to belongings or love, Elena. My choice is made. I wish ye luck with yours.”

I gasped. My hand fluttered uselessly on my chest.

Annie’s mouth formed into a round, red bud of astonishment.

A hasty knock rattled our door. I stiffened, went toward it, and opened it a crack. Duncan pushed his way in.

“We have to go now,” he said, heavy insistence deepening his voice. Despite the heat, he was dressed for war in wide-topped riding boots, back and breast plates over his buff coat, and plumed hat in hand. His bridle gauntlet reached from the tips of his fingers to his left elbow, and his other hand rested on his sword hilt, which hung in its baldric at his side. “The prince has the earl and the steward in a strategy session in the library. The Manx guards at the postern gate have just gone to dinner. Wallace’s house guards have taken over for them. This is our chance. Use plain servant’s cloaks, all of you.”

“I will stay,” Peg said. She stepped backward a few steps and shook her head.

“The prince specifically placed your safety in my hands, Mistress Carey. You must come with us. You, Annie and Lady Elena.”

Peg’s face lit up. “In that case, I will join thee.” She walked into her bedroom, calling out behind her, “We have Rosemunde’s good cloak and her old one.”

“I have my own.” Annie crossed the room in her old hip-swaying manner and clasped Duncan’s gauntlet arm. “I want to go with you.”

“The baggage train is not acceptable this time, Annie. It is too dangerous.”

My recurring dream came to mind and, despite the heat of the day, I shivered.

Annie’s face drooped in disappointment. Duncan enfolded her in his arms and comforted her. He patted her shoulder, hat hanging from his hand at her back. He uttered a low-voiced vow, of which I caught only a part. “. . . for our kin’s honor.”

The blond head nodded within his embrace.

I felt none of my former anxiety at Annie’s proximity to Duncan. I knew her too well now. She was as he had described her, a cousin with whom he shared a close relationship, their clan apparently the cement that bound them.

“Where are we going?” Peg demanded when she returned from her bedroom.

I gestured at Duncan, unsure at the moment of my feelings for him.

Peg handed me the better cloak of the two she carried. We put them on quickly and pulled the hoods over our heads.

“Lady Elena can tell you as we go,” Duncan said in a clipped tone of voice.

I glared at him.

“Come, hurry.” He waved us out the door with his hat as though we were a company of cavaliers under his command rather than women forced to flee without so much as a change of clothes.

We met Captain Wallace, who had saddled our horses and led them out into the stable yard. Heat still radiated out of the parched earth, the stable itself a shadowed, steaming pit of hot manure and moldy hay. We mounted quickly, slipped out the postern gate, and made for the eastern tree line at the top of the depression Tor House inhabited.

I had not expected Wallace to join us, but he was at our rear, where he watched carefully for any sign of pursuit. I dropped back beside him.

“Are you certain you want to do this, Captain? It will be the end of your position at the house.”

“The state of affairs is changing dramatically, my lady. I cannot support Gorgon.” He shook his head, his lower lip extended in grim dismay.

My spirits rose, despite my concern about Wallace and Peg. Peg would not be running off with the prince any time soon, and Wallace had merely placed his loyalties where his heart had been all along. I would not fail him.

For all my fears of leaving my home, the cool, dark night with its thin crescent moon, the heavily starred vault above us, and the homely comfort of the leather creak of saddles and girths around me gave me a surprising sense of freedom. Yet a deep-seated anxiety remained. My gaze frequently returned to the black horizon, back toward the fading lights of Tor House, for I was not certain of this flight that had been forced upon me. It was as though I strived against fate and could not win. I could not overcome the feeling as Kalimir took me resolutely onward into the night.

We skirted ditches and hedges for sometime before moving out onto the desolate moor. Duncan came up beside me, our stallions snorting and blowing their displeasure at one another’s company. Wallace remained behind us.

“The prince told me that Gorgon and your uncle were planning your wedding for tomorrow morning. That was part of their agreement regarding Gorgon’s new position at the house.”

“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows and assumed a look of graceful interest, as though he spoke of a game of cards. “Is that why Wallace has deserted the house?”

“Partly, yes. He is devoted to you.”

“There can be no wedding,” I announced with assurance. “Marie Louise took the priest with her.”

“Why would she do that?” he asked. He leaned toward me in the saddle, his mouth curved into a suppressed smile.

“Father Theobald is her personal priest.”

“That turns out to be convenient for you.”

“She probably meant it as a barb against Gorgon, and perhaps against the earl,” I said, with a mischievous smile I could not contain.

“So be it.” He straightened in the saddle. “The King has ordered Prince Rupert to march on York and engage the three enemy armies laying siege to that town.”

“What you thought might come to pass has happened?”

“It seems so.” Still riding close beside me, he compressed his lips and shook his head. “The prince has hesitated as long as he dares, here and at Liverpool.”

“That does not sound like the prince. Is he not known for his quick actions?”

“He is. His impetuosity is his detractors’ chief complaint. His current hesitation is not fear of the enemy, but wanting to be certain before he commits himself, that he will not have to break off his advance to rescue the King, who remains in the field.”

“How can he be certain of such a thing, especially if it has happened before?”

“That is just the problem. He cannot be certain, and it angers him. But the King’s order has overruled the prince’s doubt. Rupert has called in all the troops from the north.”

“So he is committed.”

“Yes. And I must leave with him.”

“You will return to me at the Ramsey’s?” I straightened, stiff in the saddle, yet shuddering within. How could I go on, having seen the details of where and how he faced death? This man I adored, needed, and whose body I so passionately desired—how could I stand it? I ached to hold him and be held, yet if ever there was a time to be strong, it was now.

“The prince and I will return to you, Annie, and Peg at the Ramsey’s,” he said softly.

“I see you are aware of their relationship,” I said staunchly. Had he felt my terror? I averted my gaze in an attempt to control the tears that threatened.

“Yes. The prince confided in me earlier today. He cares deeply for Peg.”

“Let us hope he keeps his pledge to her.”

“He keeps his promises, Elena, as do I.” He studied me as Ajax shifted under him. “You seem so unhappy. There are black lines under your eyes.”

“You have wrenched me from everything I know, everything I care about.” And I am terrified of losing you.

“Because I love you and cannot stand to see you thrown away,” he said. Despite the night, the desire in his dark, gold-flecked gaze glowed, a longing that matched my own.

“Your presence, your vital confidence, is all that makes this bearable.” I could not keep my lips from quivering. “I do not know what I will do when you leave me at this place.”

“Deliberate,” he said. His white smile flashed in the dim starlight. “As only you can, to insure that I live to return.”

“Speaking of that.” I nodded and took a deep breath. If I was going to do this, it had to be now. “I must tell you of my vision.” To interfere in what was to come could bring about all sorts of evils, the loss of my own life among them, for I had often heard the old women in nearby villages talk of the price a witch had to pay for tampering with the future. On the other hand, what would my life be worth without Duncan, Peg or the Royalist cause? This was my last chance to perhaps save them all.

Duncan forced his horse closer to mine, our mount’s snorting protestations notwithstanding.

“You must keep the Royalist musketeers out of hedges.”

“What?” He looked a little frantic, reining in his horse, only to move ahead again. “I have no control over general troop movements,” he called back to me.

“I understand.” Ajax sidled in beside Kalimir again. “But that is the start of it. I feel certain the future is upon us, for the dream is complete and repeats, night after night, in the same gruesome detail. Until a few nights ago, that is. I have not dreamed since then.”

He sat straighter in the saddle, his hands clenched on the reins. His intense gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth.

“When the battle goes against you, you must stay close by the prince. I tell you this only because I know that is where you would want to be. For myself, for my love for you, I would keep you safe and draw you far away from the prince.”

“What have you seen?” he insisted. He leaned toward me.

“Without escort, at a vital moment,” I whispered. I looked around to be sure Peg did not overhear my words. “The prince will be encircled and captured by the enemy. Someone must be there to prevent it.”

“Like you changed my death in Bolton?” he asked, after a moment’s consideration.

“That was . . . different. I am not even certain I did it.”

“Of course, you did.”

“If one or more of his men are with him when the enemy surrounds him, they may be able to break out.”

“I see.” He set his jaw and nodded slowly. The plumed feather in his hat waved at me in the near darkness.

“Captain,” came Wallace’s crisp hail.

We looked up and he pointed at a light spot far toward the east. The bright spot was too small and far too early for sunrise. An orange tint flared at its edges.

“We need to move faster,” Duncan called out. “I am afraid it is the Ramsey house.”

Within a mile, the light in the distance had grown and extended across a wide swath of the moor. It was fire of a magnitude I had never witnessed. By the time we arrived at the Ramsey compound, the old manor house among the trees on its rock-edged hill was in full flame, everything around it consumed and starting to blacken and wither into ash.

Air rushed around us in the eerie, red-tinged dark, rekindling the devastating fire before us. The scent of ash and death hung heavy upon the rising breeze.

Loud whinnies traveled from one horse to the other, their ears laid back. They were all uneasy, jerking at their reins and dancing about. We came upon a small burn and dismounted at its edge. We settled the horses, watered, and hobbled them against a high bank where they could not see the flames. I spoke gently to Kalimir for a few moments, then went to join the others.

No one would stay behind, so hand in hand to keep together, we walked carefully across the uneven ground to the far edges of the hot crackle and lick of the overwhelming fire. Nothing in that huge cauldron of fire and ash so much as resembled a structure or even a tree. The stench of wind-driven, thick smoke, and of what I imagined to be burning flesh set us to coughing. We turned back.

“No one could survive that,” Wallace said, between Peg and me, his hands lightly at our backs.

We returned to the horses and coalesced into a warm circle in the cold wind. I turned back to watch the fire in the distance, when, a little off from the burning knoll, a wavering pink eye, that same glow of a matchlock fuse that had immobilized me on the Sheffington Road all those weeks ago, caught my attention. I extended my hand to point it out to Duncan. But he turned away. A shot rang out. At the same moment, a bonk sounded close beside me, and Captain Wallace let out a cry of pain.

“Ricochet,” Duncan mumbled. He looked down in amazement at his dented breast plate, then up. “Captain?” he called out to Wallace.

“I’m fine. A nasty graze is all.”

Peg and Annie were beside him. The two of them insisted he allow them to see the wound. He grimaced and leaned over his hands. He had his right hand wrapped tightly around his left wrist, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Everyone, down into the burn,” Duncan called out. Assured of Wallace’s life, he studied the darkness, his face rapt.

There,” I said, still beside him. I pointed to the right of the great fire. “A second before the shot, I saw a lit matchlock fuse. The wind probably made it flare.”

He flashed a glare me, then looked out to where I pointed.

“Whoever they are, they may still be there. For me to see that burning cord, they cannot be far. . . .” My words trailed off, for Duncan was already in movement toward Ajax.

“Stay here,” he said quietly over his shoulder. He pushed his hat down over his long locks, dark in the lowering light of the distant fire, and he mounted. “Get down in the burn, and for God’s sake stay together.” Bent over along the black stallion’s neck, he moved off into the windy darkness, instantly invisible. Even the soft sound of his horse’s hooves in the short, hardy grass ceased after a moment.

I could not spot the pink eye again. Down in the soft depression at the edges of the small stream, Peg held Wallace’s bleeding hand. Annie looked on in concern, her yellow hair falling out of its pins and hanging over her ears in clumps.

“Not too bad,” Peg said. “The bullet went straight through.” She had already stripped off and torn apart the lower edge of her petticoat. She went to the little stream and soaked two larger pieces in the dark water. She brought them back and carefully washed the open wound, hardly able to see what she was doing, though the distant fire cast a reddish pall over everything. She handed the remaining dry strips to me, and I wrapped the captain’s wrist tightly.

“Don’t fret,” Wallace said as I worked.

He, like I, must have seen Peg’s shaking hands and wild eyes. She had always been especially fond of Captain Wallace. She smiled and seemed to respond to the captain’s fine voice. As well, I gave her a pat on the shoulder, knowing how she felt, for my limbs were equally unsteady.

“You will do fine,” I said to our wounded captain. I tugged at his sleeve in childish affection.

Even Annie rested her hand gently on his shoulder.

Down in the stream bed, the four of us huddled together between the horses. Again and again, I stroked tall Kalimir’s heavily scarred shoulder to reassure him until he finally settled. I studied the sky, sorry I had never learned the names and shapes of the constellations. Two stars, close together in the expanse of the sky, winked at me . . . and were suddenly gone. I studied the dark firmament. Heavy cloud cover, of which the rising wind was a harbinger, already covered the thin crescent moon. Half the sky was pitch, starless black. Our long overdue storm was near upon us.

My fears for Duncan began to nip at my false bravado, when noises came out of the dark. A single shot sounded, followed by furtive movements not too far away. Low voices strained over the keening wind. Another shot broke the night and some time later, all of us on alert, weapons drawn, Duncan rode into sight and down into the burn, still ahorse. He passed a heavy matchlock to Wallace.

“I figure you own it now, since it wounded you. How is your hand?”

“It hurts, but will heal nicely, I think.” Wallace nodded at Duncan with some urgency, more interested in what had happened, it seemed, as were we all.

Duncan dismounted, took Wallace’s hand, and studied the neatly bandaged wrist. “I am relieved it is no worse than this.”

“What did you find? Whose musket is this?”

I moved toward him, anxious to be near him, and he tucked me up against his side under a protective arm.

“The steward sent two men to burn Ramsey’s place.”

“How did he know of our plans?” I asked.

“One of the house guard in his cups.”

“Walston,” Wallace intoned. “Had to be. He was with us, and he drinks.”

“There’s more,” Duncan growled. “They were to wait until we arrived—”

“He sent them to kill us,” Wallace put in, his face sharp with certainty.

“Yes.” Duncan gave a quick confirming nod. “They meant to murder us all. It seems Gorgon’s ambitions have surpassed his need for you, Elena.”

Annie grinned, for she still had little use for me and had been fascinated with Gorgon. Peg’s mouth opened. She snapped a look of concern at me.

“He must have discovered the priest missing,” I said, with a blink of disbelief.

Amazement murmured around our little company.

“Did our attackers get away?” I asked Duncan, who remained close beside me, but stiff and reserved.

“They are dead,” he said, his face dark with spent rage. “One of them, Gorgon’s huge guard captain, told me what I just told you, hoping to be spared.”

“And you killed him anyway?” Though I had been terrified of that particular Manxman, I stepped away from Duncan with a frown, suddenly cold in the questing air.

“Killing is what I do best,” he said, with a grim turn toward me. “You could have died in that house, Elena. All of us could be black ash like the Ramseys surely are by now.”

His comparison was not lost on me. The blood drained from my cheeks, and gooseflesh rose on my arms.

“Well, ladies,” Duncan said. He looked away from my crushed countenance, his face pale in the fire-lit darkness. “You have gotten your wish. We must go back.”

“We cannot take these ladies back to Tor House,” Wallace put in as he prepared to mount one-handed, his wounded hand tucked across his chest.

“I’m going with you, Cousin, in the baggage train,” Annie yelled from across the circle we had formed.

“There is little choice.”

“Do thee not see?” Peg asked me, her face red with excitement. “Tis meant to be.”

Frantic thoughts assailed me. I could not, would not abandon everything I knew for a wagon.

“If we be headed for the baggage train, we need the necessities at Tor House we were not able to retrieve before this disastrous journey,” Peg said. She looked from Wallace to Duncan.

“This is true,” I cried, seizing on Peg’s words. “We need clothing, blankets, shoes, heavy cloaks. We’re going north, for God’s sake. There are other things.” I lowered my head in a demur attempt at embarrassment. “Personal items that we require.”

“You know as well as I do,” Duncan insisted, “that Gorgon will kill us all if he catches us.”

Wallace, mounted and awaiting us, nodded in grim agreement.

“You can protect us,” I cried. I reached out for Duncan, so vital and set like a snare to pounce. “I know you can.”

“Not that easy.” He took my hand. His troubled gaze wandered over me, and, finally, his white smile flashed. He seemed to have made a decision.

I took a breath of relief.

“We will be quick,” Peg said, her face hopeful in the fading red light.

“Time is short. We must move.” Edginess crept into Duncan’s stance and across his shadowed face as he spoke.

“We chance all our lives.” Wallace shook his head. “This man is a butcher.”

“If we are careful and quiet, we can get the women in and out, no one the wiser,” Duncan said. “While I am in the house with the ladies, I want you to seize a wagon and two draft horses. Keep our horses ready. Do whatever you have to do to accomplish this, and quickly. Our success will depend on speed. We must catch them unaware. If we are not out in a reasonable time, you are to catch up with the army and stay with them.” Duncan mounted and brought Ajax up close beside Wallace and clapped my old guard commander on the shoulder. “By the way, Captain, if the knowledge will put you at ease, you will be a welcome addition to my company and can protect the ladies at night, as well.”

Wallace nodded acceptance of Duncan’s words, though he remained taut with anxiety.

Annie mounted, her tenacious expression supportive of any action Duncan took or would take.

Duncan’s anxious need for haste drove him all the harder to push us through the breezy dark. Clouds obliterated any starlight that might have helped guide us. Luckily, Duncan, Wallace, and I knew these trails. We descended into Lancashire’s fields and the wind rose. Thunder rumbled and cracked, and the dark sky pelted us with cold rain. We were finally forced to take shelter in an abandoned barn. Even that took a long search in the occasional flashes of lightning, our only advantage that we knew the run-down structure was there.

Wallace, Peg, and Annie settled in an open stall. Duncan handed me a charged pistol and remained close beside me at the open doorway, still taut with useless impatience. Unsure and afraid, I lost myself in the moody, unending need to keep watch over the deep darkness beyond our leaky shelter.

The idea came upon me, heavy with import, that return to the security of the house walls around me was all that mattered. The wind wracked the branches of the hedgerows off to the right of the barn. The long barreled pistol grew heavy in my hands. I knelt on the moldy hay, the sound of Kalimir’s stamping hooves close by, and considered ways that I might change my situation, discarding idea after idea, most of them already tried or moot by the advancement of time and Gorgon’s presence. There was only one thing left—and that a mere delaying tactic. The idea left me unsettled and wary. Yet I did not care. I had to find a way back to what I had known before.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time we reached Tor House, a hesitant dawn lay on the land. The postern gate was manned by two Manx guards, an ominous sign. They had little inclination to allow us entry.

“We have returned from a trip and do not wish to rouse the entire household with an arrival at the front entry,” Captain Wallace called up to them sternly. After some bantering back and forth over the outer wall, Wallace’s mellow baritone convinced them to open the gate.

We entered and Duncan, with Wallace’s help, disabled the two guards, silenced them with gags and left them tied back-to-back in the guard shack beside the gate.

Luck was with us, for the inner gates stood open. We left our mounts with Wallace in the stable yard and slipped in through the laundry entrance of the kitchen tower.

We treaded up the stairs and through the quiet hallways until Duncan shoved the three of us unceremoniously into our quarters while he kept watch in the corridor. The house seemed unusually quiet. No footmen or servants moved about. No Rosemunde.

Peg and Annie quickly gathered dresses, chemises, shoes, and their personal items and stuffed them into Peg’s old, oversized saddle bags.

I remained in the center of the room, wringing my hands. Panic flooded my senses. My gaze locked on my familiar four-poster bed with its heavy hangings that were such a deep blue that its folds shone blue-black. To my eye, at that moment, it seemed a funeral shroud.

“Come on, Elena.” Peg gave my unmoving form a gentle shove as she hurried across the room toward the dressing table. “Pack thy things.”

They raced madly about in ladylike haste and finally, with a shake of Annie’s head and Peg’s frustrated frown at me, they rushed out into the hallway. Moments later, Duncan strode into the room, his face creased in irritation.

