Cursing, Blake pulled his sword from his scabbard and charged toward the door just as Rolfe reached his side.
He half expected the door of the chapel to be barred when he reached it and was surprised when it gave way abruptly beneath his touch. Turning the knob, he crashed into the room, sword at the ready, aware the other men entered behind him.
For
a moment they all stood staring blankly about, for as before, the room appeared empty.
"Empty." Rolfe frowned around the room. "What did you see to make you hie back here?"
"A Scot standing in the doorway. He saw me and slammed the door."
"Hmm." Rolfe glanced around again. "Well, he is not here now."
Blake paused by the pew nearest the door and picked up one of the two plaids that had been left there. "Aye. But I didn't imagine him."
The bishop frowned at the sight of the plaid. "Well, where did he go?"
Blake dropped the cloth. "Could there be a secret passage in here?"
The bishop frowned over the possibility, his gaze moving to the walls and the tapestries hanging there. "I do not know. Of course, 'tis possible one of the tapestries hides a secret passage or--"
Blake raised an eyebrow when the prelate suddenly stilled. Following his wide-eyed gaze to the image of the crucifixion of Christ, he stared at it curiously for a moment before he realized what had caught the other man's attention. The tapestries in the room all reached from floor to ceiling, as did the one the bishop was staring at, almost. It fell an inch or so short of the floor due to the way it bulged out from the wall. Beneath it, two sets of boots showed.
Blake raised his sword and gestured to the other men, then moved toward the tapestry. Pausing a foot or so before it, he waited until the other men had arranged themselves around him, then spoke. "Come out of there, you."
Seonaid cursed under her breath. She had feared the hiding place might not bear up well under close inspection, but there had been little time to find a new one after closing the chapel door. Glancing toward Aeldra, they shared a grim glance, then stepped to the side, half-revealing herself to the enemy and getting her first really good look at them. Well, one of them. Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the man who stood in front, so she did not notice the others accompanying him. The one in front was enough to keep anyone's attention.
Seonaid had never met the Cameron, but if the man before her was Rollo, God had been truly kind when fashioning him. His hair--as she had noticed earlier--was blond, but 'twas truly a poor description. A touch shorter than her brother's darker tresses, it hung to his shoulders in golden waves that caught and reflected the candlelight in the room. It was glorious, a shade of spun gold she was sure only an angel could possess. His face was equally impressive, with wide, deep blue eyes, and long gold lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked. A straight strong nose, firm full lips, and a short golden beard and mustache made him as attractive a man as Seonaid had ever seen. She almost expected to see wings sprouting from his back and a halo above his head, but she supposed angels did not have quite so wondrous a body. At least not any of the images of angels she had seen. In the paintings and tapestries sporting visions of angels, they were a thin, small-boned crew. The man before her could never have been so described. He was taller than her own six feet, his shoulders twice the width of her own, his upper arms probably as big around as her thigh. Nay, bigger. And his legs were strong and well formed where they were revealed by the short plaid he wore.
Damn. She released a small sigh. 'Twas almost worth it to die for one night in his bed, she thought, recalling what Helen had said about his plan to kill her.
Blake stared at the creature peeking around the edge of the tapestry and frowned. The lighting in the chapel was poor and the Scot had only leaned his upper body partly out from behind the tapestry, revealing one arm and one eye, but it was enough to tell him this was no soldier. He was lean and sleekly muscled, but was lacking in the bulk that identified a warrior. The fellow did not make his way by the sword. Blake supposed he should have guessed as much when the man had chosen to hide rather than confront him in battle. He shifted impatiently when the silence continued and the man stayed half-concealed behind the cloth.
"I said come out," he snapped, shifting his position threateningly. The Scot seemed to give a start at his words, then glanced back behind the tapestry.
Seonaid was confused. While she had been hidden behind the tapestry, the man's words had been muffled and she had not noticed his accent. It was English, not Scot. She glanced back to Aeldra in confusion.
Aeldra too looked slightly surprised at his accent, then shrugged.
Seonaid peered back to the man, opening her mouth to speak, then paused. Mayhap he had been raised in England. It wasn't at all uncommon for such a thing to happen. Many Scottish heirs were raised there, either by rich relatives or at court itself. Shrugging such considerations aside, she glanced toward Aeldra again, her hand rising behind the tapestry to grab it higher up. She gave her an expressive look, then stepped farther out from behind the tapestry even as Aeldra caught what she meant to do, raised her own hand, and slid out from the other side.
