Lara stumbled to the window and opened it to the cool night air. Letting it pass over and around her, she tried to understand the difference between men’s souls and those of women. She had known, but never accepted, that the results of her actions would end this way. Now, the truth was so close, so strong, that the reality made it difficult to take a breath.
A sudden clamor in the yard drew her attention. The drawbridge slammed down and horses and men thundered over it. At first, she thought the keep was under attack, but she recognized one of her husband’s men carrying his banner, and knew he was here. Tears poured down freely and she sobbed out before she could control it. He was alive.
He was alive.
Then she saw him ride through the inner gate toward the keep. He looked neither left nor right and sat stiffly on his mount. One of the stable boys rushed forward and grabbed the reins from him as he slipped from the saddle. Even from this distance, Lara could tell something was wrong.
But he was alive.
Surprised and confused once more by the strength of her relief, she stepped back from the window. Should she go and greet him? Should she stay here? His men spread throughout the yard and many others poured from the keep to assist them. She stood frozen by indecision until a noise in the hallway made her move. Rubbing the tears from her face with her sleeve, she ran to the far side of the bed and waited for him to enter.
The door of the chamber flew open and slammed into the wall. She jumped at the force of it. Watching from across the room, Lara saw several of Sebastien’s retainers enter, carrying his targe, his sword and helmet. Usually Philippe carried those for his lord, but she did not see him among those crowding the chamber. Then Sebastien was there.
She drank in the sight of him filling the doorway, outlined by the torches held behind him. Servants followed him, carrying buckets of water and jugs and platters. Who had ordered this? Etienne had obviously carried out his duties as steward, even as she failed in hers as lady.
Staying in the shadows of the room, she watched as Sebastien walked over to the window and allowed others to take the last remnants of battle from him. After his armor was removed and the worst of the blood washed from his face and hands, he waved everyone out, and still she waited. The door closed quietly, almost reverently, and Lara wondered what to say to him or if he even knew she was there.
With obvious effort, he took the few steps to his chair and collapsed into it, landing hard on its wide, sturdy seat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and she could feel his despair and sadness before he spoke of anything. What had happened?
“My lord?” The words were out before she could stop them. He did not move or acknowledge her, so she thought he must have known she was there. Lara edged closer to the light and closer to him. “Are you injured?”
His words were near to a whisper. “Aye, I am that.”
She took another cautious step toward him. “Should I call for Philippe? He could summon Gara the healer.”
“Philippe is dead, Lara.”
Her breath hitched and the very air around her sparkled before her eyes, blurring her vision. Philippe was dead? How could this be? He was more child than man and not trained for battle.
“Dead?”
“His only sin was that he carried my banner. Your uncle and his allies cut him down rather than fighting me. They used that boy to draw me away and killed him without a moment’s thought.”
His words, cold and empty, filled her with horror. Philippe was full of life and humor. He’d always had a ready word of reassurance for her. He had made friends with her brother and kept him company when he was not at his duties.
Philippe was…dead. Nothing could stop the tears now, but as she was unable to speak, they fell into the anguished silence that surrounded them.
He pushed himself to his feet and began to peel off the layers he still wore. The steam from his body escaped into the chill air of the room, reminding her once more of her failures and her guilt. If he noticed that the hearth was empty, he did not mention it. Then, when she thought he would climb into the bed without saying more, he broke the silence. His voice was frightening in its bitterness.
“Someone will pay for this betrayal. I will find those responsible and I will see them hanged in my yard in punishment for the lives they took this day.”
“My lord?” she asked, praying that her own guilt was not made clear by the shaking of her voice. Clenching her teeth and clasping her hands tightly to keep them still, she waited for him to say more.
“They knew my plans. They knew too much. I will discover the spies among us and they will pay in unimaginable ways before I allow death to release them for what they have done.” His face hardened with the vehemence of his pledge, and she backed away, afraid of him as she had never been before. For the first time since his return, he faced her.
“I do not want to look on another MacDougall this night. Go now from here. Sleep elsewhere. I have not the strength left to pretend that I feel otherwise.”
Lara stumbled back against the door as she lost her balance, terrified by the hatred that spilled out of him. Try as she might to keep the sobs within her, they erupted. Fueled by honest grief and dishonest guilt, she cried out as she ran from the room, down the hallway and stairs and out into the courtyard. Grabbing up her skirts, she staggered through the confusion of men and animals and raced out the gate and across the drawbridge. If anyone tried to stop her, she knew not. Blinded by tears and the dark, she ran to the only place that had ever held any refuge for her. As it was now the site of her worst betrayal, she wondered if peace could be found there.
Entering the chapel, she struggled toward the altar. Falling to her knees, she prayed for forgiveness for causing so many deaths with her betrayals. All she could see was Philippe’s face before her, and her imaginings of his death tormented her. Unable to even kneel, she fell prostrate on the steps and cried out her grief and guilt and sorrow until she was spent. Exhausted, and with no other place that would welcome her, Lara fell asleep on the cold stone floor.
Before dawn came, she roused from her troubled sleep to the sound of the doors of the chapel opening. Sir Hugh stood outside. Struggling to her feet, she waited on his word, half expecting him to accuse her. Instead, he did something much more horrible. Stepping back, he allowed two soldiers to enter. They carried a plank between them and on the plank was a body.
“There is a priest on his way to say the Mass for him,” Hugh said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “Sebastien would not leave him behind.”
Lara walked to meet them and lifted the bloody sheet that covered the boy’s body. Philippe appeared to be sleeping, his face unmarred by whatever death blow had killed him. As she raised the sheet more, Hugh took her wrist to stop her.
“Do not, lady.”
