Laurien was shaking, her racing pulse sending the last of the drug through her veins. Her anguish came out in a wordless scream. She struck out at de Villiers’s face, aiming for his eyes, her nails drawing blood on his cheek before he caught her arms and jerked her to her feet.
“Do you not understand? I have won. It is time for you to accept your fate.”
“My fate is to be with Darach!”
“I shall grant you that wish, as soon as I grow tired of you. And I am glad that you have found your voice. You will need it to say your marriage vows.”
“You will grow old and die before you hear me say the words!”
“We shall see, milady.”
He half dragged her toward the ruined castle, Fionna and the guard trailing behind. Though the outer walls had long since tumbled into ruin, a few of the castle’s chambers and one of the towers were still standing. They entered the great hall, nearly intact but for a gaping hole high in one wall. Laurien saw that one more shock waited for her inside.
Aidan, his hands tied and his mouth bound, sat before the hearth.
“We captured the boy when we killed MacLennan,” de Villiers informed her. “So if you have any hope left that my words are false, I suggest you accept the truth now.”
“God’s mercy,” Laurien whispered.
“If you want the child to remain unharmed,” he replied coldly, “you will stand before a priest and say your vows, without protest.”
Laurien realized then just how empty her threat of resistance was. She was trapped, helpless. She squeezed her eyes shut, Darach’s face and voice and every cherished moment they had shared flashing through her mind. The words he had whispered only this morning haunted her. “I love you… love you… love—”
He was lost to her forever.
A wrenching sense of loss drowned the last of her defiance. She stared at the floor, blinking back tears she would not allow de Villiers to see. “Why? Why have you done this? Are my lands so important that you would kill to make me your wife?”
“Aye,” he said, that single word filled with a lifetime of viciousness and greed.
Laurien glared at him. She had only one thing to live for now—to protect Darach’s son.
And only one thing left to offer in trade. “You will let Aidan go free,” she choked out, “as soon as… we are wed.”
De Villiers shrugged. “Once you are my wife, the boy will be of no use to me. You may escort him safely home yourself.”
“Then I will do as you wish.”
De Villiers gave her a smile filled with triumph. “Then let us prepare for the ceremony.”
He led her into what must have been the castle’s solar. There, lying across de Villiers’s traveling trunk, was a silk gown—a replica of the wedding garb Laurien had donned on that fateful day in Chartres that seemed so long ago. It was in the French royal colors, blue and white, with a long, trailing train and tight, fitted sleeves. Even the slippers, the veil, the wimple were the same.
“No one bests Jacques de Villiers,” he told her. “No one denies me what I want. You shall wed me precisely as I intended—and if ever again you feel inclined to make trouble for me, remember this day.” De Villiers shoved her inside the chamber. “I will give you a few moments to dress, my dearest. Do not make me come back to fetch you.”
Laurien felt tears streaming down her cheeks. But she must think of Aidan. She pushed her tangled hair from her eyes, picked up the despised wedding gown, and began to dress. She plaited her hair, covering it with the veil and wimple, as it had been before.
And when she was finished, she went out into the hall, feeling too numb even for grief. She felt as if her life were ending.
De Villiers waited before the hearth, dressed in the same royal blue and white garb he had worn on that other wedding day, in Chartres. A priest stood beside him, and Fionna, and the guard. Aidan stood between them, no longer bound and gagged, but held firmly by the guard. Everyone but the boy had broad, cheerful, utterly false smiles on their lips.
Laurien kept her gaze on Aidan’s, trying to give him courage. Be brave, she thought. Be strong—like your father. Darach would want us both to be strong.
She walked silently toward the group, her slippers making no sound on the cold stone floor. She stopped at de Villiers’s side. As he took her hand in a painful grasp, Laurien looked up at the night sky through the hole in the castle wall. She stared at the tiny points of starlight. The priest began speaking in Latin.
