Page 64 of The Rebellious Countess
“In name only,” he ground out before her smile could fully form. “No earl will raise my son.” He spat the words out as if the title left a bitter taste on his tongue, then grabbed her hand once more. Only this time he was not caressing the back of her knuckles like a lover, but squeezing her fingers like a prisonvise, and Máira had a vision of what the future held—something altogether different from her dreams. He marched her past the priest without another word.
Father Charles looked at them expectantly, but neither offered an explanation, and so the holy man fell into step behind her as they made their way to the abbey at twice the speed they had been walking before.
Her altered trousers, now covered in mud, chafed uncomfortably. There was a time when she would have focused on her discomfort, the rubbing and scraping of the wet leather against her skin. Instead, she repeated the poem over and over in her head, wondering what tomorrow would bring. Would she ever see that tender side of Elias again? Or had she driven her dagger too deep, twisted it too hard, for his eyes to ever light up with passion for her once more?
They reached the ramparts of Mont Saint Michel in what seemed like minutes but was more likely just shy of an hour. Built on top of the craggy cliffs, the abbey’s battlements reached high in the sky, blocking any light from the now cloud-covered moon. She couldn’t see any torches burning on the wall, nor could she hear any more voices carrying across the bay. The void of light and silence of the night felt wrong, heavy and overbearing as if a cumbersome cloak weighed them down. Father Charles had warned Elias about scaling the walls at this location, saying it would be difficult due to the area being heavily patrolled.
Yet no patrol was in sight, and she worried the guards had seen them when she became stuck in the mire. Or the words she’d flung at Elias had alerted them to intruders and allowed them to prepare for a battle. Would the guards put a bullet through her husband’s chest because she had given away their location? Her heart raced at the thought of her words being the cause of his death.
Father Charles and Elias, however, were in their element. The priest took the lead as they melded with the shadows like specters preparing to seep through the walls. They were making their way past the main tower Father Charles had calledTour Gabriel. It was a small, enclosed turret designed to provide protection to those watching the shoreline. Father Charles skirted the jagged rocks of the isle as they headed toward the Chapelle Saint Aubert. He stopped suddenly and Máira ran into the back of him, her breath coming in small pants from the pace they’d kept and her own trampled heart.
The small chapel appeared to stand on a small peninsula all by itself, unprotected by the walls and ramparts which protected the town and abbey of Mont Saint Michel. The faint light of a candelabrum flickered in the night through the one window of the chapel. It was there, at the top of the steps, that two guards watched over the expanse of sand leading to the shore. Elias backed up, pushing her with him, as they retraced their steps until they were hidden from the guards’ view.
Elias addressed his comment to Máira. “Once we’re inside, I need you to watch the tide. If it reaches the chapel, we won’t be able to cross and will have to find a place to hide here until the next low tide.”
She acknowledged his instruction with a nod and Elias began studying the cliffs. Despite being so close to the chapel and the tower, from the spot they were standing, only shrubs and trees growing out of the rock could be seen as they looked east and west. To Máira, the terrain looked impossible to climb. Elias and Father Charles, however, had prepared for the impassable.
“We will need to put our shoes on for the rest of our journey. Try to get your feet as clean as possible,” Father Charles instructed her. Máira sat on the edge of a rock and began wiping off her feet. The mud extended up to the roll of her pants at her knees, but she only concentrated on her feet and ankles.
“Let me help you,” Elias said, as he knelt in front of her and removed his shirt. She should look the other way for modesty’s sake. They were traveling with a priest, but she could not stop looking at this man who had begun to mean more to her than she’d ever imagined possible. He wiped between her toes with care, making sure every bit of dirt and grime was removed.
“Give me your shoe.”
She did as he said, unable to do anything but watch as he worked.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as he finished and put his dirty shirt back on his body without a second thought. He bent over, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss the top of her head, until he stopped and turned away to put on his own shoes. Father Charles already had his shoes on and was taking a rope and hook out of the bag he carried.
Elias took the rope and motioned for her to step back as he let one end drop at his feet and checked it for tangles. He stood on the end of the rope and grasped the other end a couple feet away from the dangerous looking three-pronged hook. Once again motioned for her to step back and began swinging the hook in a circle before hurling it upward. The rope turned into a blur as it sailed through the air toward his target—the only large tree rooted in the side of the cliff.
She flinched as the prongs smacked against the wood, the leaves rustling before it snagged hold. Elias yanked on the rope to ensure it was secure. Clearly this was not his first use of the hook, and a shiver ran down her spine as she imagined him throwing it over the edge of an enemy ship.
Elias caught her movement and moved closer to her. “Ma chérie, if this is too much, we can go back.”
Stiffening her spine she whispered, “I’m fine.” The feel of his breath on her neck making her think of much more dangerous skills Elias possessed. “It’s just the breeze.” It was a lie, he knewand she knew it. It was the middle of July and hardly cold. “You go first, Father. You’re more familiar with the abbey than we are, and that will allow me to assist my wife.”
“Of course.” The priest pulled himself up as if he were walking perpendicular to the wall. Hand over hand, he made the task look as easy as if he were walking across a bridge.
Elias then handed the rope to Máira. “Do you think you can do it?”
Máira looked at her husband, her brow cocking in challenge. “Do you think I can’t?”
“Very few women could.”
“You’ve climbed that many mountains with that many women?”
She didn’t have to see he rolled his eyes to know he did it…she knew him. “I’ll be right behind you if you start to lose your grip. Just let me know before you do, otherwise, we’ll both fall to our deaths.”
Just the thought of that was enough to give her pause. This was not a game, or a challenge to conquer. There was more at stake than her ego. “I may need your assistance,” she admitted.
“I will be here.”
For now.
Those words not spoken reverberated in the space between them. This was temporary, not the forever she wanted from this man. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to wail to the heavens about the injustices of giving her this man only to have him walk away from her. It was not better to have loved and lost. She would always love him, and he would always be lost to her.
She turned away without another word. Emotionally, she was on her own. And she was determined not to lean on him physically. Her first attempt ended in failure as she slipped to her knees, the rugged rock digging into her flesh through the muddy trousers.
“Bloody hell,” she fumed, and she batted Elias’s hand away as he attempted to help her to stand. She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. Instead, she tried again. Her foot slipped once more, but she gained her balance and pulled herself up, gaining momentum with every step as her confidence grew.
