Through The Leaded Glass

by Fennell, Judi

  Dalfour led her through a winding maze of hallways to a small candlelit room—and locked her in.

  Kate pounded on the door. “Dalfour! Isobel! Let me out of here!” She banged again. “Tris! Tristan! Can you hear me?”

  Of course he couldn’t. The door was probably a foot thick. And there wasn’t a single window she could escape from.

  She looked around the room. There had to be something she could use to get out of here. And hopefully before the candles burned out.

  A screen stood in one corner. She checked behind it. Well, that answered the call of nature question, but the fact that she might be here long enough for that to be an issue was a problem. A table on the far side had a decent supply of food, and a large jug of wine. Had Isobel been preparing for a siege?

  The long divan with a bunch of pillows and blankets, pointed to something else entirely.

  Isobel had lured Alex here to seduce him.

  Great. So were the gypsies even here? Kate blew out a breath and started searching the room more thoroughly. Right now, she’d gladly hand Alex over to Isobel on a silver platter if she could just get out of here.

  But after a half hour of searching, she’d found nothing. Not even a mouse hole. The room must have been the castle’s vault because it was impenetrable. The door with its three ten-inch hinges didn’t budge an inch no matter how much she’d kicked, her throat was raw from yelling, and the pointed end of the candelabrum she’d smashed was useless for picking the lock.

  She was stuck until Tris and his men could fight their outnumbered way out of the great hall to rescue her, or Isobel decided to play nice.

  She wasn’t betting on either one.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alex returned to Shelton with hope that the situation was about to turn in his favor—

  Only to find out that Kate was gone.

  “Lady Marston sent word that the gypsies were on her land,” said Stephen, “Lord Hambledon and his men escorted our lady there, for she could not wait for your return.”

  No Kate wouldn’t have. She also wouldn’t have known that Gregorio and his band wouldn’t come this close to his home only to make camp on someone else’s land, not when they were welcome, nor when he’d sent word specifically for them to come. Tris, however, should have suspected something.

  Though, perhaps he had. Taking the extra men was a good idea, but Alex didn’t trust Isobel. She was up to something.

  “Find Lord Caversham and gather the rest of my men. We leave for Marston immediately.”

  ***

  For the second time that day, Nick tracked Isobel down. He and Alex had split up upon their arrival at her home, Alex storming the front entrance, Nick taking the little-known back way in through the postern gate.

  He found her alone in her solar, sewing as if there wasn’t a cadre of armed men at her front gate.

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?” She tilted her chin. Her arrogance would be laughable if this were a laughing matter.

  “Don’t play games with me, Isobel. I’m not in the mood.” He stormed over and tore the fabric from her hands. “Kate.”

  “Alexander’s betrothed? Has she gone missing?” Issy slid to her feet, all grace and elegance, but the twitch at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “I haven’t seen her.”

  “Dalfour has. Send for him.” Nick was so angry he wanted to strangle her. Or kiss her senseless. How dare she attempt this. He’d underestimated her.

  And she, him.

  “Nicholas, I won’t have you questioning my steward like some criminal. If I’d seen her, I’d tell you. I haven’t.” She crossed her arms and tapped one slippered foot.

  “Dalfour, Issy. Now.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Convenient.”

  Her blue eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare insinuate anything, Nicholas. He’s not here because I sent him on an errand.”

  “For what? A length of rope?”

  She pursed her lips. “No. I entered negotiations for Elinor, my eldest’s, marriage two weeks ago—when it was known Alexander and I would marry. I wish to see these plans through. Not that it concerns you.”

  He tugged her so her ear was beside his lips. “As your future husband, it does concern me. As do your actions this day. Get him, Issy. Or Kate. Both would be best. I order you. Now.”

  The sound of her palm hitting his cheek echoed in the empty room. “You go too far!”

