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Choppy Waters
In the afternoon of the following day, Major Mandeville led the column into the ancient town of Coventry.
He’d repeated his seemingly gallant efforts to help Adelina mount when they’d set off from Weedon. She had spent the morning fretting over the suggestive glint she’d again detected in his gray eyes. He was an attractive man—tall, broad-shouldered, fair of face—yet she wasn’t in the least drawn to him.
It seemed irrelevant in view of her impending marriage to an elderly baron, but, as the miles passed, she found herself musing about what drew a woman to a man.
She’d helped Marguerite escape from Melton Manor because the alchemy between Becket and the woman he so obviously loved had touched her heart.
King John’s fury at Marguerite’s disappearance had resulted in Adelina’s virtual abduction by the cruel monarch. It was ironic John had never discovered how Marguerite had escaped nor the part Adelina had played. Nevertheless, she’d been forced to leave the ancestral home she loved and the protection of her older brother.
Now Becket de Montbryce and Marguerite were happily married and safe in Normandie. Adelina wouldn’t hesitate to help them again if the necessity arose. Except, now, she was the one in need of rescue.
Her thoughts drifted again to her brother. If he hadn’t died in Anjou, as the king claimed, then how had he survived? Not only survived, but managed to get a message to her. Someone must have helped him.
She could think of only one kindred family whose members would have been engaged in fighting to thwart John’s attempts to regain Anjou and Normandie—the Montbryces.
She nigh on fell off her horse when the obvious struck her full force. The Montbryces wouldn’t allow a kinsman to embark on her rescue alone. They were coming to her aid, though she doubted Becket would leave his wife and family. He was the heir to Montbryce—but he had brothers. Roland had accompanied Becket on the voyage to return Marguerite to England. King John’s untimely arrival had prevented Adelina from meeting him. She’d wager he was just as darkly handsome and honorable as Becket.
The only cloud on that bright horizon was the expanse of water between England and Normandie. If a Montbryce galley succeeded in reaching the south coast without being intercepted, there was still the long trek from there to Cumbria—a distance she was becoming all too familiar with.
She had to cling to the desperate hope Terric and her erstwhile Montbryce cousins would find a way.
A pleasant surprise alleviated the constant fretting when Glenda fetched the evening meal. The maid informed her they would not be traveling on the following day. “Yon major apparently has other duties here in Coventry,” she said with a rare smile, “and he’s given leave for us to go into the town.”
The cook had managed to procure rabbits and the stew smelled delicious, but Adelina was too nervous to eat and doubted she would sleep this night. If her rescuers were following, would tomorrow be the day of her salvation?
* * *
After two days plowing through the choppy waters of the Irish Sea, Terric had deep misgivings about the advisability of the plan. He and his beleaguered belly wouldn’t care if he never set foot on a boat again. The prospect of the return journey to Normandie filled him with dread.
No matter how rough the seas, Roland and Adrien were never seasick, which perversely made Terric feel worse. Their repeated assurances that he would eventually find his sea legs didn’t help matters.
His Montbryce cousins often mentioned Dublin as their destination, so Terric was confused when they reached Dublin Bay and sailed right past the town.
“A little further north,” Becket explained, apparently sensing his confusion. “MacLachlainn Tower is located in Sord Comcille. You’ll see it soon.”
Terric had known that. It seemed the current state of his innards had blurred his memory of long ago events that had secured a fortified foothold for the Montbryce clan in Ireland—long before the Anglo-Normans actually invaded.
The imposing tower soon loomed on the horizon. “Built by Ronan MacLachlainn’s grandfather long before Ronan married Rhoni de Montbryce more than a hundred years ago,” Roland shouted over the racket of the sail being hoisted down.
Terric joined the rowers and helped bring the galley into the bay where, according to legend, a pod of seals had come to the aid of Ronan and Rhoni.
“We’ll be safer here than in Dublin,” Roland said as the galley scraped the sandy bottom. “There, Normans cower in their enclave, terrified of the Irish clans. Here, Clan MacLachlainn holds sway.”
“Our kin,” Terric replied, his gut finally unclenching—until Roland declared, “I hope Adelina’s a better sailor than you.”
* * *
Roland tried to sound confident of a warm welcome, but there was no certainty a message from William had made it through, though the Earl of Ellesmere had promised to inform the MacLachlainns of the rescue mission.
He held his breath when a dozen burly men lumbered out of an arched doorway at the base of the tower. They swarmed down to the beach, yelling what sounded too much like a war-cry. Clad in brown mantles draped over knee-length shirts, they came to a halt at the edge of the waves, crossbows trained on the galley. Wild, unkempt hair and bare feet didn’t make them any less lethal.
Hoping he wasn’t making an easy target of himself, Roland climbed up on a rowing bench near the mast and shouted the only word that might save them from attack. “Montbryce.”
The weapons weren’t lifted until a loud voice boomed, “Hold.”
A giant of a man strode out of the tower and sauntered to the beach. The breeze toyed with his long, red hair. A bushy red beard nigh on covered his face. His mantle was also brown, though cut of a finer cloth than the others, the edges finely embroidered. His legs, bare to the knees, were like tree trunks.
Roland recognized him immediately, though they’d never met. “Cousin Bradick,” he shouted, hoping his Gaelic wasn’t too far off the mark. “Roland de Montbryce come to visit.”
The giant waved off his archers. “We’ve been expecting you,” he grunted in Norman French. “Welcome.”