Her mind went numb as the priest rushed through the ceremony. And then he was speaking to her, asking if she accepted de Villiers as her husband.
Her eyes on Aidan, she heard herself say, “Aye.”
De Villiers took her left hand and thrust a band of gold on her finger. Then she heard the words that sealed her fate.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Chapter 26
As soon as de Villiers thrust the ring on her finger, he dismissed the priest. The cleric gratefully accepted the sack of coins the comte handed him and headed for the exit.
As Laurien turned to watch him leave, she saw a shadowy figure at the door—a man, alone.
“I have returned to haunt you, just as you predicted,” his deep voice declared as he walked closer to the hearth and into the light.
“Sir Malcolm!” Laurien cried. He appeared exhausted, and he had been wounded, the left side of his tunic stained with blood—and yet he was smiling.
“MacLennan!” de Villiers snarled. “How is it that you are still alive? And how did you find us?”
“The Lady Fionna was so kind as to steal a boat, which narrowed the search.” Malcolm raised his empty hands. “As you can see, I have come unarmed. I bring a message for your bride.” He turned to Laurien. “Do not despair, milady. Darach is not dead. He should, in fact, be arriving shortly.”
De Villiers snapped his fingers at the guard. “Kill him.”
“I would not do that,” Malcolm warned. “I have a large contingent of Darach’s men waiting outside. If I do not return to them within ten minutes, they will come in looking for me. And I have ordered them to take no prisoners.”
“My men killed your friend at Strathfillan—and they will arrive here any moment to finish you as well!”
“Are you certain of that?” Malcolm still appeared quite calm and confident. “Do you not wonder why they have been delayed? Mayhap their prey never arrived and they are waiting for him still.”
Laurien’s heart beat wildly with hope that Malcolm was right. She saw a glimmer of doubt pass over de Villiers’s features, quickly replaced by a sneer. The next instant, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the stair at the rear of the hall. She struggled against him with renewed spirit.
“Enough,” he shouted at her, shaking her roughly before he turned toward his guard. “Bring that overconfident fool and the boy. We shall imprison them below!”
The man hastened to obey. Fionna, who had stood clinging to the guard’s arm throughout all of this, trailed along behind. De Villiers snatched a torch from a wall sconce and led them down the stairs. He nearly yanked Laurien off her feet when she tried again to fight him.
They passed floor after floor until they reached the dungeon of the ruined castle, a dank chamber cloaked in darkness, cold with moisture. Laurien could hear the steady drip of water over the pounding of her heart. In the center of the dirt floor, she saw a square of wood with an iron ring in the top, like a door of some kind. After releasing her, de Villiers crossed to it and pulled on the ring.
The trapdoor opened to reveal an even smaller chamber below—a prison cell, Laurien realized. An ancient wooden ladder led into the musty darkness.
“Inside,” de Villiers snapped, pushing her forward. Laurien looked at Sir Malcolm, who was holding Aidan’s hand and still showing no sign of worry. He nodded imperceptibly. Taking strength from his courage, Laurien swallowed her fear and slowly went down the ladder. The guard sent Malcolm and Aidan down after he
r, then lifted the ladder up. Laurien glared up at de Villiers’s pale face, ghostlike in the torchlight.
“You will stay in there until Balafre and my guards arrive. And then, my bride, we can at last leave this accursed country.” De Villiers looked at Malcolm with a mocking smile. “And even if your men do come in, you fool, they will never find you in there.”
With that he kicked the door shut, leaving the three of them alone in utter darkness. Laurien could see nothing, could hardly breathe in the stale air. Sir Malcolm touched her shoulder, and she gave in to the worry she felt and hugged him. “They told us you were dead, Sir Malcolm. I am so glad you are safe! But Darach—”
“Sir Malcolm, is my father all right?” Aidan’s voice was clear and calm despite all he had been through.
“Aye. Now listen to me, both of you. I have only half a dozen of Darach’s guards outside. There is a way out of here and we must find it before de Villiers returns.” He gave Laurien a hard squeeze before releasing her. “Look along the walls. If I remember correctly, there should be a latch of some sort.”