Blake was about to repeat his order for the Scot to show himself when he suddenly did just that. Or, she did, he realized with dismay, taking in the ice blue eyes and obviously womanly features. Movement from the other side of the tapestry drew his attention, and he peered at the petite woman slipping out from the other side. Short, blond, shapely, and pretty. Blake was just turning his eyes back to the taller woman when Rolfe suddenly let out a gasp of dismay behind him.
Blake glanced away to see the alarm on the other man's face, then turned quickly back, but it was too late. As they moved out to the sides, both the small female and the taller one had grasped hold of the tapestry and jerked it forward. The heavy rug was even now pulling away from its position on the wall and crashing down atop them. Blake barely managed a step to the side as the tapestry fell. It was not enough to save him completely and the heavy ornament caught his shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.
As soon as the tapestry came loose from the wall and began to flap out over the men, Seonaid yelled to Aeldra and raced toward the door, intent on escape. An enraged shout from her cousin made her whirl around, dismay on her face as she saw the tapestry had not come down to cover all of the men. One, a mountain of a man, had been a step or two behind the bishop, guarding the other men's backs, and had entirely escaped the dusty old tapestry entangling the others. He had also managed to catch Aeldra as she raced past him and stood holding her off the ground from behind, his arms around her waist, seemingly impervious to her scratching fingernails as she clawed at him and kicked her feet furiously. She was caught.
Cursing, Seonaid glanced briefly around for something to help her cousin with, but she couldn't find anything appropriate. Giving up the search as Aeldra screeched again, this time in warning, she glanced around to see that the man in the plaid had made his way out from beneath the tapestry and was moving toward her.
Seonaid grabbed up a pew and hurled it at him just as the chapel door opened and Lady Helen and Sister Blanche hurried in. Excitement and victory were on their faces as they entered, but dismay soon followed as they spied the chaos they had walked in on. Not bothering to explain what should have been obvious, Seonaid grabbed up both swords as the women held them out and ordered them to get out of the room before turning back to confront the fellow in the plaid.
Blake slowed his forward impetus as he spied the two blades with which he was faced. Surprise was his first reaction. She held the blades as if she were comfortable with them, which drew his attention to the fact that they were smaller than the average sword and of lighter weight. They had obviously been made specifically for the woman before him and the one giving Little George such a rough time.
"Hold," Blake said as the pieces fell together. He had first assumed the Scot in the chapel a man, and no doubt the one who had broken into the abbey, but now that he knew she was a woman and one who exactly fit Rolfe's description of his betrothed, Blake began to realize he faced none other than Seonaid Dunbar. She fit the description far too well to be anyone but her. Ice blue eyes, glorious blue-black hair, well-formed. Aye, he was finally confronting his betrothed. And she was wearing braies.
"I mean ye no harm," he murmured once he had her attention.
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"Nor I you," she answered sweetly, then lifted one of the swords and had at him.
The viciousness of her attack took Blake by surprise, and at first he was kept busy fending off her blows. By the time he recognized that she was directing the battle so that they shifted position, the two of them had already turned enough that she was approaching the spot where Little George and her friend struggled. Before Blake could do anything about it, she had closed the last of the distance between herself and his first and had kicked out to the side with her right foot. Blake winced as her foot connected viciously with Little George's left leg.
The giant grunted in pain and released the woman he held, reaching instinctively to brace himself as he tumbled toward the floor of the chapel. The petite woman threw herself to the side to avoid being crushed by his weight, but was on her feet and at the dark-haired woman's side in a flash, reaching for the smaller second sword to arm herself.
"What goes on here?"
Sister Blanche and Lady Helen straightened guiltily from their bent positions before the door of the chapel. They had listened to Seonaid's order but hadn't fully obeyed. They had gone so far as to leave the chapel, but it was as far as either of them had been willing to go. Pausing in the hall, they had cracked the door open and watched the commotion within as Lady Seonaid and her cousin faced off against the plaid-clad man inside. Now Blanche and Helen whirled to face the abbess as she strode down the hallway toward them, the skirts of her dark gown flowing out behind her.
"Mother!" Sister Blanche peered at the woman in dismay, then glanced guiltily toward the door to the chapel before straightening her shoulders. "Scots have infiltrated the abbey. Lady Seonaid and Lady Aeldra are fending them off."
"What!" The abbess stared at her askance. "It was the English you were to let in, not the Scots. My God, Blanche, what have you done?"
"What indeed," Lady Helen muttered bitterly. "Just opened the door under your direction to allow men to have at the women who sought protection within these sacred walls."