I stood in silent, head-nodding shock. My gaze roved once again over my bed to my precious, uncomfortable, gilded chairs, to my dressing table, and finally rested on my oversized armoire. How could I leave these things, this room that had been my lifelong haven?

“Duncan . . .” I began, hoping for understanding from this man whom I loved with such relentless passion. “This is not something I can do.”

His powerful build seemed to deflate, his face drawn. “Oh, yes, you can,” he insisted with a deep, hurried breath that restored his height and his intent. “I guess you will have to make do with what you have on. The army has begun its advance. You saw them.” He threw Peg’s saddle bags over his shoulder, took my unwilling hand, and pulled me out of the room and into the hall. Peg and Annie watched in wide-eyed alarm.

Duncan shifted his grasp to my upper arm, and we moved down the dim hall.

Peg and Annie rushed ahead of us, but they stopped short at the head of the south stair, where they huddled together, waiting.

Duncan jerked me forward. I pulled against him, wriggled for release, and beat on the hand that encircled my arm with my opposing fist.

“What?” Duncan demanded of me. With a red-faced look of disgust, he finally let me go. “There is no time for this.”

I shook my head, wide-eyed, hair hanging in tangles across my face, afraid to go on.

In that dim corridor, gold flared in the depths of Duncan’s dark, penetrating eyes. He glanced distractedly at the stair and the women waiting there, and then back to me.

“I can deal with him. Let me stay. There is a way,” I pleaded.

“Have you lost your mind?” His flaming face crumpled before me. Red blotches marched up his neck. “After all we have suffered to avoid this man?”

“If I leave, I may never get back,” I cried. Determination for my chosen course rose like a flood tide within me. “I choose Tor House.”

Peg gasped in the distance. Annie’s face fell into an eye-rolling frown.

Duncan stumbled back in shock, but quickly regained his solemnity. He straightened before me.

My eye caught on the morning light that shone belatedly through the tall south window beyond the stair and glinted dully on the curl of his breast plate where it ended at his shoulder.

“Rather than come with me?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Duncan, I must.” I pulled my hair back out of my face, met his molten gaze, and reached out to him. I needed his touch at that moment, but he denied me with a convulsive jerk. My mouth moved soundlessly, my hands shook, and my knees threatened to give way. “I will await your return,” I croaked, my voice breaking.

“Why? You have what you want. This was your intent all along, was it not?” His chest rose and fell with a sound that was a laugh, yet a tearing sob. He shook his head in disbelief. His mouth curled into disgust. “May these stones make you a cold, hard bed.”

I did not think the breath would ever finish departing my lungs. The wall supported me, for I fell against it, tears streaking down my face.

Peg’s piercing brown eyes searched me out and our gazes met. From where she stood in the light at the stair, she nodded formally at me. Farewell, that deep drop of her head meant, which struck a second raw wound into my laboring heart.

Duncan pivoted sharply and whipped his russet locks, love lock and all, out of his face. He marched to the stair and grasped Peg and Annie each by an arm. Together, the three of them swept down the stairs, cloaks and dresses flapping, and out of sight.

Silence settled around me. Numb within, I treaded back to my open door and leaned into the door frame.

What have I done?

A sudden impulse came over me to race after them, but I remained where I was, the solid wood of my home warming under my cheek.

There was one other thing I could do. I rushed down the south hallway, then on along the short west hall to the three-way intersection of the gallery doors, the great stair landing, and the entry into the watch-tower.

Daylight always came slowly to the house corridors, but this sullen morning the light dallied. I turned into the dim tower passage and nearly ran into Gorgon as he came down the corridor. The corpulent man took a step back.

“Well, well.” He looked behind me, advanced, and searched the hallway I had just exited. “Where is that groveling Scot that noses around after you?” His face darkened. “And Wallace. Where are they?”

“Despite your attempt to murder me, I have returned to you.”

“You were not the object of that action.” His words came out in a defensive jumble. Either my appearance at this time or my conciliatory words shocked him. His head moved from side to side, as though considering such a rash turn of events.

“Maybe not, but the Ramseys lie dead. For what? For their generosity?”

“For opposing their rightful lord,” he spouted belligerently, any confusion overcome.

“You?”

“Indeed, me,” he said in a loud voice. “Warden of Tor House, duly appointed. If you wished to bid them adieu, the earl and the prince are gone. You will find them in the Royalist vanguard.” He pointed north toward the front gate and the marching formations we had witnessed upon our arrival from the east.

That my uncle would go off to war and not know or care about my fate came as a jolt to my self-confidence. He had set aside his countess, left Tor House to Gorgon’s care, and apparently had no further use for me either. Did he think my claim and my person ultimately dead? Perhaps, but there was something deeper than desertion or murder at the heart of his actions. Maybe it was part of my unique sight, but I could feel it there. I had no idea what it was, only that its source stood here before me.

“Where are Comrie and Wallace?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

“On the road with the army, I expect.” I shrugged.

“Why did you not join them?” He leered at me and settled solidly onto his feet.

“I have returned to you. Is that not enough?” I glanced at the man into whose scurrilous hands I had placed my life and my honor.

Gorgon’s barrel chest rose and fell in what I feared was heated passion. His dark eyes glimmered. I had never before noted the gray at his temples. It gave his rabid countenance a distinguished look.

“A wise choice, my dear,” he went on, with a deep bow before me.

“I have not done this for any love of you, or for duty’s sake,” I cried. I shook my head as a mad woman might, without concern for my appearance or my trailing hair.

“Then the question remains, why are you here, my lady?” Gorgon’s brows began a puzzled climb up his forehead.

“This is my home.” Anger rose within me, quickly overcome by looming hopelessness. “And I will not leave it.”

“Of course,” he said with a slow, knowing nod. “I knew this of you. That you would not leave me, despite your dalliance. We are much alike. Tor House drives us. It is our destiny to rule.”

“I want no power.” I shook my disheveled head, adamant. “Only my home.” My gaze, clouded with uncertainty and pain, snapped to his. “I would like to watch them go.”

“You are free to go where you will.” A magnanimous sweep of his arm produced a beard-splitting smile so wide his projecting eye teeth showed. His fingers reached for my chin.

I stepped away from him. Revulsion threatened to upend my stomach.

“I would attend you myself, but vital matters await my immediate attention.” Gorgon threw out a commanding hand. “Thomas, escort Lady Elena to the watch-tower roof.”

I had not realized Thomas was there until he stepped out of the corridor’s shadow. Dressed in a magnificent long tunic of yellow silk, he reminded me of paintings I had seen of Chinese potentates. He wiggled his shoulders, disturbing the fall of silk, and produced a condescending smile.

“Yes, my lord warden,” Thomas recited, a squeak in his voice.

“Until later, my dear.” Gorgon took my cold hand in his heated one, and kissed it gently. “I have much to do.”

“By the way, your guard captain and his men are dead,” I said.

A short hesitation, to ingest what he surely knew, and his heavy boot steps rapped away down the great stair. His haste drew a vision in my mind of a ransacked library.

A hopeful sense of security came over me as Thomas and I climbed the dark tower stair. Gorgon had not attempted to rape me straight out, and I had achieved a tentative foothold in my home.

By the time I reached the parapet wall, the army that had been spread out before the house was in motion, the vanguard already out of sight. But I was not too late, for Duncan’s flying, dark copper hair immediately caught my eye. Atop Ajax, he raced into the trees. He would be with the prince soon—what he desired above all things.

Everything was backwards. Everyone I loved had left. The one man I abhorred held Tor House. Even Thomas, beside me, was insanely dressed and unsoundly motivated. Just as the rain had passed and the sky was clear of clouds, this was my new reality, a fitting confirmation of what I had done to myself. The sun beat down on my head, hot and merciless. I sobbed, my loss creating a painful vacuum within me.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Thomas complained beside me.

I sniffed and forced myself to attend the last sights of those I loved. I could not tell which wagon belonged to Peg and Annie, for there were numerous baggage wagons awaiting movement of the forward wagons to allow them to pull into position. Despite my questionable position and my concern for Peg’s welfare, I was just as happy not to be traveling in a hot, bouncing wagon with no home to return to.

“Well, they are on their way.” Thomas’ handsome face assumed an ugly look of high-handed command. “You look like you are going to cry. Tears distress me.”

“What happened to my thoughtful friend? Where did you get that outfit anyway?” I asked, to distract my rising ire, though wrath had lifted my painful gloom somewhat. I wanted to hit someone. Any someone.

“The warden insists I wear bright, courtly garb when I attend him in the great hall, which he expects to do quite often in future.” He smiled, the devilish Thomas of old for a fleeting second, then frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “He has sent out notices to all the tenants and liegemen hereabouts demanding their homage in person.”

“But most of them are with Prince Rupert.”

“I know that,” he said in supercilious irritation. “If they do not appear, their homage will be duly accepted and the warden’s requirements demanded of their families.”

“While they fight for their King?”

“Of course. That way we get more out of them. Our new master is a sly old fox, is he not?”

“Sly, yes, but he’s not my master.”

“He will sway you, Elena. He can be coarse one moment and a virtuoso of courtly kindness the next.” A look of disgust crinkled his mouth. “Although there is this. First he wants this, then he does not want what he just wanted, and then he does. He is hard to deal with.” He leaned against me, his putrid breath in my face. “Should you remain unconvinced of his charm, which will not surprise me, I shall be your champion.”

“How can you support him and still be my champion?” I asked with a frown, my desire to hit someone diminished, though Thomas surely deserved a slap or two.

“Though you have rejected me, you remain in my heart, silly, how else?” He wound a fluttering yellow arm around my shoulders.

“That is not reasonable.”

“Neither are you, nor your actions.”

I opened my mouth to object, but he grabbed me and planted his mouth brutally on mine.

I shoved him away in disgust. “Duncan will be back.”

“You think so?” He bit at his lip and then smiled at me as though I were the house idiot. “Even if he lives and should return, do you really think Gorgon would let him near you?”

“Probably not.” My breath came in gasps, my throat constricted with looming tears. I leaned against the parapet wall and stroked the angled stone. “But I have my home. There is that.”

“It is just as well, sweet Elena. He is a vile, vicious man.”

“Who, Duncan?” I stared at him in disbelief.

“Annie told me much of hers and Duncan’s past. They come from a dark, evil place. Each of them carries its mark.”

“I do not believe you.” I crossed my arms in irritation and turned away from him. “You hate Duncan and would do anything to keep him from me.”

“True, but that does not change what he is.” He strode away past me, yellow silk flapping around him in the humid breeze like a huge, deranged bird.

My heart sank anew. I took a last look out at the distant musketeers in their broad-brimmed hats, at the pike men and the cavaliers, their plumed hats like a small rippling sea in the distance. They progressed slowly off into the trees. The baggage and artillery trains, finally in position, began to move.

I was truly alone now.

Locked in my room, I resorted to my dreamless bed where the heavy hangings closed me in. I cried until my head was so clogged I could not breathe, grieving for the love I had lost, for the man with whom I had shared such bone-deep passion. For what I had paid and had still to pay this heartless brute on whom I had thrown myself, the price was dear. I had made a terrible sacrifice, but I lay in my own room within the home I had every intention of keeping. And with that sobering conclusion, the tears finally ceased, only to be replaced by a deep, languid uncaring about anything or anyone around me.

Rosemunde was in the room. She had come immediately when she heard of my return. Careful to keep wet cloths over my eyes, she murmured what she thought were helpful comments. By the time I recovered enough to rise and rinse my face, there was little left inside the burned out husk I had become. I hardly resembled the headstrong woman who had returned to this house in the early morning.

Not even the window, swollen from the night’s rain, would open to allow me a breeze. I retreated to my dressing table chair.

A knock came at the door.

“Yes?” Rosemunde called out from across the room. She threw a fearful look at the entry.

A familiar voice sounded. Rosemunde quickly threw the bolt and Captain Wallace strode in.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. I resisted the inclination to throw myself into his arms. “I thought you left with Duncan.”

“I felt you might need some support and . . . uh . . . protection.” He stared down at his bandaged wrist, somewhat shy, it appeared, at this rebellious disclosure.

“That I might. Forgive my appearance.” I understood his loyalty and should not have been surprised by his presence. I reached over and took a short tug at his sleeve, but could not smile. I had no heart left. I doubted I would ever smile again.

“You are beautiful, as usual, my lady.”

“Did Duncan command you to stay?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh, no. I wish to continue to serve you, my lady.”

“So you deserted the Royalist Army?”

“I suppose I did, though I never formally signed up.”

“Gorgon will kill you if he catches you.”

“He will not catch me.” His mouth erupted into a devious smile. “I know every crack, every hiding place Tor House has to offer. In fact, unknown to him, I have spent the morning taking stock of the house,” he said. He assumed his usual straight-backed manner, a little stodgy in the doing of it. “As I knew you would want me to do.”

“Yes, thank you. How do our food stores look?”

“Acceptable. We are well stocked thanks to Captain Comrie’s assistance these last weeks. As far as Mrs. Deane is concerned that does not mean much, as the countess took the spice cabinet.”

“The whole cabinet?”

“Apparently, yes.

“And the house guard?”

“Essentially disbanded,” he said, with a sorrowful sigh. “Though we had heard a takeover was planned, there was no recourse. The Manx lieutenant presented a legitimate order from the earl’s warden. Every guard position in the house was turned over early this morning to his men.” His bright eyes demanded my attention. “Has he bothered you yet?”

“Gorgon? No. But I doubt that will last long.”

“I shall maintain my post at your side,” he said with a wag of a finger at me. “I am no farther away than your door.”

“Did the prince recruit the house guard?”

“No.” He shook his head definitively. “Your guard is still here, just working in different capacities.”

“Good. We may have need of them. Keep them alert and ready.”

“As you wish. Right now, Gorgon is so agoggle with his own importance that he floats from the great hall to the gallery and back again, spouting vainglorious plans for the house and its supporters. At least, so the servants tell me. But there will come a time when he will attempt to take you, my lady. You must be ready. Would you like your sword? Or a primed pistol?”

“Both, if you can get them safely in here. Duncan’s pistol is in Kalimir’s saddlebags. Kalimir is here, is he not?”

“Most certainly. But there is one other thing I would like to make you aware of, something I have just discovered myself.” The wrinkles in his leathern face deepened into abject discomfort.

“What is that?” I asked, still stunned with the events of the last hours, and only mildly curious at his unusual expression.

“Do you feel up to coming with me?” He raised his brows, the look gone, and put his hand out to me. “Down to the servant quarters?”

“Certainly,” I said, though it was an odd request.

Accommodations for the servants were located on the lower level of the back side of the house. Once we arrived there, we wound through two large rooms crowded with beds and pallets and various basic possessions to the back wall, where Wallace pointed down a dark rickety stair that descended to the lower earthen level.

Wallace went down first, and with his hand to steady me, I descended the creaky stair behind him. No sooner had my foot touched the earth, than a whimper came to me. The smell of blood, heavy sweat, and urine was overpowering. I covered my nose with my hand. Wallace led me around large, dim shapes, all covered with sheets and canvas. Finally, he pointed to a small form in the dark area behind an old bedstead, near a small window. A familiar, though beaten little face peered out at me.

“Paul, is that you?”

“Oh, my lady.” His bright, slanted eyes blinked at me. “Do not come near. I am not fit for your eyes.”

I urged him to come out from behind the headboard, which he finally did. Shirtless, he cringed before me in terror. I coaxed him into the light.

I held his bruised face in my hands. I shuddered, for looking further, I found my young friend and servant covered with bite marks all along his shoulders and his back. Massive bruises colored his arms and torso in various shades of black, blue, and yellow. There was one particularly brutal red and purple bite mark on his neck, under his ear.

“What happened to you?” I asked. My lack of interest in my surroundings had vanished. “Did a wild animal attack you?”

“No, my lady. It was—” He cringed before me.

“—the steward, my lady.” His dark eyes flashed in renewed terror. “Do not tell him. He will kill me next time, if you do.”

“Why?” My eyes went huge. He could have hit me, I was so mortally astounded. “This happens regularly?”

The boy nodded, unable to look at me.

“This is why you were hiding on the watch-tower stair the other day?”

He nodded, a short miserable jerk of his head.

“The fiend loves boys, my lady,” Wallace interpreted, tight-lipped with disapproval.

I gasped. This battered, bleeding child before me could not be the result of anyone’s love-making. Yet he was. I closed my eyes, shocked to my core by this travesty.

“Get him out of here, out of Tor House. Do not let Gorgon near him again. Find a safe place where he can recover.”

“My abilities in this house are limited.” Wallace’s gaze roamed the space around us, as though searching for a way out. “But I will find a means of doing it, my lady.”

“What about Denis?” I asked, for I suddenly remembered the boy’s twin.

“We have not seen him for a long time.” Wallace’s face went white. “I am afraid—”

“Could he have run away?”

“No,” Paul whispered.

“Oh, Holy Mother,” I cried, my tattered heart at my feet.

The captain and I went silently back to my room, where Wallace shook his head, but finally, hesitantly, left me to attend my requests.

My idea of how to survive under Gorgon’s custody paled into woeful insufficiency beside this new development. My heart ached for Paul and Denis, who had depended on me to protect them. They were my charge and I had failed them. I had abandoned them completely with no thought but for myself. Would I now suffer the same as they? Only time would tell, for there was nothing I could do but await Gorgon’s pleasure.

Chapter Nineteen

Were he in my position, what would Duncan, that edge-of-the minute warrior, do? He certainly would not await his enemy’s inclination. With a striking tactic, he would take the initiative and somehow shift the power of the situation to his advantage. I was hardly a battle-hardened, strategy-driven cavalier. In fact, I desperately missed the one I had lost. Nevertheless, I made my way down to the house’s lower level to find Gorgon and deal with him now, not later.

Feverish humidity had risen as the morning progressed. I wiped my damp forehead before arriving at the private tower’s arch, and it was a good thing, for the library door was indeed open. I tucked my handkerchief into my little side pocket as I stepped within. I looked up and came to a sudden stop.

The document table that had always been under the middle window now faced the door like a barricade in the center of the circular room. Newly hung tapestries covered all three windows which created a dim, threatening atmosphere intensified at the moment by Gorgon’s hostile glare. He sat behind the table, arm extended over a pile of stiff parchments. The document cabinet had been pulled out from its nook beyond the bookcases and stood now at Gorgon’s right, as though held under his personal guard. The old battle axe that had hovered over the hearth mantle as long as I could remember, now lay atop the cabinet.

“I see you have made changes to suit yourself.” I looked around the room in dismay.

“I do not want you in this library.” Gorgon leaned his elbow on the chair arm. “Go,” he demanded, waving a hand at me as though I were an attending servant.

I took a shaky breath, for I could not falter now. There was no one left to pick up the pieces. I had to act to protect myself.

“I came to tell you that I have decided to accept our betrothal, on one condition.”

“And what is that?” he asked with a tired sigh, as though anything I might say would be boring.

“You will not touch me until our wedding night.”

His lower bearded jaw dropped. “That is convenient, given that pig of a countess absconded with the priest.” Grim humor wrinkled the skin around his eyes. “Why should I wait? Any child conceived would be legitimate by our later union.” His nostrils flared and his gaze traveled the length of my body as though I stood before him naked. “Your body excites me, Elena. I am pleased that you have accepted our union.”

“Stew-, I mean Warden Gorgon.” I carefully considered my hands, my fingers, my wrecked cuticles. “If you attempt to touch me before we are married under the auspices of the church, I will kill you.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He smiled, a wolfish show of teeth within his freshly trimmed beard that was surprisingly attractive, if not for the ragged scar visible now along his jaw line. He produced a gusty laugh.

