Carre: Outlaw Part 19

"To our advantage," Matthew remarked, already deploying his younger brothers into position with simple gestures, confident with his overwhelming numbers.

"Is that Redmond?" Munro was saying as he and Johnnie sat their horses on the crest of the hill, scrutinizing the opposition moving into position at the entrance to the bridge leading into Hexham.

"It doesn't matter," Johnnie tersely said, swinging his head around briefly to see that his men had all a.s.sembled on the terrain behind him. "We need you at left, Adam at right, I'll take the center. I don't want them to have time to outflank us. We move out as soon as you're in place. Keep your men out of sight behind the hill until we charge. Go!" And he signaled for Adam to come up.

In five frantic minutes of wheeling horses and close-order drill, the Carres were dispersed. Johnnie rode along the lines giving instructions, a nervous energy beneath his casual drawl. Satisfied everyone understood the orders, he rode to the head of his men and raised his gloved hand. His long hair stirred in the breeze as he sat motionless for an abridged moment.

Then his arm came slashing down, his black barb leaped forward, his bloodcurdling scream rent the morning air, and a few men shy of three hundred Carres, their ferocious voices raised to the sky, surged after Johnnie Carre in a headlong charge. There was no time for a detailed battle plan, but they'd fight by eye and ear and tactical sense in a cut-and-thrust brawl that they'd honed to a fine art in years of border raids.

Whipping his horse, Johnnie raced down the hill, the thunder of hoofbeats behind him. Those men below were going to have to move out of his way or fall before him, he grimly thought, his black hair streaming behind him, his eyes half-shut against the rushing wind, his fingers loosely curled around his pistol grip ... because he was coming through. Because he had powerful reasons to get to the other side of the river. The stocky squared bulk of the provincial cathedral dominated the high ground on the distant bank, drawing the eye from any direction. And she was inside.

Pounding along the flat at the river valley, drawing closer to the defended position, he sighted in on a rider and, bellowing the Carre battle cry, rode headlong at the bridgehead.

Before the Grahams' horrified gaze, those few hors.e.m.e.n on the hill had grown in terrifying numbers, unending waves of riders streaming over the ridge of the hill, galloping toward them packed knee-to-knee like a vast flail sweeping down the gra.s.sy slope. The Grahams waited uneasily at the halt, realizing that not four score men had ridden to Hexham from the north, but more like ten times that number. As they sat their horses waiting, the earth under them reverberated with the pounding of hooves, carrying the wild charge toward them with ever-greater momentum.

A horde riding straight out of h.e.l.l advanced on them, their battle cry a shrieking fearsome harbinger of death, their pistols spurting flame.

The defenders recoiled as the first volley struck them, and Matthew Graham's nerve cracked before such an unflinching, blood-thirsty host, launching at them now with drawn swords. Wheeling his horse, he broke for the west, his men tumbling after him in disordered retreat, their scattered flight dissolving in a panic-stricken swarm across the flats and riverbanks and rolling hills.

Johnnie smiled, his teeth flashing white against his dust-smeared countenance as he galloped toward the stone-arched bridge. Like a fist through a rotten plank, he thought, smiling for the first time since mounting at Goldiehouse long hours ago.

G.o.d's mark of favor, he mockingly thought, against whomever those cowards were. Now, if he could rout Redmond's bodyguards as easily....

Inside the cathedral the choir had just finished singing when the piercing Carre battle cry shattered the sanctified silence, echoing like ricocheting warning shots across the peaceful sunlight interior of the medieval church.

"Stay with her!" Redmond shouted to George Baldwin, lunging up from his seat in the front row of the a.s.sembled guests, racing down the carpeted aisle toward the entrance, his sword in his hand, his men following him in a pell-mell rush.

And within minutes his troops had surrounded the cathedral in a solid armed wall, so when Johnnie Carre and his men came careening up the cobbled streets to the church at the summit of the hill, they found a strong defense in place.

The market square north of the church facade barely contained Johnnie's mounted men, an agitated melee of horses and riders jostling for s.p.a.ce in the area between the storefronts and council chambers, redeploying after the initial confusion into battle array around the smaller circuit of Redmond's men.

Slowly riding to the low stone wall separating the street from the churchyard, Johnnie dismounted, and with a bold courage Redmond couldn't help but admire, he walked up to Elizabeth's captain standing guard at the door.

"Were those friends of yours at the bridge?" Johnnie casually said, slapping the dust from his breeches.

"If you drove them off, I'd say no. Were they a motley crew with their leaders on grey chargers?"

"The same," Johnnie said with a smile. "Did I do you a favor then?"

"A temporary one, no doubt. Those were Hotchane's sons."

"Here to wish the bride good fortune?" Johnnie's smile this time didn't reach his eyes.

"Not likely. They wish her to marry one of them."

"Ah, and return the money to the family. Lady Graham prefers someone else, I hear." His insolence was lightly p.r.o.nounced.

"Perhaps."