“How can you be certain that Darach escaped harm?” Laurien began to search in the darkness.
“Your brother, Henri, rode to tell him that the rendezvous was an ambush—”
“Henri?” She whirled in surprise. “You saw Henri? When—”
“I was on my way to Glenshiel and fell from my horse and he stopped to help me. I sent him on to Strathfillan. The rest of Darach’s men are on their way there now, in case Darach and Henri run into trouble. I told the guards to bring Darach back here at once. Do not despair, lass. We will not allow de Villiers to take you anywhere.”
“But I have married him. Sir Malcolm, you are very brave to try and protect me. But I am afraid I cannot escape de Villiers this time. Your efforts are all for naught—”
“Nay, you cannot give up now, lass! Not when I have just found you.” His voice was hoarse with an emotion so strong it startled her. Malcolm started to say something else, then hesitated.
His hand reached for hers in the darkness.
“Laurien, if anything should happen to me…” he said haltingly. “You deserve to know… God’s breath, lass, I wish I could think of a gentle way to tell you this, but I cannot. Laurien, I am your father.”
A heartbeat passed, then another. Laurien was not sure she had heard him right. She blinked, struggling to see in the gloom, trying to make sense of Malcolm’s words. “Wh-what do you mean? How can you possibly—”
“You must believe me, leannan. I loved your mother very much. We met when I came to Evreux on my way to join the Crusade in 1275. By the time I had to leave, we were in love.”
“But… but I do not understand. If you loved her… why did you never return for her?”
Malcolm’s hands came to rest on her shoulders. “I did come back,” he said, his voice full of sorrow. “Her parents told me that she had died bearing my child, and the babe as well.”
The truth began to dawn on Laurien. “When they discovered that my mother was with child, they would have been desperate to find her a husband. And what man would be willing to accept a pregnant woman as his bride… except a provincial lord desperate for the dower lands she brought?” She closed her eyes, aching for what her mother had lost. “She must have been forced to marry Louis.”
“Laurien, please believe me, if I had thought there was any chance she was alive, I would have searched for her—and for you—to the end of my days.”
Tears welled in Laurien’s eyes. She shook her head at the cruelty of it—her mother and Malcolm torn apart by lies, both living in loneliness.
“All these years,” she whispered, “I dreamed and hoped that my real father still lived. That he somehow would find me and bring me home. That he… loved me.”
Malcolm pulled her into his arms. “You have that, daughter.”
Laurien could hear the emotion in his voice.
And she embraced her father for the first time.
“Thank you, Sir Mal—Father.” Laurien struggled with the word, but decided she liked the sound of it when applied to him.
He gave her one more squeeze, then cleared his throat and let go of her at last. “’Twas a brave thing you did, daughter, marrying de Villiers to protect Aidan.”
“Brave?” Laurien smiled and wiped at the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks.
“Well, foolish and brave,” Malcolm chuckled. “But the line between the two is often hard to find. Especially for a Scot, and a Scot of MacLennan blood at that.”
He hugged her again, then they quickly resumed their search for an exit.
But the next moment, the door above them was thrown open. Laurien put a hand over her eyes, dazed by the sudden light of torches blazing into the darkness.
When she could finally see well enough to make out the faces looming above, she choked back a scream of fear. It was de Villiers and his guards—and a hulking giant of a warrior with a mane of shaggy dark hair and a fur cloak.
“As you can see,” de Villiers said with a sneer, “my men have been delayed no longer. Your paltry force is even now going down to defeat outside, MacLennan.” He thrust the ladder through the entry. “Up. Now. My wife first.”
For an instant Laurien froze. What had happened to Darach? She almost refused de Villiers’s order, but any struggle would be futile against so many men. With a frightened glance at her father, she climbed the ladder. De Villiers jerked her aside as soon as she had cleared the doorway.