Air escaped my lungs in a loud begrudging rush. I could well be forced to keep my word, for any punishment was preferable to his touch.

“Go. I have better things to do than to spar with you, beloved.” He did not laugh again, though his face retained a somber grin.

I passed by the great hall the next morning and watched in amazement as Gorgon stamped back and forth across the wide slate floor. Not one soul had appeared in answer to the summons to come before their new lord.

He spoke to himself as he strode. He steamed with outrageous plans to exact his vengeance on the already destitute tenants and liegemen in the area.

He inhabited the earl’s chair on the dais and sat there for hours on end and fumed, still hoping, I suppose, that someone would arrive. It was unlike our people to ignore their lord. Their absence made me think that, unrelated to Gorgon’s intentions, the war, poor harvests, and the brutal summer heat that we endured this year may have decimated our population, and therefore, there may be no further provisions in the overrun area for the house to confiscate.

Gorgon seemed too busy to dally with me and so I counted myself lucky and spent that first day working in the orchard harvesting early apples. The next day I inventoried the house needs with Mrs. Lowry and Mrs. Deane. Wallace’s plans for our dismissed guards went forward, a force I had every intention of reinstating at some point in the future, armed and in good physical condition. He duly provided my sword and Duncan’s pistol with balls and gunpowder in a linen chest delivered to my quarters.

The one time I came upon him later in the week, I found Thomas, disgruntled and clearly unhappy with his fate, fine clothing or no, lounging in the gallery, his fawn-colored breeches covered in dust. I quickly left him to his grumbling.

The boy Paul had been spirited out of the house in the local ferrier supply wagon on its return to Manchester. With him, I sent a letter of reference to my Uncle Justin, whom I suspected had embraced Puritanism. Paul might not enjoy such a household, but he would be well cared for and safe from Gorgon’s perversions.

I had been adamant that Tor House was the answer to all my problems, but now, in the midst of my struggle to survive there, I found myself a lonely, beleaguered woman, and no longer sure of what I wanted.

I awoke late one afternoon to the fleeting sound of rushing water, a dream seeping out of my mind. I had been studying a copy of a well-known playwright’s work at my table and must have swooned. I looked down to find my wobbly hand still atop the open book before me. Hands to my head, I concentrated, trying to recapture the vision.

Some of it came back, but not all. I had been aboard that same future ship I thought I had avoided . . .

Thrown about in wind and rain, I fought to get to the ship’s side. After a struggle along ropes strung as lifelines, my hair loose and whipping in the wind, I reached and clung to the ship’s lurching gunwale as the distant shore melded into the gray distance. The ship’s bow plunged in and out of the dark, racing sea, scooping up great bodies of water that streamed over the decks. Though I was at the break of the high poop deck near the rear of the ship, cold seawater surged at my feet. A strong arm held me securely in place. The owner of that arm stood beside me at the rail, an outsized shadow that shielded my face from the worst of the coursing wind. I glanced at the setting sun and lifted my face in the frigid wind to the golden glow on the taut overhead sails that rose so high above me.

I dropped my hands into my lap and forced my chilled face, still gawking at a radiant future sail, to attend the present.

The stout warden stood in the open doorway to my quarters. He had not sought me out since our confrontation in the library, but now seemed to await a response from me.

I kept my shaky hands out of sight, clenched my teeth and forced a subtle smile. I nodded at him, to show that I recognized his query, though I had heard nothing.

Still feeling inundated and hardly able to breathe, I waved a flaccid hand, and he strode in. He closed the door behind him, which, too late, set off an alarm in my mind.

Deep shadows accompanied him. Was it my seer’s eye that conjured them or did these shadows really exist? He passed a gilded chair to sit in another next to me. The golden shine of that first chair went dull, as though inundated in his aura. I pushed back from the table and away from Gorgon’s proximity, and the darkness drained away, like my dreams.

He reached over from his seat next to me and swiped a pressing hand across the side of my breast, where it bulged at the fabric of my dress.

“Get out,” I cried. Incensed, I jumped to my feet to avoid any further assaults.

“No, no. I shall keep my hands away, tempting as you are.” He motioned at my vacated seat. “Please sit.”

I sat down delicately, ready for his least move.

He glowered at me and scooted his chair close up beside mine. “You really are quite tall for a woman, you know.”

“Where is the boy, Denis?” I asked, ignoring his comment with a frown, determined to keep him on the defensive. “He was last seen being led away by you.”

“Who says such a thing?” He squinted at me in derision.

“His brother, Paul.”

“Ah, the Simpson twins.” He expelled a long breath and nodded slowly.

“Where is Denis?”

“I have no idea.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It is hardly my fault that you cannot keep track of your own servants.”

“You murdered that boy for your own pleasure.” I glared at him, daring him to deny it.

“The answer to your question . . .” He splayed his hands before him on the table and wiggled his fingers, like a child caught cheating. “. . . is that he was available and willing enough.”

“How can you say that? How could he know what you intended?”

“Oh, I go through boys too fast, that is all,” he said, sounding bored. He threw up a hand, as though it did not matter in the scheme of things.

“Have you no shame?”

“Why bother?” His heavy hand came down atop mine. His other arm came around me in a forced cuddle. He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I did not move. He leaned toward me, and his beard scraped my face as he attempted a kiss. I thought of my sword and the unprimed pistol beside it in the linen chest, behind me. I turned my face away from his grasping mouth.

“I have allowed you time to adjust, but now I want you,” he growled. He seized my chin and jerked it back so that I faced him again. His mouth pressed into a determined grimace. “You are mine. I hunger for you. The mere sight of you stirs my blood. Not to mention . . .” He buried his nose in the curve of my neck. “. . . your scent.”

The chair scraped backward as I rose.

“Ah, come,” he said. “Let us be at peace and enjoy this. And you will, I promise.” He pushed back and leaned forward to stand.

In that moment of words, intent, and distraction with bringing his bulk up out of my slender gilded chair, I turned, flipped up the linen chest lid, and retrieved my sword. No time for simple threats, I took my one chance and swung the sword around. I put as much force as I could garner into a high, two-handed slice.

I yelled and the sword sang. Gorgon gasped, retreated, and then groaned. Hands numb from the impact, I jerked back the sword, ready to try again. Blood flowed down over the torn sleeve where I had hit him high in his now limp left arm. The door banged open. Captain Wallace rushed in, rebounded a step or two at the sight before him, then dutifully held the bleeding warden at sword’s length. I lowered my own sword, suddenly so weary it was all I could do to stand.

“Get out,” I yelled with everything left in me. It was all I could do to hold my weapon, I shook so hard.

“Blood other than mine will flow for this.” Large hand clenched over his bloody wound, Gorgon glared at Wallace and pushed his way out the door.

Wallace and I stared at one another in nervous wonder. Moments later, my only ally watched the door while I carefully cleaned my blade and returned it to the chest.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked in concern.

“I must get out of here. I have to think.”

He bowed and opened the door for me, ready to accompany me.

“No,” I said, a restraining hand on his sleeve. “I want you to leave Tor House immediately. Do not even stop for clothes. Find a place, anywhere, so long as it is safe from Gorgon. And stay there. Let me know where you are. I will provide for you.”

“But he may be back tonight,” he said. He sucked in an alarmed breath. “I cannot leave you to his wiles.”

“I shall ready the pistol and finish him if he dares return.” I opened the chest and withdrew Duncan’s fine weapon.

“I believe you will,” he said in his old crisp baritone. “Let me charge that.” He pulled out the powder horn and the ball bag, then loaded the gun and primed the flash pan.

He handed it back to me and I returned it to the chest, expecting no trouble any time soon. Gorgon was sorely wounded, as he deserved. He had been warned, after all.

Wallace and I walked out of the house to the stables and I saw him safely off through the postern gates disguised as one of Mr. Biggs’ hostlers.

I spent some moments with Kalimir, but he was fractious and not interested in my presence, so I went over to Amilie’s tower with the thought of ascending to her roof to safely reflect on what I would do now that I had surely made a deadly enemy out of the man I was sworn to marry.

I entered the tower door, carefully closed it behind me, and felt my way up the stone steps.

“Amilie,” I called out well before I got to the second floor, not that I expected an answer. “I need your help.”

Rose-scented air whistled down around me. I threw up my hands in surprise and an invisible hand gently supported me up the stairs.

“May I sit in your chair?” I asked, feeling as foolish as a child talking to an imaginary friend. I had meant to ask for entry to her roof, but something in me needed her attention.

The room was relatively light from daylight pouring down the roof stair. The chair sat beside the bed, an old-fashioned, flat-bottomed seat with open, rounded arms.

“Yes-s” soughed the breathy answer from right beside me.

I carefully moved into the dim room and dropped down in the chair, my heart racing. Silence governed this tower, which was one of the reasons I had resorted to it lately. But now something unexpected confronted me.

The air before me coalesced into a small woman, black hair hanging down her back, and dressed in an odd, terribly outdated dress. My eyes widened, for I could clearly make out the hearth ledge through her image. She smiled and reached for my hand. I froze, unnatural terror running up and down my backbone. Very pretty, with a little turned up nose, she was nevertheless no more than a living cloud of vapor with color and form.

“Oh. I am so glad you have allowed me to see you,” I managed to get out, though it was all I could do to keep my seat rather than jump up and run away.

“I feel your terror. And I s-smell blood. I wanted you to s-see me as I was when I lived, not as a ghoul, s-should I have to defend you.”

“Oh, Amilie. You are no monster. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.” My fears melted away, though what blood had to do with anything or that she could even smell it gave me an uncomfortable jolt.

“Of course,” she breathed. She seemed so sweet, so very needy. Her soft, cold hand settled on my very moist one. “But I s-sense—”

At that moment, the lower door banged open and rough voices entered the downstairs level, Gorgon’s cold growl loudest of all.

“Where are you, Elena?” he cried. Confused voices joined his call.

“Are you up there?” he screamed, apparently realizing I was not on the lower level. “Come down. Or I will come up and get you. I am going to beat you for your sin against me. Come and take your punishment!”

Boots echoed on the stair.

Amilie went rigid. She put out her hand, palm down, and the stone floor began to vibrate under my feet. A sound arose above me, a scraping, roaring sound. The walls began to visibly shudder.

“S-stay here, in this chair. No matter what happens. I will return.” Amilie’s ghost stepped away toward the stair, melted into a trailing, vaporous wraith, and disappeared up the roof stair.

The sounds above got louder, rivaling the voices on the lower stair.

“What is that noise?”

“My God, the whole tower shakes.”

Suddenly the roof stair, the landing, and the steps to the lower story were alive with a screaming whirlwind of swirling rock, small and large, interspersed with sinuous wraiths, screaming faces, reaching hands, dirt, leaf, and all manner of debris from the roof, as if a door to hell had opened and spewed out its filth. Men howled, some screamed. A yell and distant thump left no doubt that someone, or something, fell off the stairs to the dark floor below.

“Holy God. ‘Tis a ghost. Look at that.”

“I told you they called this the mad tower. No one believed me. Ow!”

The loud clang of rock pelting metal reached my ears.

Over the hideous shriek of the whirlwind, more men called out. Rushing boot steps, a frantic call for retreat, and, finally, the lower door slammed shut.

Ghostly silence descended around me. I waited a long time and finally Amilie returned to me, again taking see-through human form as she approached the chair. A sheepish smile crept over her face. After a while, she escorted me to the roof stair, where I ascended to a spotless rooftop and spent the evening in thought, for I had to return to life with Edward Gorgon where I would have to submit to the man or kill him, and then, face the cruel consequences of that act.

My return to the house was uneventful, though I carefully locked my door behind me when I came in. I rose early the next morning, anxious to determine Gorgon’s position after being severely tromped. Ready for the worst, I would fight to live and to remain at Tor House.

I dressed and passed through the empty, quiet corridors of the house until I came to the gallery. With an expectant breath, I entered through the double doors to find Thomas slumped in a chair, deep in thought. He gave me a flat, suspicious glance. Even the maw of the cold hearth gaped back at me in a similar manner.

I ignored him, and with the same dull resentment, picked at the thin venison on the sideboard, and took a bite of apple. The room was already warm and the air heavy.

The tumultuous sound of many rushing feet sounded in the hallways behind and around the gallery. Boot steps rushed up the great stair, and Gorgon’s distinctive heavy gait pushed into the gallery. My back to the gallery entry, I froze in place.

“Ah, there you are,” he said in a reasonable voice, as though nothing of the night prior remained in his memory.

I turned into a battered face covered with bruises and tiny open sores, as though he had been thrown into a wine press with a load of river gravel. His left upper arm was heavily bandaged under his loose, oversized doublet.

“To the great hall with you.” He waved a dismissive hand at Thomas. “We have guests.”

Undoubtedly catching the growl in Gorgon’s voice, Thomas jumped up and sauntered out of the gallery.

Gorgon bowed before me, his mouth turned down in bitterness.

“Guests?” My face brightened, and I moved toward the screens.

“My new guard captain just left to bring them through the gates. I will escort you down directly.”

“Who is it?” I moved back toward him, my hand extended in query, wanting to know who had arrived, but he stepped quickly away, his right palm raised against me.

“Your latent powers excite me, Elena. I had no idea. To find you aligned with ghosts and powerful spirits makes me fully appreciate your offer to complete our betrothal contract.”

Aligned with a ghost, yes, and apparently a powerful one. So I took his comment as capitulation and pressed my luck.

“You promise? There will be no beating, I assume.”

“No beating. Nor need you have any fear for your honor.” His gaze dropped to my breasts. His keen eyes sparkled, and he chuckled. “I happily await our marriage bed. Your aggression excites me. Ours should prove a powerful union. No one can stand in our way.”

At my look of stunned amazement, his mouth spread in a predatory smile.

“You can control the elements around you, is that it? When you get angry?” He cocked his head to one side. “Well, that is not a bad thing to have in our camp, now is it?” His dark gaze came at me full bore, accepting no argument. “Your powers far outstrip my mother’s simple sight. Yet, she must have foreseen this, for her last words to me were, tread carefully where next you go. Ha, ha, yes.”

A clatter arose, the sound coming through the gallery screens from the entry doors on the far side of the great hall below us. Our guests had arrived.

We hurriedly left the gallery and descended to the great hall. Guards, many of them covered with bruises and suspicious lacerations, flooded out of the central hallway at the base of the stair. One guard had his arm in a sling. Perhaps it was he who fell—or was pushed—off the steps in Amilie’s tower the prior night.

The rumble of distant thunder rolled into the room. The wall tapestries flapped to a sudden breeze that blew through the open doors. It smelled of rain. Ash whipped out of the unswept hearths and dissipated in a high gray swirl within the huge room.

Across the great hall, to my utter amazement, her cloak billowing around her, Peg Carey walked wearily through the double entry doors, Annie, and Sergeant Burke close behind her, his red cloak flapping noisily. They looked travel worn and uncomfortable at sight of us.

I raced across the slate floor, my shoes clacking like a broken windmill, passed a lagging Thomas, who seemed to have regained his aplomb, and threw my arms around my dear friend and cousin.

Beside us, Thomas took a weeping Annie into his arms. After a stiff, formal hug, he released her and stepped back. Gorgon then gently gathered the sniffling girl into his massive embrace like a beloved doll.

Peg’s cold view of Annie’s reception mirrored my own. But we smiled at one another and decided in unspoken unanimity to let it go as the excitement of the moment.

It struck me then what a charlatan Gorgon was, for he had attempted to murder both of these women just as surely as he had attempted to murder me.

“What happened?” I asked Peg, my face hot with excitement. This close to her, I could see tiny dirt lines that creased her normally immaculate skin, yet her face shone with confidence.

“Prince Rupert sent us back, with the sergeant here.” She sighed and shook her head in seeming frustration, then extended a hand to indicate Sergeant Burke, who, in an attempt to keep from smiling broadly, merely wiggled his extensive mustache at me.

I looked beyond the sergeant, but the hall doors opened on an empty wagon surrounded by three mounted cavaliers. My face fell. No Duncan.

Sergeant Burke bowed, his suspicious blue gaze on Gorgon and his guards that formed up around us.

“But why, Peg? I thought . . .”

My words died away, those particular comments between us inappropriate for general discussion. Gorgon moved respectfully to my side, listening attentively, more interested in what Peg had to say than in her presence.

“He claimed the advance had become too dangerous, that we had to come back.”

Burke stepped forward, whisked off his big plumed hat, and bowed before Gorgon.

“Warden, Prince Rupert asks that you care for these ladies with your very life. He will attend them personally after the coming battle. Treat them as you would the prince himself.” The way Burke delivered this request, it was more of a demand, undoubtedly at the prince’s instruction.

“Certainly,” Gorgon finally said, low and with underlying meaning. He looked Burke over in antagonistic detail.

They came with us up to the gallery, where we offered them breakfast. I did not even know if Gorgon had eaten. Nor did I care. Annie took a plate, two or three slices of venison, and a hard-boiled egg. She poured herself a tumbler of water and sat down at the table.

“I cannot stay,” Burke protested, in his measured manner. “I have to get back. As it is, I will probably miss the initial charge.”

My old dream of the prince trapped among the enemy and Duncan’s determination to prevent it washed over me. I shuddered.

Gorgon mumbled sympathetic agreement with Burke’s position. The man could be a prince of civil formality when he wished to be. He sickened me.

Peg hugged Burke and wished him luck. I pressed a linen napkin stuffed with the remaining venison into his hand, and Annie waved cheerily at him from her seat at the table.

Gorgon and Thomas accompanied the sergeant to further impress him, I felt certain, and thereby the prince, with their sincerity. And to be certain of his departure, as well.

“Have things changed? Did your fantasy prove false?” I asked Peg, after they departed the gallery. “Is he not what you expected?”

She stood with her back to me, her hair dull and thick with dust and oil. Her piercing eyes flashed suddenly around at me, insolence and pride lifting her chin.

Where had she gotten that expression? And it hit me like an unexpected door in my path. The prince; it was his expression.

“He is everything I knew he would be. Ye should have come with us,” she said in her old I-told-you-so tone of voice.

“He has no faults?” I asked, surprised to the point of challenging her. “I find that hard to believe.”

“He has a fault.”

“One?” An incredulous smile—the first since she left—burst upon my face.

“Oh, a vile temper. Never with me, thee must understand. But if he or his beliefs are insulted . . .”

“This scares you?”

“No, for he be right, every time.”

“You are besotted,” I pronounced.

Peg’s happy laugh sounded. It was the best medicine I could have asked for in my cheerless new life.

Even Annie smiled and seemed pleased with herself. She had reclaimed some of the raw-edged naiveté that demonstrated her basic lack of propriety. But we would have time to deal with that now.

It wasn’t until later, as we three strolled arm in arm toward our quarters that I truly understood what this arrival meant. I stopped in mid-stride, exultant.

He had not accompanied them, but Duncan would be back, if for no other reason than to retrieve his cousin.

Chapter Twenty

The following Friday, I tightly wrapped the bread, meat and fruit I had prepared and placed them in my saddlebags with a sealed bottle of ale. I did this every other day, sometimes daily, ostensibly taking my horse out for exercise. Of course, the abandoned cottar’s hut just inside the wood on the Sheffington Road, Wallace’s hidden lodging, was my destination.

I spent very short periods of time with Wallace. He was anxious and unhappy in his inactivity, but thankful for my continued support. Kalimir enjoyed these trips, and Gorgon had not missed me, for I was careful to be gone during his morning meetings with his guard commander.