Johnnie's gaze altered from the insouciant courtier to an instant deadly calm. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm not sure who to protect her from, Ravensby. You or her bridegroom."

"Let me talk to her." His voice, his eyes, his expression, were unflinchingly grave.

A moment pa.s.sed, and then two, while the arrogant Laird of Ravensby waited as abject pet.i.tioner, his habitual insolence banished.

Then Redmond nodded his head once.

And Johnnie Carre broke into a wide grin.

"Thank you, Redmond, for your inestimable faith."

When Johnnie Carre strode into the nave, disheveled and dust-covered, all heads turned as the heavy tread of his boots echoed in the hushed silence, the metallic clang of his sword and jangle of his spurs keeping rhythm with his long-legged stride. His dark hair framed his face in wild disarray, the plate of his jack flashed, the ivory-handled pistols tucked into his belt attracted an ominous scrutiny, and each guest drew in an unconscious inhalation of fear.

He looked to neither side, his gaze intent on the brilliantly gowned bride before the altar, and when he reached her at last, he said to her, as though the man beside her didn't exist, "Don't you think you should have told me about the child?"

"You needn't answer, Elizabeth," George interjected.

For the first time Johnnie seemed to take notice of Elizabeth's companion. "If you don't mind, Baldwin, I'd like to speak to her alone."

"But I do mind."

As Johnnie impetuously reached for his sword, Elizabeth furiously said, "Don't you dare!" And while Johnnie hesitated, she quickly turned to George. "Just for a moment ..." she placated. "I'll be right back."

"How did Redmond let you through?" she snapped a second later as Johnnie led her away to the side aisle, his fingers biting into her arm.

"He likes me," he curtly said, not looking at her, marching down the crossing without regard for the churchful of guests staring at them in dazed silence. "Or he doesn't like George Baldwin. I'm not sure." And he stopped her abruptly as they reached the wall, his restraining hand viselike. "Now explain why I wasn't told."

"No."

The vehemence of her answer gave him pause for a moment. But his frustration hadn't improved after seven hours in the saddle, and he said, low and heated, "You'd marry him with my child inside you?"

"I didn't think it mattered," she scornfully replied, as heated as he, as resentful. "Isn't this simply another one of many for you?"

Thin-skinned and hot with temper, he wished to slap the mocking smugness from her face. He opened his mouth to speak, his nostrils flared in anger, then forced himself to curb his rage and said a second later with enormous self-control. "No, it isn't. You should have told me."

"To what purpose, pray tell? Will you marry me now that I carry your child-but not otherwise?"

"Would you have another man raise my child?" he snapped back.

"Don't several already?"

"Talk to me about this child, d.a.m.n you," he raged. There was no question of dubious paternity here. This child was his. And it mattered.

"You've been drinking," she spat, the smell of brandy cloying at close range. "Tomorrow you'll wonder why you rode so far south on a whim."

"I haven't drunk in the last seven hours," he said between clenched teeth. "I'm miserably sober. And I intend to have an answer to my question." He pushed her back against the stone wall. "Now, madam," he said in a harsh whisper, "don't you think you should have told me?"

"Maybe it's not your child?"

"Try again, Bitsy. My drivers even know it's my child; your servants know, my servants know. Everyone knows apparently but me."

"I don't want you to want me simply because your child is in my belly. Is that simple enough for you?" Raging insult firmed her mouth into a thin line.

"If we're dealing with simplicities," Johnnie hotly replied, "I don't want you to marry George Baldwin."

"Would you have cared if I weren't having your child?"

And she hated him when he couldn't answer. "There," she said very, very softly. "I'm sorry you rode so far for no reason."

"Then you misunderstand my purpose," he replied as softly. "We're going home to Goldiehouse."

"Redmond won't allow it."

He noticed with satisfaction, she didn't mention George Baldwin. "Why don't we ask him?" he smoothly offered, pulling her along the shadowed side aisle to the monks' door under the stairs.

And moments later they stood outside in the bright sunshine, an incongruous melange of armed riders, two commanders carefully taking each other's measure, and one breathless, confounded bride.

"I'm taking her back to Goldiehouse," Johnnie said to Redmond. "Do you have any objections that can't be settled between"-he glanced briefly at the a.s.sembled troops-"say, four or five hundred men?"

"I don't wish to go!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

Redmond glanced quickly at Johnnie, his brows raised in inquiry. "Did you lose your silver tongue, Ravensby?"

Johnnie shrugged, as resentful and angry as the bride, as uncertain of his feelings as she.

"I'll give you two weeks, Ravensby," Redmond offered, "to state your case. After that I'll come for her."

Elizabeth's heated gaze locked with her captain's. "Judas. What is this? Some masculine game with myself as p.a.w.n?"

"It's a trial, Ravensby," Redmond carefully pointed out, his expression grave as he looked at Johnnie. "You needn't stay beyond the two weeks, Elizabeth," he explained, his glance swinging back to her. "You can come back and marry George Baldwin later; I'll tell him."