Reaching down, he slammed the trapdoor shut.
“What are you doing?” Laurien cried, whirling to stop him. The hulking warrior caught her arms and held her fast—as de Villiers tossed one of the torches onto the wooden door.
“Nay!” she cried in horror.
He threw another torch into the corner, where a pile of ancient barrels and empty sacks went up like tinder.
“Your friends are no longer of any use to me.” He held out his hand toward Fionna, who had been hovering at the side of the group. She came forward to slip her hand possessively around his arm, flashing Laurien a victorious grin as they hurried toward the stairs.
“Bring her along, Balafre,” the comte ordered.
The crackle of the flames devouring the chamber drowned out Laurien’s screams.
~ ~ ~
Darach had pushed his stallion to the limit of its speed and endurance. The animal was lathered by the time he and a dozen of his men thundered into the bailey of the ruined castle. Henri rode beside him. He had insisted on coming along when Darach’s men intercepted them on the road and explained that Laurien had been taken.
Darach assessed the battle scene in an instant. Six of his men were struggling against a score of de Villiers’s guards. It was going badly for his side—until his reinforcements plunged into the melee. Darach’s heart filled his throat when he saw smoke pouring from one side of the castle. He spotted Ranald and galloped through the fighting until he reached his steward’s side.
“Where are Laurien and Aidan?” he cried hoarsely.
“The Frenchmen have them inside,” Ranald called back. “And Sir Malcolm as well, milord—”
Darach spurred his horse toward the keep and up the stairs, Henri right behind him. They jumped down from their saddles, already drawing their swords, and ran into the great hall, coughing on the acrid smoke that poured up from the stairs at the far end of the chamber.
De Villiers appeared at the top of the stairs, hunched against the smoke that billowed above his head. Darach felt a wave of rage as he spotted Fionna—and behind her a dark-haired giant of a warrior, dragging Laurien.
“Darach!” Laurien cried. He could hear the relief, joy, and terror all mingled in her voice. She struggled against menacing brute who held her, who drew his weapon. De Villiers stood frozen in indecision.
“Release her!” Darach moved toward them, slowly, his sword gripped in his hand. “Your men are defeated, de Villiers. You cannot get away. Let her go. Now!”
De Villiers glanced frantically from the armed men advancing toward him to the flames licking up the walls behind him. “Never!” he shouted. “You will not take what is mine!”
Pushing Fionna away, he grabbed Laurien and ran back into the burning castle, taking the stairs that led to the upper floors. “Quickly, Balafre, there must be another way out!” The burly giant followed instantly.
Henri spat an oath and sprang after them.
“Nay, wait.” Darach stopped him, running toward Fionna, who had crumpled to the floor and was in tears now. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where are Aidan and Malcolm? Fionna, answer me!”
“B-below,” she sobbed. “He left them in the pit prison. But you cannot save them. ’Tis where he started the fire!”
“Iosa Criost.” Darach pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the door. “Get out of here before this entire keep burns to ashes!”
Fionna needed no urging. Smoke already choked the air, and they could feel the heat of the flames that were devouring every scrap of wood in their path—including the ancient beams that held the floors and ceilings in place.
Darach stared at Henri for a desperate moment, torn. Should he go after Aidan or Laurien? Love and anguish warred within him. He could not be in two places at once. Reason finally made the decision for him.
He knew Henri would not stand a chance against the hulking warrior called Balafre.
“Listen to me, Henri. There is a secret passage that leads to the pit prison. You will find the entrance outside, beneath the south tower. Find my son and Sir Malcolm!”
Henri was already moving as Darach finished the order. Darach turned in the direction de Villiers had fled, taking the stairs two at a time. The air in the tight passage nearly choked him, burning his throat and stinging his eyes. It only worsened as he reached the upper floor, where wooden doors and remnants of tapestries were ablaze.
His Stolen Bride (Stolen Brides Series Book 0) Page 31