The stable yard, which was normally a busy place at this time of day, seemed unusually still. Eager to complete my trip before the unbearable heat of mid-day, I raised a booted foot toward my horse’s stirrup when the eerie silence accentuated the loud clopping of shod horse hooves on the stone road beside the house. A rhythmic clank followed, that of a sword knocking against armor.

Who would be coming in from the front entry? Had Gorgon gone out for a reconnaissance with his guard commander? My fear for Wallace’s safety made me wait, handing Kalimir off to a wide-eyed stable boy who stood so still he seemed to be holding his breath. Another clank echoed out from around the building. Kalimir began his skittish dance, the boy barely able to contain him. But the wiry youngster got a solid hold on the horse’s bridle and quickly led him back into the stable.

The steed that came slowly around the corner was maimed and exhausted, head drooping, his rider in little better condition. I dropped my saddle bags, Wallace forgotten for the moment, for I did not recognize this bearded, beaten soldier. How had he gained entry through the front gates?

I strode forward to challenge him with no weapon but my determination. Moving closer, my uncle’s face appeared under the layers of hair, dirt, and dried blood. My forward motion ceased, and I stared in shock.

He wore no helmet, his fly-away hair plastered to his skull by the bloody remains of a scalp wound. His stench, that of stomach-wrenching filth and death, wafted my way. Though I wanted to cover my nose, I instead left my hand quivering at my side and breathed through my mouth. He was so gaunt it amazed me that he kept to his horse, much less supported the back and breast plates and the metal greaves that he still wore. His desperate eyes stared down at me.

He dismounted and called to the stable boy.

I followed the earl’s annoyed gaze to find the boy standing there, terrified of this specter in our stable yard. The stable hand finally came forward, but with reluctance.

“Feed and brush him,” the earl demanded. “Clean his saddle and tack. Have him ready to go tomorrow early.”

“You look in no shape to be going anywhere soon, Uncle,” I managed to say against the lump in my throat.

He waved me away and staggered toward the house.

“What has happened?” I cried. My knees turned to water. I remained planted where I stood. Did my uncle’s desperate arrival mean my dream had played out? “Are you all right? Where are your men, the prince?” Captain Comrie? I ached to ask. My breath came short, and my heart pattered crazily.

He shrugged and shook his head in misery. “Where is Edward?”

“Edward? You mean Warden Gorgon?”

“Just get him.” His bulging eyes flashed at me in familiar resentment. “I need water. And food. Some ale or wine. Whatever you have.”

Within the hour, I exchanged my riding boots for soft house slippers and arranged a small meal to be set out on the gallery sideboard. Mrs. Deane brought up a platter of sliced ham. The kitchen help was either busy or missing, a new, disturbing, and altogether too frequent occurrence, for Mrs. Lowry came in behind Mrs. Deane with hot bread and a small crock of butter. Ale followed.

I filled my plate and took my seat beside the head of the table, facing the screens. The shock of the earl’s return had not left me, and I sweltered in the still heat, my body damp, my clothing wet where the dress hugged my bodice.

Thomas came in silently and slid into the extra chair beside the hearth.

“Have some ham and bread.”

“I will await my lord’s appearance,” he said. He bent his head to study his fingernails and bit at his lower lip.

Peg, her manner stoic and clearly expecting the worst, arrived with Annie, who was pale and shaky. They stepped aside, blond and auburn heads lowered, and the earl walked in beside Gorgon.

To my unaccustomed eye, Devlin looked strange with his clean shaven face, his hair still damp, but clean, the head wound not in evidence. He wore a flowing black taffeta house robe. Devlin glared at Thomas as he passed him, his mouth turned down. He heaped a plate with a large portion of ham and two thick slices of bread and went to the far head of the table, near the east entrance to the gallery, where the countess generally sat. This arrangement surprised me. To leave the earl’s dinner chair to the warden was a mark of sublime favor.

Gorgon went to the mounted basin beside the sideboard and washed his hands extensively, drying them on the towel beside the washstand. His left arm was still stiff and essentially useless from the wound I had inflicted on him a week or more ago. He did not appear to blame me, yet I dared not let down my guard. He would one day attempt to make me pay for the attack that had taken the use of his arm, however temporary that disability might prove to be.

Mounted basins in the gallery and in the great hall had been one of his first demands as house warden. I had often wondered in the early weeks after his arrival why his hands remained rough and chapped. It had been a relief to know that it was a simple obsession with cleanliness and not a skin disease.

With measured steps and a look of lofty intensity, which his bulk accentuated, Gorgon moved to the sideboard and knifed four large pieces of ham onto a plate.

“I do not want him in the same room with me,” the earl spouted, pointing across the table at Thomas, still seated beside the hearth. He sighed and raised his eyebrows in seeming resignation. “Though I suppose it no longer matters.”

With his good hand and without looking at him, Gorgon waved Thomas away, who stalked sullenly out of the room. He should have eaten, for now he would get nothing until evening.

Peg and Annie took their accustomed seat with their backs to the screens. Gorgon took his lordly position at the head of the table, Annie on his right and me on his left. The chair beside me remained empty, its occupant currently exiled. It was just as well, for Thomas seated beside Devlin would have created a dreadful scene.

To my embarrassment, my stomach growled hungrily. Eyebrows rose around the table. I quickly busied myself with my meal.

“I would leave for the isle straight away,” the earl said, after long moments of frenzied eating. “But I doubt my horse would make it in this brutal heat. Besides, I have always enjoyed the regal comforts of this house.”

Gorgon nodded sympathetically and Devlin smiled, his eyes brightening for a moment, unusual as that was. I had rarely, if ever, seen him smile.

“We have discussed this, Edward, but for these ladies assembled here I must announce that . . . “ He caught each of our gazes one by one. “The Royalist Army has been ingloriously and soundly defeated.”

“But how could that happen?” Annie cried, a quiver in her voice.

“Though we had twenty thousand men and more,” Devlin went on. “The Parliamentary armies opposed to us were joined by the Scots. Between them they had almost two men to our one. They enveloped our center, and terror ran like a sweeping wind across our forces, throwing all into deadly confusion.” His chin rose in arrogant disdain. “Most fled the field. I alone gathered my men and fought until there was no man left standing around me.”

I squinted suspiciously at my uncle, for it was Prince Rupert who had led the second charge and attempted to rally his men. I had seen it. But not even the prince could overcome the sheer panic on that battlefield. I clenched my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. So it had come after all. And Duncan?

Peg sat pale and patient, awaiting answers to the same questions that flooded my mind.

Untouched by the tragedy of Devlin’s words, Gorgon studied the earl like an opportunist about to spring.

“The North is lost to the King,” the earl pronounced in morbid satisfaction. “Our defenders lie slaughtered on the moor.”

My heart sank into my queasy stomach.

“Does Prince Rupert live?” Peg asked with an anxious frown. She pinned the earl with her piercing gaze, her high cheekbones standing out like dark slashes across her flushed cheeks.

“I know not,” he said. He wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. “Men cried out that he was dead. And then later I was told he had been captured. Just the other day, a soldier told me the prince had survived and fled to the west. I have not seen him since we gathered for battle.”

“Oh, he knew. He knew,” Peg whimpered, her eyes closed, tears squeezing out onto her cheeks.

“And Captain . . .” The swelling in my throat took my words, threatening tears. “. . . Comrie?” I finally finished, with a knowing glare at my deceitful uncle.

Gorgon’s gaze whipped around at me, its intensity, like ripples of hate, underlined by his guttural growl.

Annie looked up in fretful misery and nodded at the earl, seconding my query, her many-colored eyes flashing.

“I told you,” he croaked, irritated, the old temper-bound earl back among us. “I did not see him. He was with the prince in the center rear of the battlefield and I was on the right flank, between us tide after tide of carnage.”

“But would you not have seen their red cloaks?” I asked, my ire rising, well aware that Rupert’s lifeguard was imminently visible on that deadly field.

“You know not of what you speak, woman.” He snorted and banged his fist onto the table.

His attitude made me wonder exactly where on that right flank he had been. At the rear? Where the panic began?

Since I had not been allowed into his presence when the earl returned from Liverpool and had been spirited away before he left for York, I had not seen him since the countess departed. There was no sign of the calm, forgiving man the countess had described to me. Had the countess misled me or had the earl misled the countess? Either way, the deception left a bitter taste in my mouth.

At the head of the table beside me, Gorgon nodded at Devlin’s account of the disaster, unaware of me for once. He grimaced and his beard parted along his scarred jaw, his dismay shallow and meant to impress.

“Edward,” the earl said in that odd addition to his vocabulary, “has convinced me that we must dismiss the servant staff and escape to the isle where we can mount an adequate defense against the attack we believe is in preparation.”

I drew in a stunned breath. Shock drained away, and anger began its slow climb up through my distraught thoughts.

Gorgon, with a devious, amused look, patted my hand, then took a hefty bite of ham.

Peg and Annie looked at me from across the table in rising terror. I forced calm upon myself, motioned at the sideboard, as gracefully as my shaking hands would allow, and urged them to fill their plates. But it was only Peg, in distressed silence, who moved away from the table.

“Yes,” Gorgon said, pleasantly. He looked from face to face around the table, as though counting his supporters. “We must move quickly. You are right to go on, Lord Devlin. They will need your able direction on the isle.” He leaned toward me and, with his good arm, reached behind me and caressed my back with a gentle rubbing action.

I stiffened against this unwanted contact.

“Elena and I shall follow as soon as I can close up the house.” He laughed in his cold manner, though he quickly retracted his arm and straightened in his chair. “Besides, it is best that Mistresses Carey and McGuire remain with us.” He leaned forward and patted Annie’s cheek. “. . . in the event their rightful caretakers have survived and come to claim them. They will keep Elena company.”

Who did he think he was fooling? He cared not a twig for my friends. His smooth niceties further confirmed my belief that he had coddled the earl, literally pushed him out with a threatened attack on the isle, which I suspected was a ruse. If I had learned nothing in these last months, it was that Gorgon had always meant to hold Tor House, no matter how he had to do it.

“In the end,” Gorgon said with his usual sneer. “I intend to leave nothing useful behind.”

In that moment of shocked silence around the table, Gorgon’s gaze fell on me. His sneer softened, his mouth parted, lips quivering, and he expelled a breath of consuming desire, for his eyes burned with what he wanted of me. But, fearful that I might summon the ghost and her powers, he had been forced to restrain himself, something he was sorely unused to doing. How long that restraint would last was a matter of serious concern to me.

Peg returned to the table, but merely stared at her plate. Beside her, Annie watched Gorgon in fascination. This was not the first time I had witnessed the girl’s fascination with the warden. She had clearly never had a breast mauled by the brute.

“Follow with Elena or leave her behind.” The earl brought my attention back to the table with a disparaging motion. “I care not which.”

My mouth fell open in shock and disbelief, though I had long known these were my uncle’s true feelings for me. If I could not benefit him, he apparently had no use or concern for me.

“Huh,” Gorgon said, with a magnanimous lift of his bearded chin and an affected sniff. “Never fear, I shall bring her and take her to wife. She has many talents, Charles, as you will come to see.”

Peg and Annie looked at me in questioning surprise.

I smiled gracefully, though dread wound around me like a shroud. Deceit was rampant. My mouth went dry, and my stomach churned. Was there no one I could trust? The answer to that question left me bereft, for I had rejected Duncan just as surely as I had loved him. My limbs shook and tears threatened.

“How many men did we lose?” I asked in a trembling voice, searching for some hope for Duncan and his prince.

“Thousands,” came Devlin’s belligerent answer, after a moment of consideration. “At least five thousand, an entire moorland littered with dead men piled three high. Another, oh, at least two to three thousand wounded, thousands more captured. We were soundly beaten with heavy losses, our cannon captured, and forced to surrender or flee the field. As I have told you, I was lucky to come away with my horse and my life.” His dark eyes watered. “Tor House cannot stand against the unopposed tide of Parliament and their Scot allies. Worse than that, I have been warned of a pact among certain Parliamentary and Scottish generals to tear this house down, block for block.”

“What?” I croaked. Anger spiked in my racing blood, strengthening me, my face suddenly hot. I leaned back in the chair and looked around at the comfortably furnished gallery, at my ancestor’s portraits lined along the walls, the screens, the chairs, the massive hearth that gave such comfort in winter. “Surely that is just rumor. Why would they—”

“That is how much they hate the King—which is what this place stands for. This great house has been my life, Elena. I am inconsolable over this. Yes, someone other than you loves this fortress. Yet, if I cannot have it, I would rather the Roundheads and the Scots tear it down. I leave for the isle first thing in the morning. You ladies will follow with Warden Gorgon, as he has stated.”

“You would abandon this house to certain destruction?” I cried in disbelief.

Everyone at the table gawked at me, Gorgon and Devlin in amazement, Peg and Annie in alarm.

“What would you have me do? Die defending it?” my uncle said snidely, as though such a thought was unconscionable.

“We must leave while we can,” Gorgon said. He shushed me with a nudge at my arm and a calculating smile. Conspiracy blazed in his amiable gaze.

Peg had not touched her food, and Annie had been too overcome to serve herself. Both near tears, they begged to be excused and left the gallery, anxious to get away from the impending doom the earl had brought with him.

There was no reason to stay, and I followed, but instead of going left to our rooms, I turned right at the door and went slowly down the great stair, my mind lost in reverie. The uncertainty of Duncan’s fate tore at me. Yet my dreams had told me what I should have known all along. Over and over it had played out before me. Talented fighter that he was, his chances were slim, especially if he stayed with the prince, whom he would not abandon. My heart ached like a burning boil in my chest at the thought of him dead on that field.

Quiet voices floated down to me from above. I looked up and stopped above the center point of the stairs, just under the gallery’s open lattice.

This particular step, close under the screens at their starting point, was in a position where I could not be seen. Yet I could distinctly hear the earl’s words, as though he were right beside me.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” said the earl, in a hoarse whisper.

I stopped, my slippered foot left dangling over the next step, like a statue along the stair banister. Interest piqued, I settled on the step.

“No. From what I understand of Thomas’ ramblings, the old earl never told him,” Gorgon said from a distance.

The sounds of clanking cutlery came to me. Another moment passed.

“Had I known we would ultimately lose Tor House,” the earl murmured, “it would not have been necessary to dispose of that decrepit old man. He cried, you know, like a baby, on this very floor.”

Who were they speaking of? My father, John, had never achieved the earldom. Which meant . . .

“Nice to realize that, with him dead in his grave these two years past,” came Gorgon’s sardonic voice. A chair scraped across the floor.

My aching heart thumped noisily in my ear. They had poisoned my grandfather? There was no other meaning their words could take. But what had the old earl kept from whom? And why would he bother to do so?

“You might consider a similar fate for Thomas. He remains a problem best eliminated.”

Stunned, I clasped my hand over my mouth.

“He has been useful,” Gorgon responded, close to the screens. “With the loss of the house, however, it is true, his appeal degenerates. He is incapable—a fool and a braggart.”

“Why, then, have you kept him around you? To keep me close to you, perhaps?”

This last question made no sense to me. The last thing Gorgon wanted was the earl skulking close by.

“In a manner of speaking.” Gorgon’s cold laugh sounded. “Let us call him insurance.”

“Do you not think that a moot idea?” my uncle crooned. I could imagine his ironic half-smile, though I had no idea what he meant.

“This will be our last night truly alone,” Gorgon said to the sound of crushed taffeta.

Silence fell heavily through the lattice.

“You will come to me?” the earl asked. He must have turned back into the room, for his voice trailed away.

So they planned to continue their conversation later, in the earl’s rooms. Yet there seemed something sinister and distorted about the way the earl spoke those words.

Had my uncle truly killed his own father? Could he not wait to inherit? The very idea was like Uncle Charles, impatient, untrustworthy, and self-serving. Yet I sensed another, deeper reason. Something I could not discern.

I spent the rest of the day searching for Thomas and, too exhausted and upset to eat, did not attend dinner. To avoid Peg’s and Annie’s questions, I went to bed, but did not sleep. I rose at first light, put on a simple serge gown in the dressing room to avoid waking anyone, and departed our quarters before either Peg or Annie knew I was up. Though my deep concern for Thomas still drove me, I needed to catch my uncle before he left and bargain for my life. He did not want me around, but I needed his assurance that if I disappeared he would not mount a search for me either, that I would be as free of him, as he felt free of me. I would fight to the end for Tor House. But if all else failed, I wanted to be free to search for Duncan, whether he be dead or alive

In the distance, heavy boot steps sounded on the great hall slates as I descended the south stair. The boot steps stopped, and soft voices replaced them. I reached the end of the hall to find the earl and Gorgon no more than ten feet into the great hall backing away from an embrace.

It was still in the dark of pre-dawn, and torchlight splashed around the front entry. In the shadows, the earl’s chair stood expectantly on the dais, an ermine robe over an arm, as though awaiting its new lord. A cool breeze fluttered through the room and down the hall.

A familiar purple and red bite mark on the earl’s neck, just under his ear, jumped out at me. The sight of little Paul Simpson’s battered body flooded into my mind.

I jerked, unable to believe my eyes. This lord of the realm wore the wound like a badge. He twisted his head away to demonstrate this perversion, his adoring gaze held solidly on Gorgon. He bowed to him, yielding and subservient.

I edged into an alcove and closed my eyes in sick understanding. Revulsion rose like gorge in my throat. It was not only boys Gorgon used, but men. And I had now seen what Countess Marie Louise had experienced. The earl’s behavior was a stupor-like trance, as though he were in thrall to Gorgon, his lover. This aberrant relationship explained everything, put every travesty into context. The earl’s insistence that I marry Gorgon had been to keep Gorgon close at hand and dispose of my claim in the same act. No wonder he had interfered in Gorgon’s attempt to rape me. This unnatural alliance made all else moot.

The cool stone of the alcove roused me from my untimely introspection. To be caught now would mean my life. Their secret had been kept with poison all these years, and they had planned my demise in a similar manner.

The earl departed with a sizable guard. Gorgon’s delay in leaving was a pretense, I was certain. Even if he did follow, I would not go with him.

Gorgon’s boots clonked up the great stair, and I raced back the way I had come. With the earl gone, I now had to find Thomas. I woke Mrs. Deane, but she had not seen him.

“That young man’s newfound obsession with wine will be the death of him,” she railed, sitting up in her bed.

I raced to the wine cellar and there he was, drunk, huddled in the dark coolness of the far corner behind the last tall wine rack, crooning to himself. I approached and glanced down at the pathetic wreck. How could he have been a problem, other than his obnoxious ways? Besides, Gorgon had gone out of his way to shelter him. A pretext, apparently. But for what?

“Come out of there.”

He smiled sheepishly and worked his way to his feet. He stepped out and swayed into me.

“You need me,” he slurred, leaning drunkenly into my face, his breath rancid with wine.

“I have come to warn you.” I pushed him out of my immediate proximity. “You must leave. Soon. Eat no food, take no drink.”

“What? Why not?”

“Gorgon plans to poison you. I overheard him discussing his plans with the earl, who has left Tor House.”

“Humph. It’s not the earl I hide from. Gorgon pinches and gouges me cruelly. Now he wants me gone, too. Is that it?”

“Essentially. What reason did Gorgon give you for coming to your defense in June?”

“He gave me none. And what did you do to him just lately? He seems fascinated, yet afraid of you. I have never seen him scared of anyone or anything.”

“Um.” I raised my chin in haughty innocence. “I played a little trick on him.”

“I asked him what was wrong and he acted as though I had caught him in some heinous act.”

Though I thought I had lost the ability, I smiled broadly.