  Nick stepped back, clenching his fists at his sides. “No, Issy, you do. And I don’t mean that.” He indicated his cheek. “I told you Alex wouldn’t marry you. This pitiful attempt to remove Kate from the competition is just that—pitiful. And it has incurred his anger enough that if you were the last woman in the land, he wouldn’t marry you.”

  “He has to, Nicholas. Elinor must make this match.” Issy’s composure finally broke. “And I can’t go to Wexham.”

  He had no defense against a hopeless Isobel. He lifted her fingers, intertwining them with his own. “I will offer for you, Isobel. You won’t go to Wexham. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “The king won’t agree to it, Nicholas. We’ve discussed this time and again. He needs land, men. Money. None of which you have enough of. I don’t want to see you shamed.” She let her fingers return the caress.

  “I have a plan, Issy.”

  “Nicholas, unless you have gold falling from the sky into your coffers, no plan will alter your status in the king’s eyes.”

  “Do you think I would promise you something if I didn’t believe it possible?”

  There was a spark of hope in her eyes, one he wanted to keep there for the rest of their lives. That was the Isobel he knew, not the conniving, grasping, opportunist she’d become.

  She’d first looked at him with desperation a few weeks after her husband had died. He’d noticed her before, and she him, but he didn’t dally with other men’s wives, even if she’d been willing.

  He’d ridden his horse across her land one day afterwards—quite rude not asking the owner’s permission, but then, he hadn’t cared. Back then, his life had been about taking risks, cards, jousts, games of chance, and the like. He’d seen her slink from the postern gate, a pail in her hand, looking more like a serving girl than the lady of the manor. But her curves had given her away. He had studied those curves many times over the years.

  When she’d darted from oak to oak, peering around the trunks, he’d decided to follow her.

  At the river in a small glen, she’d sat on a rock by the water’s edge, pushed the hood from her head, allowing that long carpet of sable hair to fall around her shoulders. She’d kicked off her slippers and dabbled her toes in the water, looking like a young maiden with no cares in the world.

  Yet he’d known better. As the worry slipped from her face, he’d slipped from behind a briar bush. She hadn’t noticed him until he’d stood in front of her, blocking the sunlight.

  He’d never forget the sapphire blue of her eyes when they’d startled open.

  And there the love affair had started. If only he’d known the heartache that would come after, he wouldn’t have followed her.

  Nick exhaled. Like hell he wouldn’t have. It may be hell loving her, but it’d be even worse not to.

  “Issy.” He ran his fingers up her arm. The velvet fabric hid her skin from his touch, but he knew the silkiness of her flesh, the fine bones there, the gently rounded muscles that quivered when he drew his nails over them.

  She raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, Nicholas, I just can’t go to Wexham.” Her voice broke and he pulled her into his arms.

  “Hush, my love,” he said into her hair as she trembled. “You won’t have to marry him. You’ll marry me. The king will grant it, you must believe me.” He wouldn’t let Wexham win Isobel. Not while there was a beat in his heart and rent to be had in his lands.

  She looked up at him, hope, for once, in her eyes. “Really, Nicholas? You promise me? The man is a monster—thr
ee wives, Nicholas. Three! And Elinor…”

  “You won’t be the fourth, Issy, and if Elinor wishes to marry her duke, then we’ll arrange it. The king is not so hard-hearted. Especially to those loyal to his crown. You must remember I was at Redemore with him. I may not have the title you desire, but I do have my loyalty to commend me. He won’t forget that.”

  There was a glimmer of a smile on those beautiful lips and Nick allowed himself to hope. Henry had to let him marry her. He’d have gladly stepped back for Alex, for, in truth, Alex could offer Issy more than he could ever hope to. Alex was a good man and the match Issy wanted. ‘Twas why he’d said nothing.

  But now, he would press his suit to the fullest extent of his abilities and then, well, if Henry wasn’t the man he thought him to be, he’d take Issy somewhere. Rome, perhaps, but Wexham would not kill a fourth wife.

