The Queen's Exiles Page 16

  She seemed about to say more but stopped. Though disturbed, she accepted his authority. His horsemen were already posting themselves at doorways along the wings. “Yes, of course, if you must.”

  “You run a school here, I understand. Where is it?”

  She pointed to the corner of the southern wing. “There. Why?”

  “My information is that the criminal is hiding in the children’s quarters. That wing must be cleared.”

  Her hand went to her mouth in concern. “The children? Are they in danger?”

  He didn’t answer. The more confusion he could create, the better Thornleigh’s chances. “To carry out a thorough search I must insist that all inmates leave their quarters. The sisters, the children, servants. Everyone will congregate here in the courtyard. I ask that you assist us.”

  She looked appalled. “Everyone? But we have sick patients in the infirmary. And elderly sisters who—”

  “The patients can stay. Everyone else, outside. This man is dangerous, Reverend Mother. A killer. He would slit the throat of any nun in his way. Or take a child as hostage.” The young ones here were children of the lesser nobility, worth a ransom. “You understand?”

  That hit home. “Dear Lord. Yes . . . yes, I’ll see to it. I’ll order the alarm bell rung.”

  “Good. And one more thing. We’ll question the children separately. Have them grouped over by those trees.” He pointed to the far edge of the quadrangle, a sitting area of benches inside a circle of apple trees.

  For half an hour it was a noisy, harried business as Carlos’s men searched the buildings, the church bell clanging the alarm non-stop. They searched in earnest, for he had told them they were looking for a rebel and ordered them to question every nun. They didn’t know the true identity of the foreigner riding with them. Carlos had introduced Thornleigh as the troop was about to ride out from barracks, telling them he was a Scottish lieutenant, an exiled Catholic eager to help Spain. His men had accepted that without question as they rode for Ixelles past the southern boundary of Brussels and into the abbey.

  Dusk had fallen by the time all the inmates were herded into the quadrangle. A woman had fainted and nuns were clustered around her. Young novices clutched each other’s hands, wide-eyed as they watched the horsemen trot by. Scullery servants from the kitchens huddled together. A lapdog ran in frantic circles, yipping.

  Carlos, overseeing from horseback in the middle of the quadrangle, heard a child crying under the apple trees. He had not gone near the children grouped there, afraid that if his niece and nephew recognized him they might call out to him. Had Thornleigh found them yet? Where was he, anyway? The last Carlos had seen of him, Thornleigh was trotting in circles around the children as they were led to the spot by two nuns. Carlos looked around for him, cursing the time this was taking. They’d spent too long here already. Too many people had seen Thornleigh’s face. Carlos saw the abbess march toward him. No fugitive criminal had been found, and of course none of the nuns or children questioned had reported spotting any suspicious man. Carlos spurred his horse away from the abbess to avoid her.

  He trotted closer to the children under the apple trees. There were about twenty, girls and boys, the smaller ones in nightgowns, all agog at the horsemen. The two nuns had organized them, got them sitting on the grass. A few of the boys, excited, stood on their knees to watch the commotion. Carlos scanned the faces as he trotted by. He hadn’t seen Thornleigh’s children for years. Would he recognize them?

  Then he spotted two and was sure they were Katherine and Robert. They stood hand in hand, she talking earnestly to an angry-faced nun. They hadn’t seen him. They had grown so much, Kate looked almost a woman now, yet Carlos knew them right away. The boy was not as tall, nor as robust looking, but seemed full of curiosity. Carlos felt a queer turbulence in his chest, relief to see them safe and pity for Thornleigh, whose wife had taken them away.

  Where the devil was Thornleigh?

  Carlos looked around at his men, who sat their horses awaiting his orders, their search inside completed. Two trotted aimlessly back and forth by the upset, massed inmates. The church bell had fallen silent. Carlos felt the abbess’s questioning eyes on him. He could stay no longer. If she raised an objection about his methods to the bishop he would face questions that could get him thrown into one of Alba’s prisons. He rode back to her, told her he was satisfied that the abbey was safe, and thanked her for her cooperation. He called his men together and they rode out the gates, Carlos at the head of the troop.

  Thornleigh, wherever he was, would have to manage the rest on his own.

