Dryden's Bride

by Margo Maguire

  “’Tis said the young earl just crumpled like a piece of wilted linen and dropped to the floor with weeping.”

  Hugh raked his fingers through his hair and stood. His urgency to get to Siân increased tenfold now that he understood Wrexton’s position. Though Edmund’s logic was faulty, he intended to exact his revenge on Siân for the loss of his family. Wrexton had managed to punish her in various ways through the years, but Hugh knew this would be the final episode.

  Hugh was so preoccupied with thoughts of Siân that he did not at first hear the young man enter the house. It was not until Marcus de Grant greeted his father that Hugh looked up and noticed him.

  The younger de Grant, a handsome, blond giant, came to stand behind his father, putting one hand on the older man’s shoulder.

  “Lord Hugh, my son, Marcus,” de Grant said. “The earl has come from Windermere to take on Wrexton.”

  Marcus came around the table and sat down, showing little surprise. “Is that so?” he asked. “What has your whoreson cousin done now, da?”

  They traveled all day. Siân slept at intervals in the back of the cart, but was frequently jarred awake. She could not remember the last time she’d had a drink of water, or a bite to eat—not that she wanted any now. But after all those hours on the ship, miserable with seasickness, she was weak and shaky. She would have to act soon, before she was incapable of helping herself.

  The four “guards” gave little heed to Siân, and she quickly realized that they had no particular allegiance to Wrexton. They were merely men hired to do his bidding.

  Their instructions had been simple: to get Siân to Wrexton as soon as possible, and without mishap. Siân could only believe that Wrexton had some new means of torture in store for her, though exactly what it would be, she did not know.

  Siân did not want to alert her guards, so she refrained from sitting up and making a serious assessment of her surroundings. She merely poked her head up every now and then to take a look out the back of the cart, and made miserable moaning sounds whenever she moved. She hoped her guards would believe she was so ill she was incapacitated.

  Eventually, though, Siân dozed. When she awoke with a start, it was fully dark, and she was afraid she’d missed something important. She felt moisture on her face and knew she’d been weeping in her sleep. The dream had come back. Only now, in addition to the faces of Idwal and Dafydd, she saw Hugh in chains next to the two boys, being tortured and beaten by some unknown hand.

  It was agony. Siân could see his face and practically touch him as she’d slept, and her heart cried out with the injustice of it all. Could she not be left in peace, she cried inwardly, along with Dafydd, Idwal and Hugh? Why did those she loved have to be hurt so?

  Siân shook her head to clear it. Her lips were dry and cracked, and when she tried to moisten them, she found that her tongue was thick and stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her head felt hazy and her vision was blurred. Her stomach turned over as the cart bounced over a particularly pitted stretch of trail.

  No one was being harmed now, she realized, except for her!

  Hugh was safe at Windermere. She knew that. And Idwal and Dafydd were beyond hurt. Siân had to do something…but what? It was all so unclear now…She could not think! Where was she? Where was she being taken?

  One thing was certain. Wherever she was, Hugh could not help her now. He’d rescued her before…she could not remember exactly when, or how, but it seemed that he’d always been there for her. He was a strong and fierce warrior, but gentle and kind with her. He, and he alone, had taken care of her when she’d needed him.

  But she was completely on her own now. She had only herself to rely upon—to get out of this horrible, swaying cart and away from these men.

  She had to act soon. She would not go to Wrexton, trussed up like some wild game caught in a snare. She would find a place to hide, and stay there until her guards gave up looking for her. She could do this. She would succeed.

  She inched her way to the back of the cart, taking care not to be noticed as they rolled along. Their speed was not great, so she doubted she’d be hurt much by the fall when she dropped out of the cart, but she would have to be careful to slip out in the right kind of terrain, someplace where she’d be able to hide. There was no point in getting out in an open field. They’d spot her quickly, she thought, even in the dark.