  “But you must free Kate, Isobel. You interfere in events you don’t understand. Alex won’t marry you. Not now.”

  She nodded, her eyes hooded. “I know, Nicholas. But I couldn’t give up hope. That’s not so bad, is it?”

  “You know it is. Let her go, Issy. Alex’s search for her takes him from other matters. You don’t know what you’ve done. End the damage now, while there’s still a chance for them.”

  She raised her brow. “What do you mean?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m not free to discuss Alex’s troubles. He has spoken to me in confidence, but be assured, Kate does need to return to Shelton with Alex.” He raised her chin. “Immediately.”

  “Leave me, Nicholas. I’ll think about what you’ve said. There’s so much you’re leaving to chance.” She pulled from his arms, brushed a strand of her hair from her face, and squared her shoulders.

  “With my plan, Nicholas, I’d be married by year’s end. With yours, I might be dead.”

  ***

  He removed an urn, one of a matched set, from his satchel and placed it where the butler would find it. If fate were smiling upon him, the old man wouldn’t question why Joan wanted it filled now, but then, fate hadn’t been on his side for a while, starting with the battle that had cost him everything by putting that upstart on the throne. He may have lost the battle alongside Richard, but he wasn’t done fighting the war.

  He tucked the satchel beneath his arm and pulled his hat lower. Alex would never know what hit him.

  ***

  Kate rubbed her sore fist and leaned against the oak door. Oak? More like steel. After picking the lock hadn’t worked, she’d tried prying the pin from the hinges with that candelabru, but the pins were in too tight. Five hundred years from now they probably wouldn’t be, but she couldn’t wait that long.

  She rubbed her fist again, examining it for protruding bones. If she kept this up, she’d be nursing a broken hand and trying to keep panic at bay. When she got out of here, Isobel wouldn’t be able to talk for a month. Maybe ever, if she knocked all her teeth out.

  Kate got a grip on herself. Claustrophobia was making her act like a crazy woman. She should be looking at this from every angle. Any sane, rational woman would consider all her options before bloodying her hands on an immovable object. Any sane, rational woman would think before using brute force.

  Yeah, well, any sane rational woman wouldn’t be stuck in some fifteenth-century dungeon-come-lately arguing with herself, so what was her point?

  Kate sighed. The point was, she was madder than hell and had only herself to blame. She knew Isobel wanted Alex; she shouldn’t have underestimated her.

  Kate sat on the sofa. This wasn’t some twenty-first century boardroom where strategy and creativity would reap the rewards. This was a world governed by chivalry and intrigue, where arranged marriages and even the common cold could alter one’s status in life. A brother’s death had elevated Alex to where he was today, it’d seen William kidnapped, and now had her exiled to some inner sanctuary, all for someone’s wish for power. If she were going to survive here, even if it was only for one more day, she had to adapt to this world, not try to make it adapt to her.

  And then, to top it all off, she’d lost an entire day, the last entire day she’d had to find the window. Her meeting was tomorrow. Alex had probably spent the day looking for her instead of the window, which, ironically, would ensure that Isobel would never become Alex’s wife because Kate wouldn’t be able to return so she’d have to marry him.

  Not such a bad idea…

  Except then she wouldn’t have Emma. Wouldn’t have the family she’d planned—though she could have William and Alex.

  That, too, wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Kate leaned back. There were worse fates than being with Alex if she ended up stuck here. He did, after all, support her, and God knew she hadn’t had that back in the twenty-first century.

  She’d also never had a night like last night in her time, sad to say. She’d thought she and Jay had had a good sexual relationship, but Alex proved how wrong that idea was.

  It wasn’t necessarily Alex’s skill with his fingers (though he had that), or his stamina (impressive though it’d been), or that move he did with his tongue—

  She smiled. That was a very nice move.

  But it’d been different, more fulfilling, more emotional, more connected, more… something, and she wouldn’t mind finding out what that something was. At the very least, she’d like the opportunity to decide it for herself, but that would mean she’d have to get out of the vault first.