  The quadrangle lay deserted in the darkness. The abbey’s dozens of windows were dark, too, except for a few where candlelight flickered. Night wind rode through the apple trees, rustling the leaves with a sound that seemed to Adam like the sea. Ears playing tricks on me, he thought. Maybe because he was so keyed up. He was crouched at the base of an apple tree, his eyes on the south wing, focused on the door to the children’s quarters. He’d been watching it for so long he was fighting a cramp in his leg. His bandaged shoulder beneath the breastplate ached.

  An owl hooted from the roof above the door. The roof masked the moon, leaving the doorway in darkness, while out in the quadrangle moonlight silvered the grass and the gravel paths and the apple boughs. Adam had pulled his cloak around him to prevent the moonlight glinting off the steel breastplate. The helmet lay beside him in the grass, tucked into the shadows at the base of the tree.

  Would Kate and Robert come out? He had snatched a few words with his daughter, that was all. She’d been standing at the edge of the circle of children under these trees, stunned to see him, and had gaped up at him as he’d leaned down from his horse and whispered, “Meet me here after dark. Right here. Bring Robert.” Questions had flared in her eyes, but she’d kept silent as one of Carlos’s men trotted near. Clever girl! Adam had seen Robert, too, just steps away from Kate, but Robert had not seen him. How the boy had grown! But he looked unhappy. A nun held him roughly by the arm and shook her finger at him. Robert stood tense in her grip, and his head jerked, not just once but several times as the nun went on scolding him. His jerks of the head seemed involuntary. A tic? Pity shot through Adam as the boy hung his head in shame. Then the nun cuffed him, a slap on the ear. Adam’s blood boiled. She had no right! But he had to trot away, could not risk his son noticing him. When he glanced back over his shoulder Kate was taking Robert’s hand and the nun moved away. Kate’s arm went around her brother’s shoulders, a protective gesture that touched Adam deeply.

  He had pulled away from the pack of children and trotted down a path alongside the church. It led to a vegetable garden with a shed. There was no one in sight. Hoes and baskets lay at the edge of the garden, abandoned when the nuns working there had been herded to the quadrangle with the others. Chickens clucked from an enclosure of low stone walls. Adam tied his horse to a tree behind the shed, out of sight of the quadrangle, and sat down on a bench inside the shed to wait. Soon he heard Carlos and his troop ride out. Heard the nuns calling the children back inside, and tramping feet and chattering voices as the quadrangle emptied. Night fell. No one came to the shed. Adam had walked back to the quadrangle, staying close to the church wall lest a nun at a dormitory window catch sight of him. He’d slipped in among the apple trees.

  Hunkered down now at the base of the tree, waiting, he wondered if he was mad to expect his children to come out to him. Their mother had hidden them here to keep them from him. He felt a punch of shock, remembering Frances’s face in the Church of Saint Nicholas, her fierce look as she’d shouted to the soldiers, Don’t let him escape! What an astounding change in her! Frances, once so possessive, so jealous of Elizabeth, so cloying in her love for him that he had relished his days at sea just to be away from her. Of course, everything had changed when she had committed treason, and never again would they live as man and wife, even in the uneasy partnership that had been their marriage. But at that church she had actual
ly connived for his capture. Had arranged it by luring him to Kate and bringing soldiers. A capture that could have led to his death. It rocked him.

  And Tyrone. He had changed, too, had become the enemy. Had Tyrone gone to Frances, or had Frances sought out Tyrone? Either way, Adam was convinced that the Irishman had betrayed him to her.

  The other changed person was Kate, and that was a change that cheered his soul. Frances had surely done her best to poison the children’s minds against him—he’d seen that in Kate’s horrified look at first seeing him in the church—yet his daughter’s true allegiance had burst forth when she saw the soldiers attack him. Pride swelled his heart as he remembered how she had hurled her cape over the oncoming sword. It had let Adam escape. Now, having witnessed her self-control at seeing him ride in with Carlos’s troop, he felt buoyed with hope. If there was a way to get out of the dormitory with Robert, his daughter would find it.

  If. What if the nuns locked the dormitory at night and the children could not leave? He would wait for hours if he had to, but he must not be here come sunrise. He stared at the door, willing them to come through it.

