The old monk hobbled beside the litter, admonishing the two men to make haste. Praise God the old monk saw the danger! She took his arm and helped him the last few steps.
He shook her off the moment they were inside the church. “Cover your hair, woman!”
Though it seemed unlikely God would care at such a moment, she swallowed back her panic and yanked her hood over her head.
“How does your patient fare?” she asked.
“He would not stay abed,” the monk complained, shaking his head. “So I gave him a sleeping draught.”
Hearing a burst of shouting, she turned to see monks were pouring into the church. Holding her hood in place, she pushed past them to the front steps of the church. What she saw below sent her heart to her mouth.
On the other side of the bridge, crowded between the canal and the front gate, were at least a dozen armed men. Geoffrey and Jamie stood on this side, swords drawn, looking like the men of ancient Thermopylae holding off the Persian hordes. Behind them lay the abbot. A four-foot shaft stuck up from the center of his chest.
Fearing she would see her brother and Jamie meet the same fate, she clasped her hands together and began praying aloud. “Mary, Mother of God—”
A voice rolled out like thunder across the grounds: “You violate this holy ground at your peril!”
At first Isobel did not recognize the voice as her brother’s. But it was.
“God has put his strength into our swords,” Geoffrey shouted. “We are the instruments of His wrath!”
Isobel could swear she felt the ground shake. The men on the other side of the bridge must have felt it, too, for they stopped dead in their tracks. At the back of the group, the only man in full armor jerked his helmet off and shouted at them. The men still hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. Only when their leader called them by name did the first two men start across the bridge.
To Isobel’s amazement, Geoffrey and Jamie cut the two down so quickly her eyes could not follow their swords. She flicked her eyes back to the leader. His black hair whipped about his face as he hurled curses at his men.
This time, three men came across the bridge.
Geoffrey’s sword flew as if the wrath of God truly did move his arm. Never had Isobel seen her brother fight like this—nor had she suspected he could. He dispatched two more rapidly than she thought possible. While Jamie fought the third, Geoffrey came behind the man, lifted him by the collar, and threw him into the canal. Splashing and crying out in terror, the man scrambled up the other side to safety.
“God has seen into your hearts!” her brother shouted. “He knows you intend to murder these holy men. Turn and go, or he will strike you down where you stand!”
Her brother was acting like God’s own raging angel. Despite their leader’s angry shouts, the men turned as one and fled past him out the gates.
The black-haired man held his horse in place. Without hurry, he swept his eyes over the abbey grounds and up the rise to where Isobel stood alone before the church. A chill of fear went up her spine as their eyes met and held across the distance. He could not harm her now. And yet she could not breathe until he turned his horse and rode out the gate.
Isobel ran down the hill so fast she nearly fell head over heels. When her brother saw her coming, he opened his arms and caught her in midair.
“You were magnificent!” she said, burying her face into his neck. When he set her down she asked, “How did you ever think to say those things to them?”
“I spoke the truth,” her brother said. “God’s truth.”
She was taken aback. Everyone spoke to God in prayer. Few, however, claimed God spoke to them—at least not with such clarity. She did not quite know what to make of it.
Geoffrey smiled, showing he both understood and forgave her doubting nature. With all the righteous fire gone from him, he was her sweet brother once again. They walked arm in arm up the hill to the church.
Jamie caught up to them, his eyes shining. “We did well, did we not?”
“Aye,” Isobel said. “Your father will be proud of you.”
“Those men may get their courage back.” Jamie squinted at the early morning sun, still low on the horizon. “ ’Tis less than an hour since daybreak. I hope to God Stephen returns before they do.”
“I shall pray he does,” Geoffrey said.
“You do that,” Jamie said, slapping Geoffrey on the back. “He seems to hear your prayers.”
The three of them went into the church and huddled around FitzAlan. He was awake, his color much improved. When he looked at Jamie, the fierceness of the love in his eyes caused Isobel to suck in her breath. Isobel looked away; it felt intrusive to observe that moment between them.
The sanctuary felt crowded with all the monks gathered inside. With Jamie hovering over FitzAlan and the old monk close at hand, there was no need for her ministrations. Geoffrey was on his knees in one of the alcoves. Having no occupation herself, she told Jamie she would act as lookout.