He frowned. “Gorgon did recently advise me my confidence would no longer be required. I am not sure what he intends, and so your suggestion is not out of line in the least. The last boys he had brought in did not last more than two or three sessions. I want no sessions, if that is his plan.” He slapped his hand over his mouth and shot me a look of utmost horror, his face suddenly pale. “You do know about Gorgon’s boys, don’t you?” he mumbled from behind his hand.

“Yes. A despicable thing.” I sighed, wondering if he knew about the earl.

He attempted to stretch an arm, his old expression of self-satisfaction, but lost his balance and barely caught himself on the wine rack. It rocked alarmingly, but finally settled back into place.

“Poison, you say?” He gave me a flat, level-eyed stare.

“We must depose him and send him away naked,” I spluttered. Anger rose quickly to the surface of my thoughts and to my blazing face. I had to take a chance on Thomas.

“Easier said than done with Edward Gorgon,” he said, weaving before me.

“We must meet with Captain Wallace and devise a plan. Will you join us?”

“Ah, Wallace. Gorgon has been hot to get his hands on him. You have him hidden away, do you?”

“After what I just heard, you need to join him.”

“Right you are, although I have a few things I must do first.”

Like a washerwoman, I put a hand on my hip and frowned.

“I will only eat from the hand of Mrs. Deane.” He raised his hands in mock defense. “Does that satisfy you? The staff and the house guard will help us in any way they can.”

“Yes, I know. I recruited them some time ago. If Tor House is truly lost, as the earl suggests, we must find a way to take over.” I paced up between the racks and back to where Thomas still stood, and pointed a forefinger at him. “You must know from the beginning that holding Tor House is probably a lost cause.” And I described the recent battle and the threat to tear down the house.

“Then why don’t we just run away?” he cried, his dark eyes wild with fear.

“I will not.” I frowned at him, surprised he was so ready to run. “I will fight for what is mine.”

“Tor House is nothing but a pile of stone,” he shrieked.

“It is my pile of stone,” I shot back at him.

“All right. All right.” He raised a palm as a peace offering. “But there is one place, or rather one people, that we must avoid.”

“The isle?”

“No. Duncan and his ilk.”

“What?” I asked with a weak laugh, overcome by shock, anger, and now the incomprehensible. “Are you speaking of Annie?”

“She is part of it. Do you remember the tales we used to hear of the thieving MacGregor Clan when we were young? How vicious they are, and that they could well attack us here, in our own land?”

I nodded, knowing where this line of reasoning had to lead. The wine rack was close by. I leaned heavily into it.

“By fire and sword, they take what they want. They murder, rape, and maim at will. That brutal clan has long been outlawed by their own people. And still they raid, kill, and burn. Even into England. You know this.” His voice rose into the high octave that fear lent him. “This untamed barbarity is what lies at Duncan’s heart. His name is not Comrie. If he lives, you must reject him, for he is no more and no less than a deceitful, blackguard MacGregor awaiting his chance.”

Killing is what I do best. Duncan’s own words.

Dead or alive, he had been my last haven. To lose that . . .

“Do you understand me?” Thomas demanded, his face distorted, eyes protruding like plums about to burst.

I was too numb to so much as nod. If not Duncan, who could I turn to?

Chapter Twenty-One

The house I so willingly sacrificed for remained close around me. Yet I did not feel secure. My father had taught me that our safety could be gauged by how thick we made our walls. But now, the reason in that statement haunted me, for my life had become a living nightmare. I was trapped within my own fortification.

After four days of avoiding the warden’s presence, I entered the gallery to find my favorite footman dead at Gorgon’s feet. This was not the first such stain on the Turkish carpet. Sudden, unspeakable death, yet again, contaminating my home.

My stomach lurched at the metallic smell of Dawson’s blood, baking in the afternoon heat.

Gorgon had turned away from this horrid act and embraced Thomas, who stood in a rigid state of terror. The warden’s head moved up and back, licking at his victim’s neck. A chapped hand snaked around and squeezed a buttock.

“What are you doing?” I asked in severe umbrage.

Gorgon released him. Thomas whimpered, his breath coming in gasps. He grasped an open bottle of wine off the table.

“What I would prefer to be doing to you.” Gorgon turned toward me with a smirk.

“And Dawson?” I shook with fury. “Your sword is still bloody, Warden.”

“He displeased me.” He waved a hand, as though neither Dawson’s death nor the bloodied sword were of any importance. “On the other hand, Thomas has brought spectacular news.”

“For this you attack him?”

“Attack? Not at all. I merely wish to introduce him to another form of appreciation.”

It was perversion run amok, as Thomas had feared. Not even he, who had served Gorgon well, was safe.

“Get away from him.” Something snapped within me. I could bear it no longer. “In fact, get out of this house.”

“Ah.” His eyebrows shot up, and he raised a finger. He strolled toward me. “But you cannot force me, can you?”

My mouth worked, but what could I say? It had only been a matter of time before he realized my helplessness.

“I suspected as much. Your powers are limited to the mad tower, are they not? Ah ha. See? I know your secret. What is it that you found there?”

“A ghost who will not tolerate you,” I answered in a level voice.

“A ghost, you say?” He leaned toward me ominously. “Yes, I witnessed such a thing, but it is the tower itself that is the power, is it not? My mother told me of such things. Her greatest secret was a ring of standing stones that gave her similar powers, but only at that spot. You see, I do know your limits. I only wish I had realized it sooner. I could strike you dead at this moment and you could do nothing to prevent me.”

“You are mad.”

“You and your witchery no longer matter, Elena. I have made an arrangement to remain at Tor House without you.”

“That is your spectacular news?” I asked, edging away from him. “It hardly surprises me. Will it be poison or a sword?”

“Neither of those, actually.”

Thomas chose that moment to break away with his bottle, stride quickly past me, and out the double doors. I sketched a curtsey and followed.

We fled through the hallways, Gorgon’s laughter echoing at our heels. He could not be dealt with, or controlled. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Life at Tor House had become indefensible, my safety and the safety of my friends at mortal risk.

Agony clawed its way up my throat. There was no one, certainly not Duncan, to champion me now. Even Thomas ran for his life, well ahead of me in the south hall.

We hid in my rooms, all of us, Thomas a nervous disaster. He paced constantly around the room, guzzled wine and tore at his fingernails.

Annie primped dispassionately at the dressing table.

At the table beside the door, the same table where I had destroyed Gorgon’s left arm, Peg brushed her hair in slow, despondent strokes. I sat beside her and rubbed at my cuticles in anxious silence

“He amazes me,” Thomas said. “He actually admitted that he enjoys killing in his lust. It serves a dual purpose, he told me, as though he were talking of what’s for dinner. His ‘affairs,’ as he calls them, tend to dispose of problems.”

“Thomas, please. There are sensitive ears here with us,” I said.

With a moody frown of disbelief, Annie surveyed us from the dressing table chair, her favorite perch. She was clothed in the yellow gown I had first seen her in, its new lace provocatively cupping her bulging breasts. She was beyond listening to anything Peg or I had to say about her appearance.

Thomas strode over to the window and pushed it open. It squealed, as it always did when fully extended. I turned toward him, to chide him for forcing it. At that moment, the sun’s lowering rays flared on his red satin doublet, encasing him in flame. I blinked and the image was gone.

Afraid to leave my room, I forced myself to remain in my rigid chair at the table. Prepared to do what I must, I had laid the charged pistol on the surface before me. One mere weapon, a single ball, to counter Gorgon’s overwhelming threat. I would have to be certain of any shot I attempted.

A hesitant knock sounded.

None of us had eaten. Hungry eyes moved to the closed entry in hopes of dinner from the kitchen, but the door opened on an ancient, quivering footman.

Gorgon would not have bothered to knock.

“The lord warden demands everyone’s presence in the great hall to greet our defenders,” the wavering voice announced.

“Our defenders?”

“His words, my lady.”

“Is he alone?”

“At the moment, yes. But he appears to expect someone.” The footman fled into the dark turning of the east hallway, apparently unwilling to speak further.

“It is an excuse to put us in his power,” Thomas cried. He bit at his lip in indecision.

“Perhaps. But what ‘defenders’ would come here?”

“Rupert.” Peg stood so fast her brush clattered to the floor, and her chair toppled over.

“We must stay here,” Thomas insisted. “It could be Fairfax.”

“The Parliamentary general?” I asked in utter surprise.

“Yes,” he finally squeaked when his voice would work.

“You are overwrought.”

“Ye black-hearted villain,” Peg yelled, her cheek bones blazing red. “What have ye done?”

Thomas grimaced and looked to me for support.

“Take my pistol,” I said to him. “It is charged. Stay here for now, but when you can do it safely, ride to the Sheffington Road, to the old cottar’s hut within the first large stand of trees on your left. You will find Wallace there. Stay with him. We must make a plan to dispose of Gorgon and we must do it now. I will follow as soon as I can get away.”

My words trusted Thomas with Wallace’s life, yet Thomas had no choice. Nor did I.

“The rest of us must chance it,” I went on, “for, if he lives, it could be the prince who has arrived.” And Duncan. Though I was unsure how I would react to my cavalier lover, knowing now his disgraced, murderous heritage.

I had not discussed the MacGregor name with Annie, nor would I. Her attitude had blossomed initially under my guidance, but just lately had taken a sudden turn into a viciousness I did not understand.

In unseemly haste, she pushed Peg aside and led the way out the door. Her hair neatly pinned up at the back of her head, her pouted lips were red with rouge and her face flushed, as though she expected to meet the love of her life.

Gorgon would not say who he expected and forced the three of us into a short greeting line just inside the wide entrance, refusing to meet his guest out on the steps, as was customary.

“Welcome, great prince,” Gorgon murmured, as tall, dust-covered Prince Rupert pushed his way insolently through the entry doors.

“Oh, thank ye, God,” Peg whispered fervently beside me.

Relief left me weak in the knees. I clasped my hands against my chest and squeezed my eyes shut in thankfulness. This man’s very presence meant that the most crucial piece of my vision had been circumvented.

Rupert looked Gorgon up and down as though he were an out of place footman. A deep scratch flared across his chin, but he appeared otherwise unscathed, his dignity unimpaired. He wore his habitual red cloak, though there was no sight of the color behind him, among his men, who slowly flooded in the wide doorway. There were ten travel-worn officers. One of them, sporting an orange-red mustache, stared at me in unease.

My heart soared and bumped around alarmingly within the cage of my chest.

Duncan not only lived, he had returned, and stood before me more attractive than ever, despite his clear exhaustion. He wore no armor, and the sleeve on his filthy buff coat was torn. His wide bucket boots carried entire battalions of dirt and dust, his bridle gauntlet was missing, and his dirt-smeared, featherless hat was pushed down over long russet locks that fell below his shoulders. He gave me a small, stiff nod.

My face went hot and my stomach queasy. Beside me, Gorgon shifted his feet in irritation. His hatred washed over me, a warning to keep my place.

With a strong whiff of lavender, Annie pushed past me, ran to Duncan, and threw herself into his arms, that which I so ached to do. He folded his curvaceous cousin tightly into what had to be a bone-crushing embrace, then passed her to his arm, where she settled in broad-faced pleasure.

He frowned down at Annie’s cleavage, then shook his head in dismal acceptance.

I fully expected Peg to so run to the prince, but that was what my old impulsive companion would have done. She controlled herself now, though her quick smile and dark eyes flashed in anticipation.

“Where is the earl?” Prince Rupert demanded. He glared down his long, straight nose at Gorgon. “I know he lives. I myself saw him flee the field of battle.”

Though he stood his ground, Gorgon’s eyes widened.

Had he believed my uncle’s boasts? He viewed the veteran officers who shuffled closer around their leader. Scowls, hands on sword hilts. Duncan shoved Annie behind him. His hand dropped to his holstered pistol.

“Lord Devlin has informed us of the disaster and gone on to the Isle of Man to hold it against our enemies,” Gorgon finally called out in a loud, cold voice.

“And left Tor House for his niece to defend?” The prince’s dark eyebrows cringed in displeasure.

An echoing martial spirit arose in the huge hall. The prince’s stance and that of his men were at high alert, ready to move on a moment’s notice. Attack, maim, destroy. They represented the attitude of war.

Gorgon felt it, too, for he glanced at me in sudden alarm. Not that he did not deserve such treatment. Regardless, his natural bullish attitude emerged unscathed, for his barrel chest expanded and he stepped forward, his mere girth a brooding menace.

“I, your Highness, as you well know, have been named warden of this place.”

“Be careful, Gorgon. Do not deign to tell me what I know,” the prince growled. His hand moved to his rapier. After a moment of silence, he turned to me.

I quivered in anxiety while Gorgon swayed in rage beside me.

“My lady. Are you well?” Prince Rupert asked.

I gave a sharp little nod, afraid to tell him the truth.

“I had intended to do this privately.” He eyed Gorgon, who looked like a red-faced, bearded toad. “But under the circumstances before me, I do it now.” He waggled a large hand at Duncan, who stood closest behind him and now produced a rolled, leather-covered parchment.

Duncan’s eyes remained blank, his manner severely reserved, though Annie had swung back around to hang happily off his arm. I had forgotten how impressive his build was, even beside the tall, lanky prince.

How could I forget the feel of those muscular shoulders under my palms? Deep within me, a quiver began.

“Lady Elena.” I forced myself to look away from Duncan to the attentive prince who stood so amicably before me.

“I present to you from the King’s care, a witnessed copy of your jointure deed with Tor House.”

My mouth fell open in pleased astonishment.

“I knew such a thing existed. Devlin is a fool,” Gorgon roared, his keen eyes afire in indignation.

“Spare me your noise, Gorgon,” Rupert said, in that deep, chilling voice I had heard only once before, in the library weeks and weeks ago.

“But Lady Elena is my betrothed,” Gorgon complained. “I am entitled to the rights of her jointure. Tor House is mine.”

“I doubt that will continue.” Prince Rupert gave a quick, haughty laugh.

“Let me assure you, it will not continue,” I said with pride, while the prince stood by me, the leather of the jointure cover warming in my hand.

Gorgon grasped my arm. The prince raised a warning finger and my arm fell free. I quickly put the deed away deep in my dress pocket.

“I will hold my own home,” I cried. I looked boldly at Duncan, who sucked in a breath through his mouth, looking uncomfortable. His gaze slid from the prince to Gorgon and back to me. I raised my eyebrows at him. He nodded and moved about in discomfort.

Beside him, Annie’s eyes flashed. She frowned at the eye play between us and settled in closer under Duncan’s protective arm, claiming her place.

He would meet me, that nod meant, but he did not like it. Still, it was my chance, perhaps my last, to make a difference with him and, hopefully, to regain his love and support.

I dared a look at Gorgon, whose entire attention had devolved into a malevolent glare at Duncan.

“Lady Elena.” Rupert bowed to me. “I ask but a night’s shelter at your walls for my remaining troops. We have been living off the land and done surprisingly well. We dare not stay long, nor does the King wish you to endanger your life by remaining at Tor House. Later, when Lancashire is free again, your jointure deed will grant you your rights here. For now, Lancashire under Parliamentary control will not be safe.”

I stared at him in horror and remembered Thomas’ fear of a Parliamentary approach. Yet my champion had returned . . . if he would have me.

“And last, but most important,” With a glance at Peg, the prince shifted his feet and went on. “I come to claim Mistresses Carey and McGuire. They will accompany us into Wales, where I go to recruit, train, and regroup. The King’s war must be won.”

“Where is Boye?” Peg asked beside me. She drew a frantic breath. I glanced toward her to find her head of shiny auburn hair moving this way and that as she searched around the men at the door. Finally, she looked up in deep anxiety at the prince.

Rupert settled back on his heels and tipped his head sideways. “He lies dead on Marston Moor, as great a hero as any man.” He stepped closer and took Peg’s hand. “He slipped his collar and followed me into battle,” he said quietly to her, his personal grief writhing in his eyes.

“Oh,” Peg sighed in dismay.

Only then did I remember the white blur following the prince’s guard in my dreams. Hero or not, my heart mourned the loss of the prince’s happy, loyal companion.

I supported Peg with a hand at her elbow and looked up at the magnificent prince in his dusty clothes. I was so pleased with his saving presence that a smile broke over my face.

“I am thrilled to see that you live, your Highness,” I said. “We have heard so many tales.”

“Thanks to Colonel Comrie here, yes.” Rupert motioned in Duncan’s direction. “His effrontery and his unmitigated courage brought me out of an untenable position.”

So Duncan had won a field promotion. For what, I already knew.

“You were encircled by the enemy,” I said quietly. Night after night I had watched the prince within that solid ring of shifting, dogged Roundheads, pistols and swords raised, threatening the life and liberty of the one man capable of winning this war for the King. But, as it was . . .

“I would have been, if not for Comrie. We cut our way out,” he responded with a crooked smile. “I see you harbor foreknowledge as he describes.”

“I will open the water channels, your Highness,” I said quickly. Hopefully, he would say no more of my part in his escape. “You and your men are welcome here, so long as you wish. There should be water for all, yourselves and your animals, within an hour or two. See to it,” I said insolently to Gorgon’s new guard captain.

The man stared at me, dumbfounded, then shifted his gaze to Gorgon who nodded, his face curling into his beard in a frown. The officer shouldered his way through the crowd at the front entry and disappeared.

“Your old rooms await you in the private tower, and there will be food available for yourself and your officers within the hour.”

“In your charming gallery?” the prince asked, with a glance up at the dark screens.

“Yes, your Highness.”

The prince put out a commanding hand. Peg squeezed my hand in affection and went to him.

Peg and her tall prince, two officers, Duncan, and Annie progressed with excited yet subdued talk among them past Gorgon and myself toward the central corridor. The officers left behind slowly coalesced and retreated back through the main entry to their waiting mounts.

I remained within the malevolent shadow of Edward Gorgon and his two guards.

How had our lives, Peg’s and mine, so grossly deviated?

Sudden echoes sounded as Gorgon strode to the washstand beside the earl’s chair and lathed his hands over and over, finally wiping them on the towel hung there for that purpose. He finished and returned to confront me with a bitter sneer.

“Even on her deathbed, my mother kept me informed. Her visions were mine, leading to my success on the isle and here.” His voice rose ominously. “But no, you give the benefit of your sight to anyone but me, your betrothed.” His fist came at me and pain tore through my jaw. “You are useless to me without your dreams,” he shouted down at me, for I had fallen with the blow.

I put a hand to my agonized, pulsating face. I opened and closed my mouth. At least the jaw worked, and my teeth seemed sound. I got to my feet.

“Will you then release me from our betrothal?” I asked muzzily, hardly able to close my mouth.

“Not just yet.” He crossed his arms, mollified by his violence against me.

I glared at him. Anger and resentment climbed within me, despite the pounding ache in my jaw.

“This chair fits.” He nodded at the oversized earl’s chair. “I am meant to rule, as you shall see. I have finally found the power I was meant to hold.” His face glowered, a dark cloud of beard and grimace. “When the prince is gone, Elena, then you will realize that piece of paper means nothing. You deserve what awaits you.” He strode off in lofty arrogance with his guards.

I crumpled to the floor and held hands to my throbbing face. The great hall had emptied. I sat alone for some moments, rocking back and forth in anguish among the silent, heartless stones I had loved and fought so hard to keep.

Careful to keep my face averted so I would not have to explain my swelling jaw, I went to the kitchens and conferred with Mrs. Deane over dinner. My rooms were empty when I returned. After hiding my jointure under my sword in the chest Wallace had provided, I applied a wet, cool cloth to my face and laid down in the dark peace of my bed until the throbbing lessened.