  They reached a wooded area before Siân was in position. Even so, she slid herself to the back of the cart and prepared to roll off, hoping that she would not make so much noise that her fall would be heard over the rolling wooden wheels. With hands still tied securely behind her, Siân made herself roll off, taking the brunt of the fall with one shoulder and arm.

  The cart kept going.

  Siân shook off the pain of the fall as she struggled to get herself up. It took several minutes to get to her knees—hours, it seemed to Siân, fully expecting them to notice she’d gone, and turn around and abduct her again. If she didn’t quickly find an adequate hiding place, there would be hell to pay.

  Finally Siân could stand, and though she was shaky and weak, she dragged herself toward the cover of the trees.

  When Hugh awoke at Northaven before noon, he was ready to go on. His meager few hours of sleep had been disturbed by visions of Siân in Wrexton’s clutches, and he’d tossed and turned on the bed. Somehow, however, he managed to acquire enough rest, and when he arose from the bed, he was ready and able to do what was necessary to get Siân away from Wrexton.

  “We’ve packed food and other supplies for you, my lord,” de Grant said as Hugh descended the stairs and entered the manor’s great room.

  “I appreciate it, de Grant,” Hugh said as he headed for the door. “All I need now is some direction on how to get to Wrexton.”

  The baron smiled. “That won’t be necessary, my lord,” he said.

  Hugh gave a puzzled look and began to protest.

  “My son will accompany you on your quest,” he said. “He has no love for Wrexton and his kind, and does not wish to see another Welsh woman hurt.”

  “Another—”

  “My wife, Rhianwen,” the baron said sadly, “Marcus’s gentle mother, was hurt often by English prejudice.”

  Hugh went to the stable yard where he came upon Marcus de Grant, mounting his caparisoned horse. A quick intelligence marked the man’s light blue eyes, but Hugh noted, with approval, that he was not given to unnecessary conversation.

  Hugh was glad of the younger man’s company.

  Marcus de Grant made his farewell to his father, and then rode off with Hugh, heading in a southerly direction.

  “What do you know of Wrexton Castle?” Hugh asked after they’d ridden several miles.

  “Wrexton is a large keep that lies within a stone wall,” de Grant replied. “I was only there once, as a boy, so my memories of it are vague.”

  “How long a ride?” Hugh asked.

  “We won’t arrive until well after dark,” de Grant said. “With any luck, we’ll get there soon after your lady.”

  His lady. Hugh liked the sound of that, but still he worried that he would not arrive in time to rescue Siân before she came to any harm beyond being taken captive. Wrexton had already held her prisoner her for a full night, although the storm should have kept him occupied with survival, and not with Siân. With any luck, he was traveling overland with Siân even now, to his fortress.

  Because if the earl had caused Hugh’s lady any harm, the retribution was going to be brutal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Siân stood with her back to a tree, shaking uncontrollably with weeping. She was free. If she kept her wits about her, she would escape for good.

  She worked diligently at freeing her hands from the thick rope that bound them, and finally wrenched them loose. The rope fell to the ground and Siân rubbed her hands in front of her. Her wrists were raw and bleeding, but she ignored the pain. She dried her eyes on one sleeve and made a conscious effort to compose herself.


  She knew she had to pick a direction and move before the guards realized she was gone. Standing still would be a fatal mistake.

  Siân looked into the darkness around her. Rather than turning around and heading back in the direction from which she’d come, Siân angled to the left, where the woods were thicker and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to drive the cart through. She hoped that by heading that way, she would at least delay the men.

  She moved slowly, not only because it was dark, but also because she was so weak. The long hours of captivity and deprivation had taken their toll. Every uncovered root and loose rock tripped her up and she fell so often she lost count, scraping her knees and hands. Her vision was not reliable, nor were any of her other senses, but still she moved on, toward an unknown destination. Her thoughts began to wander again, and Siân started seeing lights in the distance.

  She lost her sense of purpose as she moved. She could not remember why she was running, only that she had to keep going. She came across a small stream, where she knelt and took sips of cool, clean water. She was tempted to stay and rest, but a voice, Hugh’s voice, told her to get up and move on. Siân looked around and cried out because she could not see him, but she did as she was told.

