Stolen Heiress. Joanna Makepeace
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indeed. He’d been taken unprepared with hardly time to seize a weapon and the manor had fallen with scarcely a fight. If the girl was correct, his chances of extricating himself from this threatened fate were slim indeed. And yet—
He stiffened as he heard the stealthy rustling outside. The silence had been profound out there for a good hour or so. He knew the barn door was securely latched and two men left on guard. The rest of Sir Gilbert’s men, apparently, were already bedded down in the surrounding outhouses. He had heard them carousing and boasting of their conquests for several hours before that. He shuffled up into a sitting position and waited, all his senses upon the alert.
A hoarse whisper came from the slim line of light as the door was cautiously pushed partially open.
‘Messire Rob, are you in there?’
Rob smothered a half-laugh and shuffled himself upright, standing awkwardly on his good leg.
‘Come in, come in, Piers. I wondered just how long it would take you to find me.’
His visitor advanced softly with all the grace of a cat into the darkness of the barn. Behind him, Rob could glimpse a fire in the courtyard where the men had ca-roused earlier flickering only faintly, already dying down.
The man said in that curious harsh voice, accented as only one to whom English was not his native tongue would use, ‘We’ve disposed of the two guards, Messire Rob. Sacré nom, but we cannot take on the accursed company. Silas waits near the gatehouse. I sent him back and told him to stay well hidden.’ He bent and looked at the leg Rob held awkwardly. ‘Is it that you are wounded? Can you walk…?’
‘I’ll walk,’ Rob promised grimly. ‘Get me out of here as soon as you can.’
The other put a supporting arm round his shoulder. He panted as the two moved cautiously out of the barn, ‘Messire, we arrived at the manor too late to…’
‘I know that, old friend. I cannot linger now to do what is right for my father and brother. If we stay, we shall all of us be taken and pay the price of serving the wrong master.’ He laughed grimly and softly. ‘Give me a dagger, Piers. If need be, I’ll defend myself, at least.’
The other muttered beneath his breath, ‘The two here will give no trouble, messire, and the rest sound too besotted with wine to rouse. We must climb the wall, dare not go by the gatehouse, but…’
‘I’ll manage.’ Robert limped forward in grim determination after bestowing the dagger Piers gave him safely under his belt. He turned to give one final glimpse at the dark bulk of the manor house. ‘I will be back, mistress,’ he murmured softly. ‘The Devanes do not give up so easily that which they have held for centuries—and, by the Virgin, there must be a reckoning.’
Chapter Two
Clare returned from the church with Bridget the day following her brother’s funeral to find her uncle waiting for her in the hall. He turned from the hearth as she entered and she saw that he was frowning slightly, as if in deep thought.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked as she came quickly to join him, holding out her chilled hands to the blaze. ‘You look worried.’
‘I’ve had a courier arrive from London and feel I should leave early tomorrow. There are matters decided in Council which might need my attention.’
She seated herself in the chair and leaned forward, staring into the cheerful flames which sent the shadows in the hall dancing, for the day was again a grey one and there was little light in the place. She felt chilled to the bone, for she had spent over an hour kneeling on the cold stone before the altar praying for her brother’s soul and those others who had died in the attack on the Devane manor.
Sir Gilbert turned to dismiss Bridget, who hovered in the doorway waiting for orders, and moved about a trifle fretfully until the girl had gone. He rubbed his hands together distractedly and Clare could see he still had something disturbing him.
‘You must go,’ she said mildly. ‘It is your duty. I shall be safe here. As you said, any reprisal would be slow in coming since the defending force at the Devane Manor has been decimated. It will take time for Robert Devane to muster any household sufficient even to repair the damage, let alone lead a force against us. In any case, the man is on the run and unlikely to be able to complain about the summary justice meted out to his family.’
She recalled again her uncle’s fury directed against the two guards left on duty outside the barn when he discovered his important prisoner had escaped.
‘I’ll hang the pair of them,’ he’d stormed. ‘Aye, and the drunken sots in the stables who, apparently, were so gone in ale that they heard nothing. God’s teeth, how could it have been managed? Devane had to have help. The two guards were struck down. His friends must have climbed the wall and got him clean away. That couldn’t have been easy if the fellow’s wound was as bad as you said. It was sheer negligence, the result of over-indulgence following their too-easy victory. I should hang and thrash a few to encourage the rest to remember their duties in future.’
Clare had patiently pleaded for the injured guards. Both were nursing sore heads. One had been very dazed indeed—she had wondered if he had suffered some permanent damage to the brain from the severe blow to the back of his head that he had taken from the rescuers, whoever they had been. Neither man could be blamed. Their attackers had obviously come silently and stealthily. They had accomplished their purpose and fled immediately into the night with the prisoner and Clare, for one, had been thankful.
There had been more than enough violence and death over the last few days to wish not to add to the score the Devanes would have cause to settle. Privately she had been thankful that the cheery red-headed prisoner had escaped the rope. Her uncle, though still seething, had calmed down after a while and granted the two threatened men clemency.
But he had made his anger known pithily and the sergeant had seen to it that no one in the household repeated the offence of negligence and the manor had been restored to a seeming normality—if it could ever be again when its young master lay coffined, awaiting burial.
There had been so much to be done over the past days that she had not allowed herself to think about the time when she would be left alone on the manor, unprotected. Now the moment had come upon her all too soon.
Her uncle was still restlessly prowling the room. Abruptly he stopped and faced her, his thumbs thrust into his sword belt.
‘You realise, Clare, that your position here has changed dramatically. You are now a very wealthy heiress and your prospects considerably improved, as, also, your possible danger.’
She stared at him incredulously. ‘I had not thought…’
‘There are men who will now covet your fortune, men who would stoop to take advantage of your vulnerability. It would be impracticable to leave you here, even with a garrison of my own choosing.’
She waited for his decision, a little breathless with dread. Did he wish her to go to his own manor in Northamptonshire? If so, her role would not be much changed from the one she had envisaged as poor relation to Peter and his wife. Sir Gilbert’s lady, her aunt, would not welcome her, especially since she was now to be sought after in marriage and Sir Gilbert’s own daughters, her two cousins, whom she rarely met, would feel likely to be in competition with her for suitors.
No. She straightened her shoulders determinedly. She would not go. Life there would be insupportable and she would not have it thrust upon her.
‘I have decided to place you under the protection of the Queen,’ he announced. ‘Margaret will welcome you as an attendant, and at Court you will have opportunity to see and be seen by suitable suitors. In arranging a marriage for you, the Queen would find some advantage as she could, in this way, cement the loyalty of the successful candidate for your hand, to say nothing of other suitors who would be anxious to secure her goodwill.
‘We cannot leave you now without royal protection. The country is