"Have I no say in this?"

"In two weeks you decide."

"d.a.m.n you, Redmond, when did you become my guardian!"

When I saw you crying this morning before you left for the church, he wanted to say, but he wished to give Ravensby no added advantage, so he only apologized for his actions. "You may discharge me in a fortnight, my Lady, if you choose," he quietly said, bowing to her. And then he lifted her onto the pillioned small mare that had been brought up.

And the three hundred Carres and one lady began the long journey home.

Once into Scotland, the majority of the riders pressed on, while a small escort remained behind to see Elizabeth to Goldiehouse. They traveled at a walk for the sake of her health and stopped often at local inns for rest and refreshments.

Johnnie never went inside, his feelings still too heated, too much in disarray, to politely converse with Elizabeth. What he had to say to her wouldn't bear public scrutiny, so he let Munro and Adam and Kinmont entertain her while he remained outside.

It was after ten when they approached Goldiehouse, every window brilliant with lights, the drive lined with torches to illuminate their way, messengers having been sent ahead from Jedburgh.

And if she hadn't been carried back without her consent, Elizabeth thought, like so much baggage, she would have felt joy at returning. If Johnnie Carre had come for her because he loved her, she would have felt inexpressible happiness. But he had come because he wouldn't allow another man to have his child. And for that arrogant authority, she d.a.m.ned him.

She'd fought too hard to build a life for herself outside the perimeters of masculine control; she'd even given herself to Johnnie Carre in open celebration, free to choose for the first time in her life. And he hadn't noticed the delineations of her independence-or cared. She could be Hotchane's property again or her father's. Only now Johnnie Carre had appropriated her.

And rancor filled her heart and mind.

But all Johnnie's servants greeted her with open arms, Mrs. Reid hugging her like a lost daughter, all smiles and cheerful words of welcome home. Dankeil Willie bowed deeply, his wide smile indication of his pleasure. He spoke for the staff when he said, "It's a pleasure to have ye back at Goldiehouse, yer ladyship."

She was escorted up the familiar ranks of stairways to the tower room by a host of servants and found Helen there to greet her. "Don't ye do nothin now, my Lady," the young maid immediately said, her smile lighting up her rosy-cheeked face, "but lie yourself down after yer long ride, and I'll see to everything." And with a bobbing curtsy she showed Elizabeth to her bed, already turned down for her arrival.

Genuinely grateful for Helen's solicitude after a very long day and as sleepless a previous night as Johnnie Carre's, Elizabeth let herself be helped into bed and undressed. She fell asleep before Helen finished b.u.t.toning the pearl b.u.t.tons of the neckline of the nightgown.

"The poor lady ..." Helen murmured, waving the other servants out of the room.

"Ye send for food the minute she wakes now," Mrs. Reid ordered, standing at the foot of the bed, her affectionate gaze on Elizabeth's peaceful form. "And the mantua-maker will be here in the morning to see to my lady's new clothes. He dinna want to see that wedding dress again, himself says. He sent a rider into Kelso to summon Madame Lamieur for the morn."

"She'll need robes right soon, with the wee bairn on the way," Helen cheerfully noted.

"And a new wedding dress, himself says," Mrs. Reid said with satisfaction.

The two women smiled at each other.

No one, of course, had consulted Elizabeth Graham.

The next morning Johnnie entered the room as the servants were clearing Elizabeth's breakfast dishes away. As if previously ordered, Helen followed them out of the room. At the doorway she turned to say, "Be careful of the bairn, me Lord...."

"What did you tell her?" he asked when the door closed behind Helen. "That I'd ravish you like some pillaging reiver?" His brows rose in gentle remonstrance. "I have no intention of using you violently." He sat down like an elegant courtier, casual and leisured and smelling of cologne, in control of his emotions after a good night's sleep.

She moved away to the window because her heart had inexplicably begun beating a tattoo against her ribs when he'd entered the room.

"Did you sleep well?" he pleasantly inquired, watching her walk away, his temper gone now that he had Elizabeth Graham where he wanted her.

"Are we going to discuss the weather, too, as though nothing happened yesterday, as though you didn't abduct me from my wedding?"

"Marry me instead," he offered in succinct answer to her heated inquiry.

"I don't care to marry a man who didn't so much as send me a note in the weeks since he left Three Kings. I don't care to marry a man who now feels some unfathomable obligation because of the child I carry. I don't want to marry a man who has no compunction about taking me against my will. Is it some masculine feeling of ownership? If it is-I don't care to be owned again."

"I'm sorry about not writing ... and about the manner of my reappearance in your life. I don't understand the ownership. And it's not obligation, Elizabeth."

"What is it then? How much do you love me? Honestly tell me you would have ridden after me if not for this child."

For a man who'd perfected facile rejoinder to a fine art, he found himself nonplussed by her bluntness.

"You see?"

"You can't separate one from the other. The child exists, I know it exists, and I want you to marry me. I don't want you to marry George Baldwin or anyone else."