  But with the last candle sputtering out and a door that was eighteen feet thick, she was severely low on options for how to do that.

  But then the lock to her prison clicked.

  Kate slid off the sofa, felt her way around to the door, and raised the spiked candelabrum over her head.

  Time to make new options.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alex dodged the blow to his midsection as he and his men fought Isobel’s guards. A chair went sailing over his head, and he shoved a foot into the guard’s braies. That ought to take the man down long enough for Alex to tie him up. He wasn’t here for murder—at least, not yet, though that would depend on how well Isobel cooperated. And where the hell was Tristan?

  A few more grunts, one solid thunk as Thomas smashed a guard into the table, sending it flying against the wall, then the fight was over. Isobel was right to be worried about her marriage prospects if so few men could overcome her guards.

  He and Thomas quickly untied Tris and the others.

  “They overpowered us, Alex.” Tris spit out the gag. “We weren’t expecting—”

  “No reason you should have.” Alex, on the other hand, should never have underestimated Isobel. “Let’s get the rest of these ropes off you and find Kate.”

  Nick ran in while they were tying up Isobel’s guards. “I found Issy, Alex. She’s bringing Kate here with her.”

  It took all of Alex’s self control not to tear down the walls to get to Kate. “I’ll rescind my offer of gold, Nick, if anything’s happened to her.”

  “She’ll be fine, Alex. Issy knows what she must do.”

  “How can you trust her after what she’s done?”

  “Issy hasn’t had much of a choice in anything in her life, and losing the betrothal to you was devastating. Where once she’d had the possibility of becoming the countess of a respectable earl, now she could go to a man who would as soon kill her as ignore her. Can you blame her?”

  “It doesn’t excuse what she’s done, Nick.”

  “I’m not making excuses, Alex, believe me. I’d rather have this entire matter behind us, receive Henry’s blessing, and concern ourselves with the bastard within your keep. But just as you are searching for a way to save your family, so too, is Isobel.”

  Alex swiped a hand over his mouth, hating to admit that Nick had a point. But so, too, did Kate.

  Kate, who wanted nothing more than to return home to claim her daughter, might miss the opportunity because of Isobel’s actions.

  That Isobel’s actions might
ensure Kate remained with him was a thought Alex had considered. And, God help him, found himself liking. A lot.

  More than a lot.

  Oh, hell. He couldn’t deny it. He wanted her to stay. Wanted Kate to take up her place in his home, his life, and, yes, his heart. Coming home to find her gone today had made everything clear.

  He sat on one of the remaining chairs by the hearth, and cradled his chin in his palm. Each flickering flame reminded him of those in Kate’s eyes last night as he’d made love to her. With her.

  And it had been love. Somehow, he’d opened himself up to that emotion again, allowed himself to feel. To believe.

  Yet he’d just commissioned the means by which she could leave him. He knew it as surely as he knew he loved her—and as surely as he knew he’d let her go.

  Pain tore through his gut as surely as the guard’s sword would have, but with far deadlier aim. This time he knew at the outset what he’d be losing.

  He was saved from dwelling on that thought by the strike of boots outside the hall. He stood, drawing his sword, and nodded for his men to do the same.

  But the foreign words he heard had him quickly sheathing it.

  Five men strode into the room, their confident—some would say arrogant—air making him smile.

  “It took you long enough, Gregorio. I sent word days ago.” Alex embraced his childhood friend.

  Gregorio slapped him on the back. “Word only reached us yesterday. And now, we arrive today, only to learn you have traveled here. You know that you are the only reason my brothers and I would dare enter the home of a gadje. So what has happened? Did that mulo, Farley, finally best you in the lists and now you are reduced to living in this hovel?”

  Gregorio would commit murder to live in a hovel like this; they both knew it. But if he did, he’d find himself murdered just as quickly for most people did not trust the Rom. “No. I’m waiting for my betrothed.”