  The owl lifted from the dormitory roof and flapped across to the apple tree and landed on a bough above Adam’s head. Glancing up at it, he felt his sword scabbard scrape the damp grass. He was grateful to Carlos for the weapon, grateful for Carlos’s plan to get him inside the abbey and flush out the children. Whatever their differences in allegiance—and they were huge—Adam had gambled that family ties would tug Carlos enough to help him reach Robert and Kate. He’d been right. Thanks to Isabel.

  He’d noticed she was pregnant. He hadn’t known, it was so long since he’d been in touch with her. A fourth child, that was a fine thing. Carlos was a lucky man, happy with his wife. Adam could scarcely imagine what that felt like, his own marriage being so fouled. Frances had failed to murder Elizabeth, but the attempt had murdered their marriage. Had it ever really lived? A stillborn marriage. Even in its early years when they’d each tried to accommodate the other, never once had he felt the true bond of husband and wife, man and woman united in spirit, one flesh.

  Spirit and flesh. Fenella. The memory of their lovemaking on the barge came over him with a rush so powerful he laid his hand on the tree trunk to steady himself. Fenella’s mouth opening under his. Her body pressed against his. Her breath hot and moist on his neck. Her lips on his throat. He had groaned.

  She’d stiffened in concern. “Your wound?”

  No, it was not pain he felt but a craving for her that throbbed through his body. She had gone still, as though afraid their embrace had hurt his shoulder. It was enough to bring him to his senses. “I’m sorry . . .” he stammered. “I . . . have no right.”

  “You do,” she breathed. “Adam, I am yours.”

  He’d plowed his hands through her hair and kissed her, and when he tugged down her chemise and her breasts spilled free he felt he could not get enough of her fast enough. Her nipples taut as berries against his palms. Her yielding mouth. He pushed up her skirt and his hand slid up the warm skin of her thigh, and when his fingers reached the warm, wet cleft she gasped. She pushed him gently onto his back. She straddled him. Never had he felt such a ravenous need. Unfastening himself, he gripped her hips and thrust into her, his desire ferocious, his eyes feasting on her mouth, her hair tumbled over her breasts. When they lay together after, spent, catching their breath, he marveled at the pure joy he felt. She amazed him. Her bold confidence. Her lush beauty. Her eager abandon. The glow of her. Sailing from Sark they had bonded in spirit, and now their union was complete, consummated. She was his, all of her. And he was hers. A marriage truer than he had ever known.

  “If I were free,” he’d said, gazing into her eyes, “to make you my wife—”

  “Shhh.” She had stopped his words with a kiss. “We’ll be together, that’s enough. In England. Soon.”

  He felt the thrill of her still, his hand pressing the tree trunk, and a smile spread through him. England, where peace beckoned. The future glowed for him and Fenella. A partnership in every sense, loving and lasting.

  A screech shredded his dream. The owl had pounced near him and lifted from the grass, wings beating, with a captive vole squirming in its talons.

  He saw something else. The door to the children’s dormitory had opened, just a crack. He jumped to his feet. The faintest light shone through the crack. Adam awaited, his heart in his throat. The door slowly opened. A shape in the shadows. Two shapes. Kate and Robert! Cautiously, Kate put her head out past the doorjamb and looked both ways along the exterior of the wing. Adam’s thoughts flew to her, excitement thrumming through him: You’re safe. Come!

  They stepped out, hand in hand. Kate carefully, quietly closed the door, and then they hurried across the quadrangle straight toward Adam. He snatched the helmet from the grass and pulled it on, ready to go, keeping an eye on the door in case someone came after them.

  “Father,” Kate whispered as they reached him. He read a flurry of emotions on her face: amazement, confusion, relief. “I thought they’d killed you . . . Mother’s men . . . in the church. I saw your blood. Then she dragged me out.”

  “You were so brave. I got away because of you.”

  Tears gleamed in her eyes. “Why would Mother do that?”

  He shook his head, wincing. How could he begin to explain to his daughter the animosity between her parents?

  Kate said, her voice shaky, “She’s wrong about you. About . . . everything.”