  In her mind, Hugh kept telling her to walk, to put one foot in front of the other, no matter how much her muscles hurt, no matter how painful her scrapes and bruises. Then, suddenly, it was difficult to tell which voices to listen to. Siân heard horses’ hooves and men whispering all around her. They were closing in and she did not know what to do.

  She had to hide!

  Fear gave her new impetus. She increased her pace and headed for some underbrush, with the hope of hiding in the low bushes. But the appearance of the landscape was deceiving, and after a few steps, she fell and slid down an incline into a shallow ravine, finally coming to rest at the bottom.

  Too exhausted to continue, Siân lay still as consciousness left her.

  “She’s mightily banged up,” one voice said.

  “Aye, that she is,” another man replied as he carefully turned her over. “Let’s see if we can carry her to—by all the saints, Cai—it’s Siân Tudor!”

  Siân opened her eyes and looked up into the faces of two young men she’d known for many a year. Pwll men. Could she have gotten so close to her little village without even knowing it? And what about the lights, the voices she’d seen and heard in the night? Had she imagined them, or had they been real?

  “Cai,” she said, her tongue feeling as coarse and tough as raw leather. “Dylan.”

  “’Tis us, lass,” Dylan said, then turned a curious frown on Siân. “But what are you doing here?”

  “You’re supposed to be in Londontown with that brother of yours.”

  Siân tried to get up, but was too weak to do so. The two men scrambled to help her.

  She tried to explain what had happened, but had not the energy to give more than a brief sketch of her story. The incompleteness of her explanation did not seem to bother the two men, they just gathered her up in their arms and took turns carrying her to town.

  “Your aunt Nesta will be pleased to have you home,” Dylan said.

  Siân had difficulty believing that. Neither of her widowed aunts had protested in the least when Siân had been summoned to London. They’d been more than happy to see her go.

  “She’s had to attend several births in the months you’ve been gone,” Cai remarked.

  “And tells how she misses your help,” Dylan finished.

  “That you were good, both with the mams and their babes.”

  Siân swallowed hard. Aunt Nesta had never said any such thing in all the years Siân had helped with the midwifing in Pwll. She’d been nothing but a burden to her aunts and their families.

  “Your aunt Bethan’s been saying she never would have managed with all her children had you not come to stay with each birth.”

  Dylan caught Siân’s skeptical look. “’Tis true, lass,” he said. “They’ve been missing you something fierce since you left.”

  They reached Nesta’s cottage and were greeted by Siân’s chestnut-haired aunt before they even had a chance to knock on the door. A range of emotions crossed the woman’s careworn face before she was able to speak. Then, she became the efficient, no-nonsense, matter-of-fact midwife Siân remembered.

  “Don’t be standing in the lane with her, lads,” Nesta said. “Bring her in. She can have Rhodri’s bed.”

  Aunt Bethan was quickly summoned, and Siân soon found herself settled in one of her cousins’ beds, where she was attended by both her aunts. Without any fuss, the two women saw that their niece was bathed and fed.

  “You need your rest now, lass,” Bethan said, brushing a lock of freshly washed hair from her forehead. “And when you awake, we will speak of what happened to you, and what brought you back.”

  For a long time, Siân slept soundly. When she finally opened her eyes, it was nearly dark, and there were people in the cottage moving quietly about. She still did not know what to think of the unexpectedly warm welcome she’d received from the aunts, but was grateful for it. She needed her family now, as much as ever, to help restore her strength, and to get over her loss of Hugh.

  How long had it been since she’d seen him? Touched him? The hours did not matter. It was no effort to remember his gentle touch, or the deep timbre of his voice, whispering to her, speaking her name. Siân could almost feel his thick, dark hair slipping through her fingers, and the touch of his lips on her own.

  And the rest…the wondrous experience in the chapel that had bound her to Hugh forever. She had never known such bliss could exist. Siân knew she would never forget. She would always cherish their last hour together, when she’d been given leave to love him freely.