I did not expect him to be at Amilie’s blocked-off hallway yet. But I hurried to the dark passage anyway and settled back into the dimness along the northeasterly wall, my sore jaw pressed against the cool stone.

“I am proud of you,” came the deep, passionate voice I remembered from behind me.

I sighed with pleasure and relief. His ragged mustache tickled my shoulder where he snuggled at my neck.

We embraced as though we had never been apart, the quickening of our breath, the rush of our hands familiar and longed for. Yet we had changed, each of us. I pulled away, barely able to stand the pressure of his mouth on the right side of my face without crying out.

“Where is Annie?”

“She is with Peg and the prince for now, in his old rooms just down the hall in the private tower. I do not want her near Gorgon.”

“Neither do I.”

“You inhabit my dreams, you know,” he said in a mellow hush. His poor cut hand came out of the darkness and cupped my lower lip, his fingertips exploring its edges.

“We cannot tarry here.” I swallowed with difficulty around a great lump in my throat, tears close behind. I wanted to hold him and never let go.

Suddenly, he grasped my face between calloused palms and lifted my chin.

“This was not here earlier,” he said in a sharp, demanding voice. He ran his fingers over the swollen curve of my jaw. “What happened?”

“Gorgon did not approve of my actions.” My attempt at a laugh came out weak and sickly.

“I expect not.” His eyes narrowed, his mouth a hard line under his mustache. “We shall have to fix that.”

I nodded, his thoughts in line with my own. “Your horse?”

“Ajax?”

“Where is he?” So the great black had survived as well. I smiled despite the difficulty of my swollen jaw.

“Actually, in your stable. I took the liberty—”

“Good,” I interrupted. “We ride.”

We rode at a good pace, anxious to reach our destination before dark, though the full moon rose like a ghost on the eastern horizon. A taunting breeze, cool and refreshing, came at us, also out of the east. It was enough to comfort my sore jaw, for the swelling had gone down and it felt better, though still tender to the touch.

We dismounted at the great trees to the left of the road and walked our horses in among them to prevent undue alarm. The old hut was still as I had last seen it, nestled in a natural meadow among the wood giants. A loud chorus of crickets greeted us.

No one appeared to be about, the horses gone and the little house empty.

“Wallace and Thomas should be here. Where could they be? Do you think Gorgon . . .?”

“No, not Gorgon.”

“Why not?”

“I expect the prince is keeping him busy. If it is as you said and Wallace has been surviving on his own, he is out hunting while he can, this close to dusk. Probably took Thomas with him, to keep track of him.”

“That makes sense.”

We entered the frame dwelling. Why they called it a hut, I could not imagine. It was a one-room structure with a loft and a ladder. Despite that lowly origin, there was a quaint privacy within the creaking walls, a counterpoint to the crickets both inside and out.

A clumsy, battered old wall sconce clung tenaciously to the wall beside the door. This was impressive. Not even the Reedy house had such an implement. Wallace must have confiscated it from among the discarded hardware at Tor House.

There was no table, only a newly constructed sideboard set in between the loft and the hearth. A sturdy high-backed chair sat before the tumbledown fireplace, and a cooking hook protruded from the hearth’s mouth as though someone had been about to heat water or cook a meal. No fire was laid, but a pile of split wood lay neatly stacked beside the hearthstones.

A newly made ladder led up to the freshly hayed loft. Hay was strewn wildly about, much of it sliding off to the floor below. Tiny particles of chaff hung in the air. Wallace must have done some housecleaning for my arrival. Or perhaps he had Thomas place the hay, as messy a job as had been done with it.

I wandered over toward the little sideboard. “Look, there is a small cistern, nearly empty, in the corner here. I provided Wallace with two water skins for his use, and they are not here. That must be where they are, for there is a spring a few miles up the road.” Relief settled over me.

Duncan lit one of the oversized candles at the door with his striker and carefully passed the flame to the remainder, for the house had already grown dim.

“Are you married, Elena?” he asked, his back to me as he worked with the sconce.

“No.”

He turned and studied me sorrowfully. “Has he taken you?”

“Would it matter?”

“No.” The dimple in his chin deepened. “I suppose not.”

“You will then be happy to know he is a cripple for having tried.”

His smile flashed.

“You are all that matters now. We are,” I said, my feelings brimming over into my shaky words.

“Are you quite sure?” he said. He threw his head back in that old overbearing manner that had always irritated me.

“I am,” I insisted, the irritation seeping away, for he had good reason to ask. “My home drained me of everything, very nearly my own sanity, before I understood. My priorities are clear to me now. I had thought we might hold Tor House together, you and I, but even that is gone. My need for the house has lost the battle with my love for you.”

“That is only reasonable, Sweet.” Dimples at the ends of his mustache deepened. He put out a beckoning arm, and I slid into place beside him. He smelled of leather, sweat, and horse. “For my part, I have let go my obsession with success as well. My promotion is empty without you. I have left Prince Rupert’s service and am no longer under his protection.”

“When did this happen? You came in as one of his officers.”

“Just now. I had to see that you lived. He and I had discussed it before. It was not a decision taken lightly by either of us.”

“If that be the case, you must stay here with Wallace until we can deal with Gorgon.”

“I have to collect Annie.”

“Of course. And the prince?”

“We have said our farewells. You are what I want.” Yet he looked unhappy, seeming to inspect the rough floor planks for answers, ghosts in his averted gaze.

“Tell me what happened. How did you save him?”

“By refusing his direct order. I would not leave his side.” He sat down in the old-fashioned chair, still studying the floor. “The field was overrun with enemy cavalry. Had I left him . . . Well, your visions told you well enough.” I came to him and touched his shoulder. His hand crept up over mine, though his attention remained on the floorboards. “So many . . . so many good men died there. Cromwell forced us to hide in a bean field to escape. At that, we were lucky to find our horses again. We never had an opportunity to search for Boye, though we heard later he had died on the field. The North is lost, Elena. We will never gain the ground back.”

I nodded. The one good thing my uncle had done for me, certainly not intentionally, had been to prepare me with the bitter knowledge of that loss. My fingertips roamed over Duncan’s tousled mane of bright russet hair.

“For a long time I did not know what I wanted after the war. I now think I would like some land where we three could settle, maybe be a gentleman farmer, raise stock. Find Annie a good husband. Use my real name.” He studied my stricken face, stood, and reached out to gently touch my chin.

“You would not settle here?”

“No.” He took his hands away and paced to the shuttered side window. He peeked between the slats, dust sliding away at his touch. His face was intense with concern when he turned back to me. “Could you accept that kind of life?”

Head lowered, I searched my feelings, but there was nothing to hesitate over. I followed him across the room. “Peace and happiness are all I ask, no matter where it leads, so long as we are together.” I ran my fingertips over his bright mustache. “By the way, I like this. Quite striking.”

He enfolded me in his arms gently, no bear-hug this time, and kissed me soundly, his hand at my jaw to prevent any untoward damage.

“In that case, the prince has advised me and given me this.” He stepped away and pulled a heavy bag out of his jerkin. “It is Dutch gold, from his personal stores. You see, he believes the King cannot win this war. Still, he loves King Charles, his uncle, and will fight for him to the end. But he wished to give us a new start while he could. The gold is a reward for you and for me, Rupert said, for his life. His spies tell him a ship just docked in Liverpool and will be sailing for America next week. He directs us there, and I am sorely tempted.” He wandered back across the room.

“America is far, far away, on the other side of the world. Barbaric and heathen, I have heard.” A void opened before me. How could I leave England, everything I had ever known?

“We can claim it. Remember? Killing is what I do best.” He slapped his thigh and laughed in feverish abandon.

I went to him and stood before him. A secret smile bent my lips, for my mind went back to the freshly hayed loft and the sturdy ladder leading to it. I placed a possessive hand on his chest, clenched the soft shirt material, and drew him close.

“There is the matter of my name.” He pulled my hands away and held them, his facial expression suddenly serious and intent.

“I know your name, MacGregor,” I said with the proper roll of the tongue. I stepped away and surveyed this russet-haired Scot I so desired. “And well I know your clan history.”

“Annie told you.” He glanced quickly from side to side, his face coloring.

“No. She told Thomas.”

“Who quickly told you.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I cannot change what I am.” Dark eyes flashing, he threw back his wide shoulders, shamelessly proud. “Nor can I help that I have to hide it. When your family is outlawed, you cannot go around announcing your name. Still, my heritage gives me the tools to obtain what I want. My ancestors, the chieftains of Clan Gregor fought for their land, as I will have to fight for mine, wherever we go.”

“It did give me a start when Thomas told me,” I said. His pride in his name surprised me, though I should have realized he would feel this way. It was the optimistic, passionate way he approached all things.

“You had doubts?” His gaze followed me as I stepped back toward him.

“How could I not?” I pulled him close and put my ear to that strong, steady heartbeat. “I love you, Duncan.” I reached up and took his weary face into my hands. “I have learned the hard way just how much I love you, for I tried to turn away from you. But I could not. I need you. I want you for the rest of my life. If you allow me, I shall proudly carry the MacGregor name.”

His arms finally came around me in a rib-crunching embrace, though he kissed me gently.

“I have never stopped loving you, my sweet, headstrong, stubborn vixen.” He leaned forward to kiss me again and a grimy lovelock fell forward between us. He smiled sheepishly.

My face fell, for this symbol, which he could have easily removed, meant he had not forsaken me after all. The pain that stood between us had been my doing entirely. I had deserted him.

He pulled up my chin until I had to look at him.

“The mere sight of you stirs my blood. I want to hold you, smother you with kisses. I want to bed you. I want you for my wife.”

“I accept,” I put in breathlessly. “You are my heart’s desire.”

We dashed to the ladder and up into the loft, where our hands rushed like torch fire over one another’s body. My breath came heavy, as did his when he embraced me in the sweet hay. We stood on our knees under the low roof. I grasped at his collar, then ran my hands down to undo his button loops. My dress was down around my waist before I finished.

I groaned in sweet agony, for the feel of his mouth on my breast, no cloth between, sent me into a river of desire that I had no way to stop, not this time. Nor did I wish to. I was his and he was mine. Our union could not be denied.

I shoved him onto his back and rubbed my nose across his bright, downy chest. I had his pants off in two swift jerks. The generous hardness I had so often felt was ready, but now, he laid me in the hay beside him and gently stroked my inner thighs until I whimpered. He rose over me then, put his hand down to guide himself, and entered me. He filled me, completed me, no holding back. A maelstrom rose between us that left us both panting in arousal. He quickly lost control and pounded at me. I lifted my hips off the hay to receive him, again and again, subsiding only after he groaned with his release and I with mine.

My mind slowly came back, but my body wanted nothing more than to lounge within the yellow nimbus of the hay around us.

“I am sorry I was so rough,” he whispered in my ear, winding a length of my hair around his index finger. “Next time it will be gentler, I promise.”

“How can you apologize? That was beyond anything I dreamed it could be.”

“And you a dreamer. Fie on you.”

We dressed hurriedly, for horse hooves sounded in the meadow before the house. A man’s laugh.

“Will you help me unseat Gorgon?” I asked. I pulled my dress up over my breasts, put my arms into the sleeves, and swatted at the clinging hay.

“If the plan is good enough. He is an intractable enemy. But once we hold the house, you must understand that we cannot defend it. I do not want us to die as martyrs after barely finding one another.” He was dressed and at the top of the ladder.

“Nor do I. I just do not want Gorgon holding Tor House under Parliamentary rule. Not him.”

“You suspect he is a traitor?” he asked, his foot on the second rung down.

“In one form or another. Thomas was afraid it was Fairfax at our gates when you arrived.”

“All the more reason to dispose of him.” His glance left me, and his eyes glazed, his mind elsewhere. “I will help you,” he said, with sudden resolve.

He seized me, tossed me over a broad shoulder, and carried me down the ladder like a hard-earned sack of grain.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thomas and Captain Wallace entered the little house, both of them red-cheeked and wary. They each threw up a hand in greeting when they saw us, for they carried full water skins, which they emptied into the little cistern.

Wallace turned back from that chore and smiled broadly at sight of Duncan. “Of all times, it is good to have you back now,” he said, relief softening the lines in his face.

But Thomas stepped back into the open doorway and stopped short. Moonlight highlighted his curly brown hair, giving him that cherubic look that made it hard to believe he was no longer a child. He remained silent, his look of happy innocence melting away, for his face darkened at sight of my companion.

“Ah, but wait,” Wallace said, with a raised forefinger. He went out and came back with a bag full of game, which turned out to be quail. “No matter what the morrow brings, we shall eat well tonight.”

“I drove the covey, and the captain here took them one by one with his bow,” Thomas said, loosening up a bit. His gaze ran from the loft back to Duncan and me, hay undoubtedly still imbedded in our clothing. Suspicion turned into a frown and settled into a glare at Duncan.

Wallace shut the door and the pleasant breeze ceased, as did the full moon’s silver illumination.

“Does Comrie know our plan?” Thomas whispered in my ear.

I jumped, for I did not realize he had moved so close to me in the dim candlelight, though certainly he smelled of old wine. I nodded.

“We must overthrow Gorgon before he destroys us all,” he said grandly, as though it was a new idea. He plopped unceremoniously into the only chair and bit at a thumb nail. “I can get him out of Tor House and bring him here.” Gaze steady and implacable, he looked over at Duncan. “If you are willing to do the deed, Comrie.”

“He will bring guards,” I said, knowing Gorgon’s tendency to protect himself. I leaned back against the loft ladder.

Duncan moved to stand beside me, distaste in the set of his mouth.

“Not this time,” Thomas said. He shook his head knowingly.

“How can you be sure?” Duncan snapped.

“I have set up several meetings for him with various generals. I will insist that he meet this particular officer here alone or not at all.” He stretched his arm and, since there was no chair support to display his vanity, he tucked the arm stylistically up against his chest.

“What have you done?” I asked, astounded. To my own ears I sounded like an accusative Peg.

Thomas shrugged and his gaze traveled from the loft above us to Duncan and me standing below. Even the crickets turned silent in that bare traitor’s den.

“Generals,” Duncan repeated, the candlelight wavering in his face. He squinted at Thomas, did not trust him, had never trusted him.

“Yes,” Thomas said, his voice overcome with gusty excitement. His brown gaze leapt from one of us to the other, gathering us in. “Parliamentary representatives. Gorgon is looking to save the house.”

I uttered a puff of offended disbelief.

“Save the house, eh? Save his own hide, you mean.” With an unbelieving frown, Duncan shook his head, setting his russet locks in motion. “All the more reason to kill him soon.” He paced to the single shuttered window and back to me. “Though assassination is not something I condone, this man must be stopped. I will do it. So long as you get him here unaccompanied.”

“I shall be with him.”

“When?”

“As soon as Prince Rupert and his forces leave. Probably mid-morning tomorrow.” Thomas stood and jerked his sleeves into place, ready to leave.

“Good,” Duncan said. “I will take him as he approaches the house. Stay clear once you start through the meadow. Leave your horses at the wood. Make some excuse why you must do so.” He pulled out his long-barreled pistol and ran his hand over its shiny stock.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” Thomas said with a sudden curl to his upper lip.

“Last I tried—” Duncan glanced at Thomas without a blink, his stare direct and hardened. “—I took the tail off a weathercock at five hundred paces.”

My eyebrows rose in astonishment.

Thomas snorted and then shrugged, as though such a feat was unlikely.

“In that case, aim to hit him between the eyes,” Wallace’s fine baritone put in, his fire popping in the background. “It will only be an hour or so until we eat,” he added.

“My people put the heads of traitors on their gate posts,” Duncan said with a sudden step up to Thomas. With one strong hand splayed across his chest, he shoved the smaller man up against the closed door. “Keep that in mind, Mr. Reedy.”

“Certainly, yes, I will,” Thomas whimpered, his face shaking in terror.

Duncan let him go.

“Yes, well,” Thomas garbled, collecting himself. “We cannot wait on the food. Elena and I must get back to the house before we are missed. We do not want to make him suspicious.”

“We have to do this,” I urged Duncan, whose features had tightened into intense wariness.

“Agreed,” he said, finally. But he hesitated and glanced at me with underlying concern, his hand at my back. “As soon as they leave the house, I want you and Annie to barricade yourselves within your rooms. I will come for you when the deed is done.”

Thomas rode ahead to enter Tor House by the kitchen gate, and I returned through the postern with no difficulty. I went straight to my stuffy rooms, where Peg awaited me. Annie had left the prince’s quarters earlier in the evening and disappeared down the south stair before anyone could stop her. But before I could search her out, she sauntered into the room, snapped at both Peg and me as she put away her dress, then went directly to her low trundle and lay down, her back turned to us.

I slept uneasily, dreams upon me, and rose early the next morning to find Peg going from trunk to trunk, finalizing her packing. After all, how did one pack one’s life? It was not a simple chore.

My quarters felt empty. The night had been cool for a change, and Rosemunde had closed up the room, chairs pushed to the table, as though I would not return, which was a fair assumption, since I had insisted she return to her family in Bury.

“Annie went out already, dressed in that yellow abomination of hers,” Peg grumbled in indignation.

The dress with the newly attached lace at the revealing neckline, Peg meant.

“Why did you not stop her?” I shook my head in frustration and walked past the two huge trunks. Every corner was stuffed with some small treasure.

“I tried, but she has become quite insolent of late.” Peg brushed her hair one last time and put the tortoise-shell brush in her dress pocket. “She did not wish to wake thee.”

“Of that, I am sure,” I said sarcastically.

“Ye must find her soon. She’s up to something. Full of bruises, her arms are.” She moved a pair of shoes from one stuffed trunk to the other.

Paul Simpson’s bruised little body came to mind again. I swept the thought away. Surely not that.

Annie was not yet aware that she was not leaving with the army. At least her attitude led me to believe she did not know. Duncan had certainly had time to tell her, but if he had, then her reactions made no sense. Had someone offended her? The yellow dress tended to belie that explanation. With whom, then, was she involved? Or was it mere wishful thinking on Annie’s part?

Peg slammed the trunk lids shut. Her lustrous hair slid over her shoulders as she secured the straps on the two large chests. The prince’s servants then stepped into the room. She and I hovered about the table as they hauled the big containers into the hallway.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” I asked. I turned to her, watching her reactions.

“His heart is pure. I want to be with him come what may.”

I searched her flushed face in concern. I understood how she felt, my own priorities newly attuned to the necessity of overwhelming love.

“I hate to lose you, Peg.” I went to the dressing table, motioned at her and she followed. I picked up my rouge pot and handed it to her. “A parting gift.”

She squealed with delight and caressed the little tin container. “Because thee made the rouge with thine own hands, it means much to me.” She put it carefully away in the same pocket where her brush resided and lowered her face in guilty concern. “Mrs. Lowry has agreed to join me. Please do not be angry. She is good with the sick and the wounded. Rupert has many injured men who need attention.”

“Take good care of her,” I said with a smile, for I could think of no better place for our Mrs. Lowry. She would be in her glory.

“I will,” Peg said, with a quick, pleased smile.

“Take Mrs. Deane, as well.” I sat at the dressing table, overcome with sudden lethargy. “I’m sure the army, if not Prince Rupert, could use a good cook.”

“Are ye serious?”

“It is that or leave the woman here to starve—for I doubt Duncan and I will stay.”

“Ye surprise me.” Her hand pulled at my shoulder and I looked into her astounded face. “The ox moves. I never thought to hear ye speak so lightly of leaving Tor House. Where will ye go?”

“Like you, wherever he leads.” I stood and took her hand. “I dreamt last night. The first in a while. Well, actually, I have started having normal dreams again, but this latest vision is vital and pressing.” And it contained familiar faces that haunted my every waking moment.