  His throat was so choked with emotion all he could manage was, “Bless you.” He threw an arm around her and hugged her. “Bless you. Both of you.” He reached out for Robert, too, but the boy stood frozen, transfixed. Was it the breastplate and helmet, so fearsome looking? “It’s me, Robin. It’s been so long, I know I may look different. But it’s me.”

  The boy’s head jerked, a small spasm. The tic. “Mother said . . . to stay away from you.”

  Adam said gently, “And yet you came.”

  The tic again. “Kate said to.” It was a statement of complete trust. Adam looked at Kate with a wondering smile. Had she been the boy’s only friend in their lonely exile?

  There was no time for this. He had to get them both moving. “Listen to me, both of you. I’m taking you home. To England. We’re leaving right now.”

  Kate’s eyes went wide. “How?”

  “We’ll ride to the canal. We’ll be a sight, the three of us ahorse, but we’ll get there, and we’ll get a boat.” He was gambling that his military garb from Carlos would be his passport through Brussels and all the way to Antwerp. “All right?”

  She nodded, anxious but also excited. How he loved her for that!

  Robert just stared. Something inside Adam lurched. What if his son refused? Adam might be able to manhandle him onto the horse, but if the boy protested, cried out, people would come running. He glanced at Kate, hoping for help. She took her brother’s hand and said gently, “Don’t worry, Robin, they won’t hurt you. Not anymore. You’ll never have to come back here.”

  Adam wasn’t sure what she meant, but he saw the bond between his son and daughter and it moved him. He recognized it, the same bond that men in his crew shared who’d been through battle together. Kate and Robert were comrades in arms.

  He suddenly noticed that it wasn’t Robert’s hand Kate held but his wrist, as though his hand was hurt. Adam took the boy’s hand. Robert flinched. Adam was shocked at what he saw. Red welts crisscrossed the small palm. He took the boy’s other hand. More welts. Adam gritted his teeth. “The nuns did this?”

  Robert shrank back in his grasp. His head jerked in a spasm. The tic. Kate answered quietly for him, “To beat the devil out of him. The devil that makes him do that.”

  Revulsion churned Adam’s stomach. He could never forgive Frances for what she’d done to their children. Kate, sent to be swallowed by the convent as a nun, sacrificed on the altar of Frances’s religion. Robert, beaten by the nuns.

  He we
nt down on one knee so that he and the boy were eye to eye, and laid a gentle hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Remember your first pony? You loved that pony. Loved riding him. What was his name? Horatio?”

  Bright-eyed for the first time, the boy looked at Adam. “Hector.”

  “That’s right. Hector. Tonight, as we ride, you can hold the horse’s mane. Would you like that?”

  Robert nodded eagerly. His head jerked. The tic.

  Adam tousled the boy’s hair. Then looked at Kate and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Taking the path to the garden shed, Adam kept them in the shadows by the church wall. He untied the horse and swung up into the saddle, then pulled Robert up to sit in front of him, then pulled Kate up to ride pillion behind him. They were as crowded as eels in a barrel, but Adam loved having their warm bodies pressed against him. He realized how deeply he’d missed them, apart for so long. He took the reins, his arms on either side of Robert, who gripped the horse’s mane. Kate held tight to Adam, her arms around his waist. They rode slowly past the church, Adam keeping the horse at a walk and again keeping to the shadows. They crossed the quadrangle, heading for the main gate, and he scanned the dark windows and doorways of the wings on either side. He knew Kate and Robert were doing the same, perhaps expecting angry nuns to come pouring out with torches. He glowed with pride at how courageously calm his children remained.

  They reached the gate. It was closed, but locked only by a bar across two iron brackets. “Kate, I need you to get off and lift the bar, all right?”

  “Yes,” she said eagerly. She slid off the horse.

  “Slow and quiet,” Adam said. “No noise.”

  She did it beautifully. Lifted the bar off with such care it barely scraped, then gingerly propped it against the wall. She opened one side of the double wooden gate, very slowly, so the creak of the hinges was only faint. Then she hastened back to the horse, whispering, “I did it,” her eyes aglow.

  “Well done,” Adam said with a smile, never prouder. He reached down to swing her up onto the horse. She reached up for his outstretched hand.