Warrior's Lady (9 page)

"Don't let him get me. Mummy, don't let him take me away," she sobbed with her eyes still tightly shut.

A nightmare.

Rhiannon sat on the bed, and her hands hovered above Violet's head. What should she do? How should she comfort her?

Violet's sobs continued. "Mummy, make him go away."

Rhiannon slowly brought her hand down to stroke the little girl's hair. "It's all right, Violet. No one will harm you while I'm here," she said softly.

The little girl pressed her body against Rhiannon's. Her sobs stopped, but waves of trembling wracked her body.

"Shh," Rhiannon cooed, continuing to stroke Violet's head until the girl's shaking had ceased and soft breathing came from her lips. She'd fallen back asleep.

Rhiannon slowly lowered the girl to the bed and once again tucked the coverlet tightly about her small body. A sense of satisfaction mixed with joy came over her at her ability to help. Perhaps the abbess had been right to send her here with Violet. As the girl slept, Rhiannon slipped off the bed, still too restless. She would care for Violet, and she'd find some way to make the child a new gown that would not remind her of the horrors she'd faced over the last several days. Violet needed a fresh beginning, and a new gown was a simple way to start her healing process.

From her adventure earlier in the dark storeroom, she knew she'd get no assistance from anyone else in the castle. One locked doorway and a few harsh names could not sway her resolve. She'd have to be more creative. She scanned the room. She'd find a way to make a gown out of something.

Rhiannon thought of her own sparse belongings. The only dress she had was the one she wore. She could use her cape for fabric, but that would leave her without a source of warmth when they took their lessons outside.

Still not defeated, she paced about the room as her mind inventoried the essentials she'd tossed into her one small bag. At one of the small beds, she paused to finger the fine dark blue silk of the bed drapes. And a length of ribbon came to mind — a lavender and blue tapestry ribbon her mother had given to her before her death. That ribbon would be the perfect accessory to a gown made from dark blue silk.

A lightheartedness she hadn't experienced in ages crept over Rhiannon. She pulled the drapes from the frame of the bed. If she worked all night, she just might do it. And with any luck, sewing into the wee hours might help take her mind off a decidedly handsome lord with a curious light in his eyes.

"Raise the portcullis and open the gates," guards at the gatehouse called out. The grinding of the metal chains filled the morning air as the fortified entrance opened, allowing those who had lived at Lockhart Castle entrance to their new home.

Camden felt he'd had no choice but to leave his brother's castle empty while his efforts were divided between protecting his kin and the Crown. Lee Castle was closer to his enemy's border. To keep English forces from taking Glasgow or Edinburgh, it was best he be there to defend it. With its gateway cities strong, the rest of the country would be safe and he could make certain his brother's people would be safe.

"We need to speak to each of them," Camden informed his men who had gathered at the gate to help him greet the staff of his brother's castle. "We must be certain only those known to us enter here."

Orrin's gaze narrowed on him. "I can appreciate that you'd want to care for your brother's people, but why such caution?"

Camden had not told any of them about the assassin he'd hired. Not even Orrin. He did not fully regret what he'd done. The image of James' disemboweled body would stay with him for all eternity. His revenge had been justified.

"No questions. Just do it," he growled.

"You heard the man." Orrin strode away.

Camden scowled. Damn the Ruthvens for forcing this upon him. He'd had his hands full just trying to keep the English at bay. And where he might have a flare in matters of war, he had no skill for domestic concerns. He and Orrin had been back in Scotland for only three short years.

As the new residents crossed the drawbridge into the bailey, his men went to work, sending his way anyone of a questionable nature.

By midday they had welcomed over seventy-two of his dead brother's household, thirty-five of them warriors, trained and ready. They would be a welcome addition to his defenses. The remaining residents had skills of all sorts, ranging from cooks, weavers, scullery maids, a troubadour, a mason, ten huntsmen, two blacksmiths, a falconer, and two men, Hugh and Rhys, who had joined the castle's staff only the week before James' death. None of the other staff knew them well, but reported they were both hard workers, doing more than their fair share of the work.

"What should we do with them, milord?" Orrin asked, coolly.

"Let them pass. But we must be watchful."

Orrin nodded, then turned away, his movements rigid.

"Orrin," Camden called, falling in step beside his friend as he headed toward the keep. "You were right."

"About what?" he asked, his expression puzzled.

"About taking revenge against the Ruthvens. I hired an assassin to kill them all."

Understanding settled into Orrin's dark eyes. "That explains your disappearance yester eve. I had wondered."

"I tried to find him, to stop him. He killed the two remaining male Ruthvens," Camden said quietly.

"You tried to stop him?"

"Aye."

"Because one of those Ruthvens is a female?"

Camden nodded. "I have inadvertently placed Violet in terrible danger by hiring that assassin. No matter how many guards I surround her with, there is always a chance that she could be hurt if they come after Rhiannon."

"You could always send the Ruthven girl away."

"I can't do that," Camden said, stung.

"Because?"

"Two wrongs won't make this right," Camden said, bitterly.

"Then what will?"

Camden sighed. "I wish I knew."

Orrin shrugged. "You've managed to bring Lady Violet here. The guards and I will be watchful. She is safe in this castle."

Camden clapped Orrin on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. I am in your debt."

Orrin smiled, his earlier stiffness gone. "That is true, and I am keeping tally of just how much."

The tension in Camden's neck eased as they fell into an easy banter that had seen them through their youth. Camden opened the door and stepped into the foyer outside the great hall.

"With me watching our two suspicious residents, whatever will you do to keep yourself occupied?" Orrin smiled.

Camden's thoughts immediately darkened. "I best go see what our uninvited guest is up to."