“What did thee see?” Peg asked, a commanding stridency in her voice.

“Death on a mountain pass . . . in driving rain.”

“Mountains.” Peg licked her lips. “Like Wales?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Peg motioned toward a lifeguard cavalier who had come to the door when the trunks went out and remained close by.

Before me were the same striking eyes and extensive mustache of Sergeant Burke, whom I well knew . . . yet his face stared at me, pale and lifeless, straight out of my vision. A void opened within me and my stomach dropped. My hand clutched at my chest.

“Do you remember Captain Burke?”

He stepped in the door. I forced a breath, for the shock of him, alive, had shut down my respiration.

“Captain, is it?” I asked, recovering with a hard swallow. “A well-deserved promotion. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a proud wiggle of his mustache. “Forgive my impertinence, but I could not help but overhear talk of your vision. Colonel Comrie instructed me to pass on, with great candor and secrecy, any such information that you might provide to the prince. And so that you know, none of this will pass my lips beyond the prince or Comrie himself. Can you tell me any more?”

I hesitated, but there was no sense holding back. I understood the nature of my dreams now. The insight they provided could save lives, so long as I had the courage to act.

“Men on horseback are strung out along a rock path that runs across the face of a cliff.” I took Peg’s hand, closed my eyes, and could see the slick ledge under my feet, as real as if I stood upon it. For the most part, the road ran essentially level, though it slanted back into the cliff in spots. There was also a spot where the track slanted down and away, out over the cliff edge. “Horses slide over the brink,” I said. “Men scream in pain. The rain is constant and hard.” I opened my eyes and stared at an open-mouthed Burke. “You ride beside Prince Rupert, like Duncan used to do?”

“Yes,” he said, with some pride and confirming what I had seen.

“You both fall, horses and all—”

Peg uttered a choking gasp. Her hand fell away from mine.

“—along with a dozen others. Your mounts cannot maintain their footing on that wet ledge.”

Burke’s horrified gaze searched my face.

“At the base of the cliff, men and horses writhe and scream around you. Your limbs are all askew, broken. Roundheads stand nearby, pleased with what they have found. I see rain pounding your armor, yet I sense no life.”

Peg gasped again, an expelled sob.

I reached over and clutched Burke’s sleeve. “You must avoid any such road, no matter your need,” I said, viciously insistent. “Go around, even if you have to fight.”

“Yes, my lady.” Visibly shaken, his face had faded to a pallid gray. He bowed deeply to me and was gone down the corridor toward the prince’s quarters. If the prince had already left, I was certain Captain Burke would find him.

Peg embraced me, and the clean scent of her hair encompassed me. I, too, was unnerved. I did not want to release her from my arms, did not want to lose the comfort of her presence, as I did not want to leave my home.

But both things were necessary. There was no more time.

Face lowered, she pulled away and left the room. Her servants hefted her trunks and stepped in behind her.

I raced to the watch-tower’s lofty roof, clenched the unyielding stone parapet, and watched them go. It was not as grand or drawn out as the departure for York, but massive and poignant just the same, for my face was wet with tears long before the ring of harness and the squeal of wheels faded.

It was still relatively early in the morning, the sun no more than a hands breadth above the horizon. I had to find Annie, and soon, for Peg’s words of the girl’s bruises had sent a chill up my spine that had settled in my bones. I had thought her smarter than that.

To avoid the inevitable run-in with Gorgon, where I fully expected to find Annie, I slipped out of the house and into Amilie’s tower for a quick good-bye.

My time at Tor House was at an end. The prospect of leaving did not upset me as it had in the past. I had Duncan. Excitement had actually begun to rise among my aged fears. I was ready to take a chance on the unknown.

I sat in the chair, but Amilie did not show herself. There was something amiss in the room, for the chair felt shaky as it never had before. The stones of the hearth caught my eye. They were damp and shiny, yet it had not rained for some time, had in fact remained hot and dry. The light from the roof stairway was occluded as though there were a cloud over the tower, but the sky had been clear on my entry.

She was there, for she had greeted me in her normal questing, rose-scented fashion. Her airy touches fluttered around me and swept over my face. She must have sensed my recent tears. I sat in that unstable chair in misery.

“Amilie,” I began. “I have to tell you I will not see you again.” I steeled myself, unsure how she would take my desertion. “And I must warn you that the house may be torn down. There is a threat to do this.”

A great airy sigh sounded at the hearth and beside me at the same time, underscored by a whistling whimper.

I swallowed hard and clenched my hands together, determined to see this through.

“Yes-s, the tremors have started,” she finally said, her soughing voice uneven and strained. “I did not dare believe it. Yet I knew you would come,” she murmured at my ear.

“Tremors?”

“Not of the earth, but rumblings of s-spectral boundaries, lines that rarely move.” She appeared vaguely before me then, sadness set in her ephemeral face. Her slight palm rested atop my clenched hands.

My fingers had turned white.

“Be happy, Elena. When this tower comes down, I will be free. Feel no concern for me. It is the end of my father’s curse. I will be at peace.”

“What was the curse?” A draft of air ruffled my hair.

“That my s-soul s-should remain trapped within this tower until it fell.”

“But why?”

She threw back her head and laughed, a victorious, ghostly sound that traveled the walls.

I cringed, my limbs stiff and cold. Slowly, the echoes fell away.

“In the days of my mortal life . . .” Her image bounced down on the bed beside the chair, like a playful child. “ . . . we English fought great bloody wars with the northern clans. My offense was unconscionable, for I dared love a landless Scot. But I had thought, s-since we loved one another s-so much, and I was a younger daughter—”

“No wonder you were so taken with Duncan,” I said, fascinated, my discomforts forgotten.

“My Malcolm was much like him.” She clasped her hands before her, excitement staining her cheeks red. “I can go to him soon.”

But the sweetness left her face suddenly, and she stood before me, though I had not seen her move off the bed. She was intent on something in that spectral world in which she existed. A door crashed shut, where there was no visible door, the sound of it reverberating around the room.

The hearth wailed and I jumped to my feet, my skin crawling.

“Go now, Elena. You may s-still save the girl if you hurry.”

“How . . .?” I stared at her in horror, but she did not answer, instead fading away. I clamored out of the tower.

She might have lost her ghostly imitation of her former self, but she could see the now of things, and I had been warned.

They awaited me in the great hall like two waxen statues, their regal images washed out in the sunlight that poured through the tall front windows and illuminated them where they stood before the earl’s chair.

“Where is Annie?” I asked in a strong voice. I approached them with a slow step.

Thomas’ brows rose. He looked at Gorgon in regal surprise.

“Why would it matter?” Gorgon pandered. “She is nothing in the scheme of things.”

Something was terribly wrong, for unless I had misunderstood our arrangement, they should have left by now, Gorgon’s life measured in minutes.

“This dalliance is at an end,” Gorgon called out to me, his wet-lipped manner like that of a horse, chafing at the bit, ready to run.

I came to the center of the room, where the sun did not reach, and stopped.

Thomas nodded and strolled out to me in his old, condescending manner. The scuff of his boots across the slates put me in mind of a heavy-footed executioner.

“You should have heeded me all these weeks, Elena. Now, it is too late.”

Beware Thomas, Peg had insisted, again and again.

“Is this part of your game?” I whispered hoarsely. “Or have you deceived us?”

“Oh, yes.” He laughed aloud, arms outstretched to enfold me. “A little trick.”

“Answer me,” I hissed through my teeth.

“You are betrayed,” he announced. Sudden anger lit up his face. “And that thieving MacGregor will soon be dead. Then, unfortunately . . .”

I whipped around and raced for the hallway, the clatter of my footsteps echoing around me. Duncan was all that mattered. I had to warn him.

Guards stepped out before me and collected me, though I bit at any hand that touched me and scratched at their faces. They delivered me back before Thomas and held me there, knowing better than to unhand me.

Gorgon’s hawk nose dipped in the distance behind Thomas, like a raptor set to strike.

“Has Gorgon then seduced you?” I asked when I could catch my breath again.

“Not that, no.” Panic surfaced in his eyes. Quickly gone, the look was replaced by one of bored lordliness.

“I thought we agreed that your life is in danger? Has this changed?”

“You lied to me, hinting at poison, hoping to turn me against him.”

“I did not lie to you.”

“I believed in you. And you turn around and sleep with that MacGregor scum,” he snarled.

“That is the real reason for this treachery, is it not?”

“Not at all,” he said in a perfectly reasonable voice. He studied his nails. “The warden and I have come to an amiable agreement.”

“As long as it suits him.”

Gorgon’s laugh boomed around the room. His large bulk stepped off the dais he so loved and approached us.

“You, my dear, belong to me, to do with as I please.” He took my face in a vise grip, his fingers bruising my cheeks. “Get away from her, Thomas. You have had your few minutes.”

I attempted to pull away as Thomas retreated, but Gorgon held me solidly captive. My neck muscles screamed in my attempt to break his hold. I settled, waiting.

“Did you know Roundhead troops are flooding into Lancashire? They have been sighted near Wigan, Bury, and south of us.” He released my face and grasped my shoulders. “Fairfax himself is due here tomorrow,” he said. He hung in my face, his fingers pressing into my shoulder joints. “Where we will make final arrangements.”

“Traitor,” I yelled at him, my worst fears realized.

“That is certainly true,” he sneered, his parted beard displaying the white scar that ran along his jaw. “It seems one of their Puritan brethren is a witch hunter. He has heard of your exploits.”

I took a frantic breath, then met his gaze. “Or you told him of me.”

“Give me control of your powers and I will protect you from the witch seekers.”

“Never.”

“As you wish,” he growled, his mad eyes wild with fury. “It is a fair trade.” He shoved me into the guards that stood behind me and strode back to his basin, where he washed his hands over and over again. “They will name me their warden here.” He whipped a dripping hand outward and gestured expansively at the walls. “The house is mine.” His voice fell to a guttural wheeze. “In return for your condemnation.” He grabbed a towel and leered at me in disdain. “Take her below.”

Guards seized me. I raked a face or two as they tried to jerk me up the stair. Finally, two of them, big, brutish men, lifted me under my arms and carried me up. I cried for mercy, but they dragged me into the watch-tower and down the old stone stair that wrapped around the underground levels of the great citadel.

Though I had never been this way before, like all children raised at Tor House, I had heard of these dread, slick steps. Not even I had ever dared them, for they led to the dungeons where fell spirits lingered.

“No!” I fought the harder, knowing where we were bound.

“Cool yourself in the filthy bowels of this place,” came Gorgon’s voice from the landing above. “For the stake awaits you, witch. You will burn,” he shrieked.

His words rebounded from wall to wall, distorted and insistent around me, down the stone sides of the deep well.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Manx guards forced me down the steps that wound around the walls deep into the earth to a shiny stone floor slick with moisture. There, they chose a door, forced it open with a loud, grating screech, and threw me into ancient, fetid darkness. The only light, and that a mere suggestion, was a small grate in the door.

“Let me out.” I banged on the door. “I demand release,” I cried. And then, a last agonized attempt. “Don’t leave me, not here. Let me out!”

The clang of the bolt across the door confirmed my pleas had fallen on deaf ears. I was locked in this blind hole that stunk of rancid age. Footsteps echoed back up the long, winding stair and some moments later, the crash of the upper door left me in hideous silence.

With a hard swallow, I gulped air to calm myself and ran shaky fingers through tangled hair. I broke out in a cold sweat. When I reached for the closest wall, my fingers brushed over the thick, sticky residue of a spider web. I shuddered and wiped fouled hands on my underskirt.

I sat with my back to the door, afraid to move. Something, surely a rat, skittered over my foot. I shrieked, my body stiff with terror. Finally, I brought my knees up and held my arms tightly around them.

I thought of Annie, but had no way to help her now. My only hope, and perhaps Annie’s, was Duncan, yet I feared Gorgon’s intentions. They might never know I was here, and soon enough a stake would be prepared. Death by fire. I shuddered at the thought of flames at my feet, smoke choking me. How would I stand the pain of burning flesh?

Amilie came to mind, and I wondered that these dungeons didn’t harbor ghosts of those cruelly left in these cells to die. But I could feel no ghostly presence, just the dripping, rotten stench, and ghastly feel of centuries-old, ignominious death.

Eventually my hands stopped trembling, and a hopeless, listless melancholy overtook me. What seemed hours and hours later, something jumped at my legs. More than one. Were they rats trying to eat me alive? I pulled myself to my feet to be able to defend myself, sobbed, and leaned back against the door where a sound, rat-ta-tat, ran within the walls. Many feet were coming down the stair—fast.

With shuddering hands, I pulled at my dress and ran fingers through my lengthy hair. If these were Fairfax’s witch hunters and the stake awaited me, terrified as I was of it, I would rather the fire devoured me than filthy, scurrying vermin taking me piece by agonizing piece. But the shadows beyond the grate seemed to be searching. What if they were not Fairfax’s men?

I banged on the door. Footsteps scraped over stone, the bang of the bolt thrown aside, and the door squealed open to a crowd of men. I rushed out and Wallace stepped forward, his tanned face tight with anxiety. I clutched him to me and held onto him with all my strength for fear I would fall back into that dark abyss.

“Duncan?” I asked, finally letting the captain go. “Where is he? And Annie? Have you seen her? They are both in terrible danger.” I took a breath to go on.

“Well we know, my lady.” Wallace patted me on the back. With an outstretched arm, he pushed our party toward the damp stair. “Duncan did not trust Thomas and so we expected attack out at the cottar’s hut. But it never came. Instead it was Thomas who came, alone. He told us you were in danger, which is surely true, but he said you were in the library and that Duncan and I must save you.”

“The library?” I said, taken aback. I began the long climb up, anxious hands close about me.

“We asked the same question.” He smiled and wagged a forefinger at me, for I had stopped on the stair. “We knew it for a ruse, for that room is a perfect spot to trap someone, what with the slit windows and one easily guarded entry. We accompanied Thomas, but Duncan had his own plan.”

“Did it work?” I continued my ascent. “Where is he?”

“He went on to the library to find you, prepared for ambush. I slipped away to raise the guard to support him.”

“He went alone?”

“He seemed confident that he could deal with any eventuality.”

“Gorgon is dangerous and not given to doing things one would expect.”

“We’re on our way there now. As you can see, your guard stands armed and ready around you.”

“So quickly?” In the dank dimness lit by a single torch, I looked around at six men, all of whom I recognized. We moved up the stairs, everyone’s breath rasping loudly, creating echoes that ran the walls. We finally topped the stair and gathered on the landing. The door into the hallway opened, and the remainder of the guard appeared in various degrees of readiness.

“I had an arrangement with Lieutenant Penrod, here,” Wallace said, indicating the shorter man who stepped up to us.

The lieutenant bowed to me.

“The guard was to be ready at need,” Wallace went on. “We have lost not one man. The lieutenant also learned your location from a braggart Manx guard.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His protruding eyes shone in the dim tower hallway.

“And Annie?” I asked.

“Have not seen or heard of her.” Penrod shook his head.

“She could easily be about,” Wallace said with a grimace. “We have been careful not to attract attention. As it is, we must get to the library quickly. There is no telling what Duncan has encountered. He does not want you near there, and so—”

“I am going to the library,” I insisted with a determined stare. “I must stop at my room for my sword.” My jointure deed was there as well and I wanted it on my person, not knowing what was going to happen. “It is on the way.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Night had fallen in my absence. From window to window, the eerie light of the full moon followed us along the south corridor. Our group had split, and the larger group had gone down the south stair to approach the library straight on. The second group was to take the private tower stair in a flanking action. Wallace quietly confirmed with each man that they could not emerge from the stair until the first group was engaged with the Manx guards, should they be assembled there.

I sent Wallace on with his men and pushed my door open to a dim room and a foul smell. Dark spots on the stone floor led to or away from the bed. In the flooding moonlight, a hint of yellow flashed within the gaping bed hangings. I pushed the drapes back.

Annie’s battered body lay spread-eagled across the bed, a huge circle of dark blood under her lower torso and her spread thighs. The dress was torn and thrown in a heap beside her. She had been pummeled so hard her face had swollen, though I detected bite marks along her breasts and stomach.

“Holy Mother.” My hands flew to cover my mouth. A raw spot expanded in my stomach. Nausea threatened.

Her many-colored eyes were open, but dull and sunken. With a gentle, shaking hand, I closed them. It was too dark to see the side of her neck, but I had no doubt there was a bite mark there.

Her body and what I could see of her poor bruised face were a dull, pasty white. She was cold to the touch, and so had been dead for some time, at least as long as I had been in the dungeon.

Had this fiend’s appetite no limit?

I should have left Gorgon and Thomas to their games and searched her out, though it may have been too late even then. For long moments, I sobbed for the girl.

Finally, with a sniffle and a driving need for vengeance, I grabbed my sword, stuffed my jointure back into my deep dress pocket, and ran to catch up with Wallace and his men. They had already entered the private tower stair. I followed and ran into them on the tight, dark steps, waiting for their comrades to arrive on the lower floor at the library entrance, for Gorgon’s guards held the door.

A moment later the clash began, and we funneled out the stairway into chaos. Swords clanged and men grunted. A man caught my blow on his shield, then gawked at me, dropping his guard. I dispatched him with a thrust through the heart for his lack of respect. A twinge of guilt accosted me, but it had been done easily. Necessity overruled my guilt.

I worked my way around the encounter to the library door, where a line of Manx guards remained in position. I swung at them, and the door opened suddenly on a stunned Thomas. He stepped neatly between two guards, grasped my bodice, wrenched me nearly off my feet, and into the library. He slammed the door against the melee, but not before lanky Wallace stepped through behind us. With a huge effort, Thomas threw the bolt into its brackets, locking out any further assistance.

“I can re-open that door at your command, my lady,” Wallace muttered in his crisp baritone, still beside me, his bloodied sword at his side.

We turned into glaring light. Every torch was lit, casting grotesque shadows across the room.

Duncan hung by his bound wrists between two of the windows from a manacle embedded in a ceiling beam, his feet inches from the floor. The short chain of the manacle had been extended by a woven length of leather strapped to the manacle itself on the upper end and splinted into the stout jute rope that encircled his wrists on the lower end. His feet were similarly bound. Damp russet hair hung in his face. Eyes closed, mouth open, his strong chest rose and fell heavily as though recovering from a blow. A huge tear had rent his shirt, baring the red-gold nest that resided on his chest.

“Holy Mother of God.” My heart clawed at its cage deep within me. I rushed to him, knowing only that I must help him.

But Gorgon grasped my sword arm as I approached, his face livid with contempt.

“Oh God.” Duncan opened his eyes and frowned down his nose at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a throaty voice. “Wallace, I told you—”

“She would have none of it, Colonel.”

“So it was you who released her,” Gorgon said to Wallace, his face vivid with fury.

“It was. And your guard is being decimated beyond that door.”

Gorgon leered at Wallace and his drawn, bloodied sword. “Threaten me and Comrie dies horribly.” He shoved Wallace away.

“I stand and fall with you,” I said, looking up into Duncan’s battered face.

He set his jaw then, with a curt nod. My presence lent him strength, just as being near him made me strong, no matter the circumstances. We were one.

“How sweet. And fall you both shall.” Gorgon pushed me away, as he had Wallace, then glanced up at Duncan and slapped the flat edge of a dirk against the palm of his opposing hand. “Actually, Elena, you have arrived just in time.” He studied me, at a distance now, raw hatred burning in his face. “You can help me decide where to cut.” He motioned at Thomas with a jerk of his hand. “She can be quite dangerous with that sword. Take it away from her.”