  “Ah, lass,” Aunt Nesta said, “you’re awake.”

  Siân nodded.

  “And why the tears?” she asked, dabbing at Siân’s cheeks with a soft cloth. “Are you not happy to be home with us?”

  “I am,” Siân said, her aunt’s unexpected kindness causing the floodgates to open. Siân’s tears came freely now, and she sobbed into her aunt’s shoulder, as if the weight of the world lay upon her shoulders.

  And it did. Hugh was on his way to Clairmont to wed his lady. A Windermere knight was likely en route to rescue her, but when he arrived Wrexton, he would be thrown in irons for his trouble, then hanged on some trumped-up charge. And Siân would be forced to watch, powerless to stop any of it.

  Over the years she’d learned that Wrexton was the law unto himself. Parliament had little to do with the far reaches of the Saxon kingdom, and the outlying noblemen could do as they pleased on their lands. She supposed these men occasionally merited a slap on the hands for their acts, but more often than not, they were ignored.

  “There, there, now,” Nesta said as she rubbed Siân’s back and let her cry out her sorrow. “I should have listened to Bethan, and never let you go to London.”

  Siân hiccuped. “Aunt Bethan didn’t want me to go?”

  “None of us wanted you to go, lass,” Nesta said, “but Owen…Well now. What choice did we have?”

  Siân was overwhelmed by Nesta’s revelation. She’d been a burden to her uncles and their families. And once her uncles were gone, Siân knew that life was a struggle for their wives. They certainly did not need one more mouth to feed.

  “Oh, auntie,” she said, “I’ve felt so alone since I went away.”

  “Well, you’re alone no longer, Siân Tudor,” Bethan said as she got up from her chair and came over to the bed. “It’s been dreary and dull since you left Pwll. The children have missed you.”

  “So have half the young men around here,” Nesta added, giving Siân a surprise. She knew of no one, other than the children perhaps, who would have missed her.

  “But I never—Wrexton would—”

  “Would what?”

  “You know how Wrexton feels about me,” she said. “He exacts his revenge on my
family by punishing anyone who gets close to me.”

  “Times change, Siân,” Bethan said. “The earl has not bothered so much with Pwll these last years and you know it. Aye, times have been hard, lass, but the village has been poorer without you.”

  “Oh, Aunt Bethan,” Siân said, her tears beginning anew, “when Wrexton learns that I’m here—”

  “He will not, Siân,” Bethan reassured her. “But even if he did—”

  “But Wrexton was the one who stole me from Windermere,” Siân cried. “He was taking me back to Wrexton Castle when I escaped!”

  Nesta and Bethan exchanged a look.

  “You’d better tell us what happened,” Nesta said.

  Marcus de Grant was as taciturn as Hugh Dryden. Knighted by King Henry V a few years before, Marcus had served in France under Henry, and then under the command of the king’s brother, the Duke of Bedford. He had only recently returned to England when he’d learned of his mother’s illness.

  Hugh noted how well de Grant moved, in spite of his big, muscular frame, and the competent way the man handled his weaponry. He sat his horse like a soldier and rode at a wicked pace over the rough terrain toward Wrexton without a word of complaint. In a short time Hugh developed the utmost confidence in Marcus and considered himself fortunate for his company. He suspected he was going to need help in rescuing Siân.

  They rode for hours, breaking only once to water the horses. It was dusk when they finally reached a hillside overlooking Wrexton Castle.

  “We’ll cool down the horses before we attempt the gate,” Hugh said.

  “What’s your plan?”

  Hugh shrugged. He’d been thinking about this ever since they’d left Northaven, and had not been able to come up with anything more than a basic plan of action. “We’ll simply go in and see what we can learn.

  But not with sweating, winded horses.”

  De Grant cocked up one eyebrow.

  “Something will come to me as we go,” Hugh said. “What do you know of Wrexton Castle?”

  De Grant shrugged. “I don’t recall much about it, other than the keep.”