Orrin's teasing smile widened. "Truly? Is it that unpleasant?"

Camden frowned, his mood only further darkened at Orrin's taunts. "I'll let you know."

"Where are your ambitions, boy?" Mistress Berwick chided her son from her sickbed. She struggled to sit up, but a spasm of coughing sent her back down to the pillow.

Bishop Berwick brought her a sip of water from the pitcher at her bedside. "Drink this, Mother. It will help." Only because he'd laced it with juice of the poppy.

She drank from the cup, and with frail hands, handed it back to him. "We need to plan. We need to come up with a way to get the Charm Stone away from whoever has it now. It has to be with Camden Lockhart. Where else would that woman have sent her precious Stone?"

The bishop set the cup on the bedside table with a smooth grace, despite the anger that seethed inside him. "You are sick, Mother. No planning today."

She scowled at him. "I am not sick. God would never punish me that way. I am the mother of a great bishop, a holy man."

The muscles of his neck clenched at her continued ranting. When would the tisane kick in? "Even holy men get sick, Mother."

"Nay," she said in a less forceful tone as her eyelids, flicked closed once, then twice. "God would never strike me down," she mumbled.

Soon she would slip into a blessed sleep and he wouldn't have to hear her lectures any longer. Did she not think he wanted to be the next Archbishop of Glasgow? Did she not see what he had done, the horrible things he had been forced to do, to show to her that, aye, he did have ambition after all?

He wanted to make her proud. But even more, he wanted the power the office of the archbishop would give to him. He deserved it.

Finally the woman sighed. A moment later her soft snores filled the room. He frowned down at her sleeping body. When had that flush of pink spots appeared upon the flesh of her neck and chest? His frowned deepened. He should never have allowed her to journey to the Isle of Iona to see her sister with only a maid to support her. The maid had stayed behind when she'd suddenly fallen ill. Did his mother suffer the same illness now? Unlike his mother, he did believe God was capable of sending illness their way. A purification of sorts to keep them humble.

They were vulnerable. Except if they had the Stone. The bishop felt a flush of warmth move through him. The Charm Stone could cure his mother as well as secure for him the very ambitions he sought.

His excitement faded. He used the Ruthvens to crush James, but still one obstacle stood in his way. Camden Lockhart. Somehow he had to find a way to remove the man. Then he would take the mystical stone for himself and become a man of miracles. A holy man unlike any other the Church council had ever seen.

He could have everything he'd always wanted — power and status. He twisted back to the bed. His mother's soft snores filled the silence. And his mother would finally have the son she had always wanted.

If only he could get his hands on the Charm Stone.

Camden searched the entire castle and grounds for Violet and Rhiannon. At first, he had been annoyed that they had managed to elude him. Now, nearly two hours later, the muscles of his stomach knotted with panic. Where were they? The only place he had not checked was the orchard, and beyond that the fields outside the castle walls.

He nearly ran through the outer bailey to the orchard drawing more than a few curious stares as he went. He threw the gate open, ready to call out Violet's name when he saw the blanket on the ground. At the edge of the blanket lay two embroidery frames, one with stitching, the other blank. But still Violet and Rhiannon were nowhere in sight. Camden searched through the rows of dormant trees. The branches were showing signs of burgeoning into their spring growth. When he spotted two familiar shapes in the distance, Camden expelled a sigh of relief. They were safe after all his worry.

Rhiannon wore the same gray dress she had arrived in yesterday. His niece however, looked like a springtime nymph dressed in a gown that in the sunlight appeared more purple than blue. He frowned. The color of the fabric made him pause. He'd seen that color somewhere before. And he was almost certain Violet had not arrived with anything more than the clothes on her back.

And what in heaven's name were they doing? With their backs to him he could not see them clearly. He hastened across the orchard.

Rhiannon pulled her arm back. An instant later, an arrow arched through the air. The tip imbedded in a wooden post not far enough from Violet to suit him. Camden made a sound low in his throat and raced forward. Had he been wrong about allowing Rhiannon to stay? Would she harm his niece just as her family had done to James and Clara?

Each step he took seemed to take forever. Horror chilled his blood when Rhiannon drew another arrow from her quiver. She aligned her bow, pulled it back. He rammed into her. She gasped. The bow veered off into the distance, away from Violet.

The force of his blow knocked Rhiannon off her feet. He carried her with him as he hit the ground, rolling her to the side.

"I trusted you," he said when he could draw breath.

They lay there together. Her soft body pressed against his war-seasoned chest. She smelled of lavender and lemons, as soft as a light summer breeze.

"What have I done to anger you?" Her breathing was sharp. Her gaze upon him sharper.

"You were about to murder my niece," he growled, disgusted at his body's reaction to her nearness. How could he still find her appealing despite this heinous deed?

Her face clouded with confusion. "I what?"

He thrust her away from him. "You aimed your bow—"

"At a target, you ninny." She sat up and scooted away, dragging her skirts in the dirt as she moved.

Violet stood to the side of them, her eyes wide, her face pale. A miniature bow and a quiver of arrows were clutched in her little hands.

Camden frowned. He hadn't noticed his niece also held a weapon.

Rhiannon stood and dusted herself off with angry swipes. "If you had stopped before barreling me down, you would have noticed that I am trying to teach her how to protect herself."

His frown deepened. "As her nursemaid you should be teaching her the things a lady needs to know." She stared at him without speaking, and Camden suddenly found himself uneasy.

Fury turned her tawny eyes to a deep, unreadable brown. "Lady Violet has more need for protection right now." Rhiannon bent down to retrieve the bow he had knocked out of her hands. "With all she has been through, she needs to feel as if she can defend herself against an assailant."