“Found that out, did you?” Duncan said in a hoarse voice, looking down on us with a pained smile.

“Wallace’s, as well,” Gorgon said, though he had turned away.

Beside me, Wallace refused to give up his sword. Thomas was hardly prepared to fight for it. He considered the bloodied sword hanging from Wallace’s hand and shrugged.

My childhood friend pulled the sword from my lax hand with a quiet, “sorry,” and stood the weapon beside the door, as though he would rearm me when I left. Did he not realize that matters had progressed far beyond everyday manners?

Wallace’s hand tightened around his sword hilt and he swung it forward, but it was too late, Duncan’s life at risk. I caught Wallace’s eye and shook my head solemnly.

I should have gone for the monster the moment I entered the room. As it was, I looked around at the fire-shadowed, wrecked library. The book shelf was pushed over, books thrown everywhere, the chairs broken into pieces. Clearly, Duncan had fought. I considered abstractly how many men it had taken to bring him down.

Gorgon’s doublet was nearly ripped apart. His graying brown hair shone with perspiration. Wet curls hung in his face. The dirk in his hands, he stood before his captive in an attitude of introspection.

Duncan’s bag of gold, that gift from Prince Rupert, sat on the document table that had been moved off to the left of the strung up prisoner, like a work table, the shorter record cabinet extending it.

The latent brutality in the room was so far removed from my memory that it stunned me. Was this the same library? But it was, just wrenched apart, and put to a mindless, evil purpose. The reek of extreme male exertion overlaid by disturbed dust cut at my breath.

Duncan’s clothing was torn, his big riding boots had been removed from his feet and thrown to the floor beside the table. His pistol, his sword, and a knife lay in a clumsy pile beside the top-heavy boots.

Stark anger at Gorgon’s viciousness, coupled with my memory of Annie’s silent, thrashed body, roared through my veins, pounded at my temples, and enervated my limbs. I strode back to Gorgon and slapped his face so hard the sound shot around the room. Then, again on his other cheek, so hard my palms stung.

The dirk tucked away, Gorgon’s hands came up and pulled mine down by the wrists.

“For Annie, may you be damned to hell,” I cried, beating at his chest.

“What about Annie?” Duncan asked in a shrill rasp.

“I just found her. He has raped her brutally and murdered her in the process.”

I kicked Gorgon’s shins and he threw me to the floor.

Duncan cried out, a haunting, heart-rending cry. He jerked at his bonds. His face reddened in helpless anger.

“I do not want to cut your throat—” Gorgon bashed Duncan in the face with his fist. “—just yet. So keep quiet.”

I gasped for breath at Gorgon’s cold-blooded intent.

Wallace rushed forward, and, with a baleful glare at Gorgon, helped me up off the floor.

“She begged me.” Gorgon expelled an impassioned breath, unfocused eyes lost in memory. “Pleaded with me to take her. Then drove me on.”

Thomas’ face assumed a look of horror, the white in his eyes overrunning the brown. He bit at his lip.

“You son of a dog,” Duncan mumbled, blood running off his mustache, dripping on the floor beyond his feet. “Let Elena go. You have me.”

“I need her right now, but you are and have always been in the way.”

“Twas my pleasure.”

Gorgon’s face flattened into sour indignation. He turned toward the table in possessive pleasure. What had once been a modest document table was covered with old metal objects, Duncan’s gold set off to the side. A chill walked around my heart. They had all once been shiny metal, but were now black with age.

“What is all this?”

Gorgon picked up a tiny, vise-like mechanism. “This is a thumb screw. Very painful I am told, but persuasive. You can be delicate in your method, see? Just tighten the screw to the level of response you desire. Can be used on toes, as well as fingers, I suspect. I shall find out,” he mumbled with a glance at Duncan’s swinging form.

“You beast.”

“Actually my men found all these.” He pointed along the table at the various contraptions, most of them much larger than the one he held in his hand. He replaced it on the table. “These ancient torture devices came to light in a room off the dungeons.”

Appalled, I stepped away from Gorgon and his table of horrors.

“Your family’s dark past unveiled.”

“I do not believe you.” Yet reason told me it was true. Tor House’s history was replete with cruelty, Amilie the proof of it.

“I intend to try them out on this lovely specimen. I had thought to have my pleasure with him first,” he murmured. His thin tongue wetted his lips, and he ran a hand down Duncan’s pants leg.

“No, you will not,” Duncan said, hoarsely. He recoiled in disgust, which set him in agonizing motion.

“No matter,” Gorgon said blandly. “Mistress McGuire was quite satisfying. I would really rather try out my new trinkets.” He stroked one device after another and looked, not up at Duncan, who was surely his intended victim, but across the room at Thomas, who cringed, white-faced, against the only exit. “You have failed me,” he yelled at the cowering figure across the room. To my relief, he left his victim and prowled the room, his interest in Duncan overcome by sudden anxiety. “Fairfax gave me terms. His courier came in no more than a hour ago. He will have Tor House, one way or the other.” He grabbed Thomas from behind and slid his dirk under his chin.

“What terms, my lord?” Thomas asked in a strident upper octave.

“He agrees to give me my life, not yours, worm.” Gorgon sneered, then shoved Thomas away and continued pacing, kicking books and shattered pieces of wood out of his path.

Thomas scrambled for the door, where he settled to the floor, purple panic flooding his face.

“He offers me my life and freedom in exchange for Tor House and the witch here,” Gorgon continued, with a mollified smile. He stopped before me. “You see? You are some use after all.”

“Why would they want her so badly?” Duncan asked in a cracking voice.

“A stake awaits her.” Gorgon’s teeth appeared, and his protruding eyeteeth underlined his hostile glare. “As she deserves.”

“Not while I live,” Wallace muttered beside me.

I placed a restraining hand on Wallace’s sword arm.

“You are insane. Let me at you. Man to man,” Duncan cried, though I could hear in his strained voice the tearing effort it cost him. He struggled with his bonds and whipped russet hair out of his face, but only succeeded in swinging uselessly around on his wrists. He groaned. “God, let me down. My shoulders are agony.”

“Why would I do that?” Gorgon sauntered to his victim in arrogant hostility. “When I can torture and eventually kill you in ways most pleasing to me. Much more satisfaction than just running you through.”

I sucked in a gasping breath, and even Duncan paled, staring down helplessly at his tormentor.

Since I had denied him, Wallace had been careful to keep his sword obscured at his side, but now he came up beside me, unsheathed sword clearly visible, and patted my quivering hands with his free hand.

Gorgon glared at him. He fingered the ribbed handle of the old battle axe that lay atop the record cabinet.

“You deceive yourself if you think your guard can overcome mine,” Gorgon said, with a scowl at Wallace.

“But they will, Warden. Your men have grown soft and slow.”

Gorgon chuckled. “We can just wait here for Fairfax’s army, which is due in the morning. Then, we shall see how long your men last, if they have not been overcome before then.” He returned his attention to his collection of implements.

Talk of Parliamentary arrivals and Gorgon’s intention to torture Duncan unnerved me. My gaze rose to the smoky stream of torch light above and caught on the wavering heat and trapped smoke that had accumulated in the heights of the room.

Death by burning. If Duncan died the horrible death Gorgon planned for him, I would welcome the fire. I shivered. In mute shock, I tried to think. How could I save him? How could I save us all?

I slipped my hand into the comforting crook of Wallace’s arm. Duncan yelled, and I looked down in time to see the blow coming. I screamed, but it was too late, for a moist thump sounded beside me and Wallace crumpled at my feet. A widening pool of blood quickly spread under his head.

A pathetic, terrified Thomas ran to my side.

Destitute, yet another shock slowing my reactions, I knelt beside my fallen captain, the man who had replaced my father in so many ways.

“No man turns on me,” Gorgon growled, deep in his throat, like the animal he was. He stood over us and smirked, self-satisfied, still clutching the blood-spattered battle axe.

In teary-eyed sorrow and disbelief, I tugged at Wallace’s sleeve, but his body lay like cold clay, his essence gone. My gaze fell on his sword, still at his side.

Gorgon roared with laughter and dropped the battle axe with a ringing boom. He turned back to his next victim and waggled the dirk in Duncan’s face.

“Let us start with a slash along the jaw,” Gorgon rasped, a shrewd smile spreading across his face. His fingers rubbed at the scar within his beard. “To match my own.”

Duncan spit in his face and received a blow to his ear in return, which set him swinging in a wild arc.

I cringed at sight of Duncan’s bloodied ear. In my horror it took a moment to register, but Gorgon had completely turned his back to me to gloat over his handiwork.

Priceless opportunity.

By his death, dear Wallace gave me the impetus and the means. I reached deep within myself for the strength. My breath came in ragged bursts. I grasped Wallace’s sword, stood up, and set my feet. Shaky hands clamped down on the unfamiliar hilt. I whipped the blade up over my head and brought it down with every shred of power I could summon.

He went down, his left shoulder cleaved through at the neck deep into his chest. Blood flowed as from a spring. I stepped back in relief, yet in horror at what I had done.

Thomas elbowed me aside and, feeling no such horror, stepped forward, pistol aimed at the writhing, hewn figure on the floor.

The gun went off with a crash.

Gorgon jerked and a red hole erupted over his heart.

Blood lay about us in pools. The cloying stench of it turned my stomach.

“Had to be certain of it.” Thomas stood wide-eyed beside me. His face was gray, hands shaking.

“Good strike,” Duncan croaked. “Cut me down.”

“Get up on the desk and do it,” I demanded of Thomas.

The sword I held dropped with a clang. I stepped over the fiend on the floor and retrieved the dirk from where Gorgon had let it fall in his death throes.

“No. I will not take him down,” Thomas shrieked. “He will kill me. Leave him where he is.”

I glanced around at him in disgust.

“I have something to tell you, Elena.” He motioned for me to come to him.

“Cut him down first,” I yelled, my patience with Thomas long over.

Thomas dropped the expended pistol, pulled his knife, and climbed onto the desk. He stepped over the bag of gold and, standing among the torture implements, reached high and cut the leather cording.

Duncan crashed to the floor and landed in a heap.

I ran to him, held him, crooning, then carefully sliced the cords holding his feet together. The dirk had a sharp blade and went through the heavy rope easily. The thought of what damage it could have caused to his face or body made me ill. The cords loosened. Duncan groaned and leaned forward in agony.

“Get away from him. I did as you asked. There is a truth you do not yet know,” Thomas railed. In fearfulness, he returned to the far side of the room, nearer the door.

I placed the dirk in Duncan’s bound, swollen hands. He nodded, and his fingers clasped the weapon.

Careful to avoid either bloody corpse on the floor between us, I approached Thomas.

“Elena, Elena.” He dropped his knife and grasped my shoulders in urgent appeal. “I had to wait until I was certain. Until this deed was done.”

“Yet you arranged a turnover for Gorgon?”

“It only appeared that way. I was working for us, you and me.”

Had he lost his mind? This, I had done to myself, for Peg had known of his doings and his instability for some time, and I had not believed her.

“Tell me of it.” I walked around him, my brows lifted in feigned interest.

He turned to face me, his back to my beloved.

“Witch hunters have condemned me and plan to take me to the stake. What else is there?” I asked.

“That was Gorgon’s doing.” A feral smile broke across his face. “But he is gone, thank God. We must flee. But now we can be married.”

“What?” The man was indeed mad. “Have you not heard what I have long tried to tell you?”

“I am the old earl’s son. His bastard, but nevertheless his true son.” His face cleared to a beatific glow. His fingers stroked my cheeks. “Do you remember the big chair in my mother’s house?”

I nodded. Perhaps he was what he claimed. It did not change what he was.

“It is the old earl’s chair. There were two of them, you know.”

“I cannot—”

“He delivered it, because he spent so much of his time there.”

I had noticed long ago that the chair in Thomas’ house was similar to the chair on the dais in the great hall, but had thought it merely a poorly wrought copy.

“He was very elderly when I was born. But he loved me, nonetheless. Why else do you think I was raised at Tor House?”

“No wonder Uncle Charles banished you.” I studied his poor, misguided face. “You are his bastard half-brother.” This knowledge was clearly the source of my uncle’s fear of Thomas, the supposed foundling. Gorgon had known who he was and had used it against Devlin to get what he wanted.

“Yes, but I was smart enough to keep it to myself all these years. How long do you think I would have lasted if I had made my relationship known?”

“Not long. But, then, you did not belong at Tor House.”

“Yet it was my shot that finally killed the beast—” His face darkened into an imperious frown. “—with the pistol you so kindly supplied to me for protection.”

A thump sounded behind us, and then another.

“My pistol,” Duncan snarled. He was free and had on his boots. He meant for me to get out of his way, but I held my position before Thomas, grinning at him as though we were still childhood conspirators.

“Be serious.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “We are free, Elena. With our shared Roland blood and your jointure deed we can hold Tor House legitimately.” He put out a postured hand for me to place mine in his. “We will flee to the isle and be married, thereby supplanting Devlin and his countess. We will raise an invasion force to retake Lancashire—as Royalist or Parliament ally, it hardly matters which. Give me your hand. We can do it. You must abandon this barbarian.” He began to turn, hand outstretched, to demonstrate his words.

“I have told you this before.” I clasped his shoulders and held him in place. “I will not marry you. Even if you were a legitimate, great lord, I would never marry you.”

Thomas shook his head in stubborn denial, as though he did not comprehend my words.

My hands dropped away.

“She is spoken for,” Duncan growled, looming large behind him.

Thomas’ horrified gaze came around and rose. He squealed. Duncan jerked his collar up around his neck. But Duncan’s hand was swollen and clumsy, and the miscreant wriggled out of his grip. Thomas backed away, only to stumble over Wallace’s body.

Duncan picked up Wallace’s bloody sword where I had dropped it, closer and easier to get to than his own. He pointed the blade at Thomas, who still scrambled on the floor.

“You set this trap. If not for you, Annie would be alive.”

The tip of the blade moved swiftly to the hollow in Thomas’ throat and held him pinned to the floor.

Something about Thomas’ petrified, bulge-eyed face struck at my heart, for it reminded me of the small boy Peg and I used to taunt.

“Let him go,” I said softly, with a hand on Duncan’s torn shirt.

“He deserves to die.” The blade dug deeper into Thomas’ throat, blood welling up around the tip.

“Can you not see how helpless he is?”

“No, I cannot. He’s a meddling fool,” Duncan rasped, though the sword remained suspended above that white, quivering throat.

“Release him,” I insisted, my fingers digging deep into the flesh of his sword arm.

He jerked the sword away.

Thomas shot to his feet, looked frantically around for a weapon, and finding none that he could reach, raced to the hearth and jerked a torch out of its bracket.

“Get away.”

With a wide swing of the torch, he lunged at us again and again, finally moving back toward the door. But flame erupted on his sleeve. He screamed and dropped the torch into a pile of half-open books, then raised the bolt, threw it aside, and fled out the door past a surprised Penrod.

Suddenly, there was fire everywhere, flames raging through the dry volumes and along the bookcase toward the tapestries.

Duncan turned to me. “If we rally your men, we may be able to confine the fire to this tower.”

“A Roundhead army will be here within hours.” I coughed, the bitter smoke thick and pressing. “We have no way to resist them. Why save it, only to lose it? Let it all burn.”

Duncan’s face froze in surprise. With a startled shake of his head, he picked up his long-separated pistols, his sword, knife, and his bag of gold. He started for the door, free hand extended to me.

Fire swept up the tapestries around the flaming bookcase and worked around the walls, filling the room with thick smoke that stripped the air out of our very lungs. It rose into the overhead where flame licked at the ceiling timbers.

Duncan pushed me out the door with his weapons, my sword, and the bag of gold. He followed shortly with Wallace’s body over his shoulder.

A nervous Lieutenant Penrod awaited orders at the door, which I quickly slammed shut.

“Help us get Wallace outside and then we’ll get Annie. Her body is on the south side of the house, so there’s time if we’re quick. We must bury them decently.”

The private tower archway was littered with Manx bodies and my loyal guard stood at a short distance, ready for action.

“Release the guards, all of them.” Duncan’s intense gaze went from Lieutenant Penrod back to me. “Do you think they’ll follow Prince Rupert?”

“Yes, I am sure they will,” I said, tears welling up in me. Smoke rushed out from under the library door, slowly filling the hallway.

“I will certainly follow him,” Penrod agreed with a nod and a fit of coughing.

“What about Thomas?” Duncan asked, smoke swirling at our feet in the hallway now.

“Last my men saw him . . .” Penrod put in as he and the guard ushered us away down the corridor. “. . . he fled out through the postern, his clothes afire.”

Though I gasped, I felt no remorse. I had done the best I could for my childhood friend. And now, it was getting hot. We had to see to our own safety, for a sudden crashing roar sounded behind us.

“He always seems to avoid the disasters he creates,” Duncan complained with a grim show of teeth.

Lands on his feet, like a cat, Peg’s very words. A sad smile of chagrin curled my lips.

Duncan’s free hand settled at my back. In a tight, protective group, we all clamored toward the back entry through unrecognizable hallways already thick with churning smoke.

We buried our dead near the chapel tower, then returned around the smoking house walls to the stable, where I bid farewell to Penrod and each of my guards, sending them out the postern gate with the horses. By dawn, Duncan and I had avoided a Roundhead force and were miles from Tor House, headed west. We sat our horses for a moment on the crest of a hill. One could not tell the dawn from the rosy glow of still-burning Tor House in the distance. It was a huge conflagration. Amilie was surely free.

We came to a stand of trees and low brush beside a meadow. Duncan reined in Ajax and I followed suit with Kalimir.

“This is still Royalist territory. Soon to change, but safe enough for now,” Duncan said.

We loosened the horses’ girths and hobbled them in the grassy meadow. Both of us exhausted, we slept in one another’s arms in an open space within the prickly brush.

I awoke, disoriented and fearful. Duncan quickly enfolded me in his arms in that crushing embrace that so signified his feelings.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.

“I do,” I said. “Black eye, bruises, bloody nose, and ear, all of it.”

I kissed his hurts tenderly, wanting him badly, but there would be time now for such delightful things. We dared not linger too long.

“The ship’s captain will marry us once we are well at sea.”

“As MacGregor?”

“Yes. I need to protect what is left of my rightful name, for our lads and lassies to come.” He chuckled.

A hot flush spread over my cheeks. I bit at my lip, and caressed his poor, mutilated face.

“Will we be able to take the horses?” I asked many hours later as our mounts shouldered their way onto Liverpool’s crowded docks.

“If there’s room on board, I’m sure we can.” He patted his heavy jerkin, where the gold resided.

“You know, I’ve been dreaming lately. I thought they were normal dreams, but now I have my doubts.”

“Why? What are they about that they seem normal to you?”

“I call it my river fantasy. Over and over I dream of coursing rivers in a wide green land.” I laughed happily, but went silent suddenly. I reined Kalimir to a stop. “Are there great rivers in Virginia?” I called out to him, who had ridden on.

I quickly overtook him. “Well, are there?”

An amused little smile played at his lips. Finally, he looked across at me and nodded, gold winking in the dark depths of his eyes.

The End

About the Author

Exile’s Bane is Nicole Margot Spencer’s fourth published novel.

Her Legacy trilogy, The Lady in the Locket, Smuggler’s Haven, and Devils Elbow set during the American War of 1812, was written over two decades of raising three children on her own, working as a legal secretary, and writing in the very early mornings, a habit she has retained.

Exile’s Bane, her new novel, is set during the English Civil War years of 1642-1644 in Lancashire, England. The author lives in a small town in the White Mountains of Arizona.

Table of Contents

Exile’s Bane

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

About the Author