Hugh assumed the keep at Wrexton would be similar to all the others he’d seen. It would be the fortress at the center of the compound, a stone building in which the great hall was located, along with a chapel, the kitchens, and sleeping quarters above.
It was entirely possible that there was also a donjon below the keep. The mere thought of a dark and dank chamber under the castle made Hugh’s skin crawl. He had not allowed himself to think of Siân in such a place, but now he had to face the very real possibility that Wrexton had her imprisoned in a subterranean cavern similar to the one at Windermere, where he’d been tortured.
Hugh had to get Siân away. He could not imagine the torment she’d already endured, first with the abduction itself, then the storm while she was on board ship. For all her strength and courage, Siân had her fears, which Hugh had witnessed more than once. He hated Wrexton all the more for putting Siân in a position of having to deal with the elements while out in the open sea.
God Himself could not help Wrexton if Siân had come to any enduring harm.
Hugh looked up at the vast Wrexton holding before him. The castle wall bordered the curve of a swift-flowing river. “It appears as if the river flows under the castle wall,” Hugh remarked.
“Nearly,” de Grant replied. “There is a place below the wall—it’s a loosely kept secret—where the water flows in. Supplies can be boated in to a small quay underneath the keep.”
“Any way we could get in by boat?”
De Grant shook his head. “It’s doubtful. When I was at Wrexton years ago, some of the other boys took me down to see the stone quay. I remember there was a portcullis that could be raised and lowered, depending on need…”
Hugh assumed the portcullis would be down, so that would not be an option. He knew of a certainty the castle gates would be watched. If he and de Grant were noticed passing through, they would be questioned. “We’ll need a reason for entering the castle,” Hugh said.
De Grant agreed.
“We’ll gather wood,” Hugh said, “haul it any way we can.”
“Good thought,” de Grant remarked as he started to pick up deadfall. “Mayhap when we reach the village, we can pilfer a cart and go from there.”
It was the only plan they had to work with, and though it wasn’t the best one he’d ever come up with, Hugh thought it was better than nothing.
He and de Grant collected as much wood as they could carry, then led their horses down toward the village along a narrow lane that ran between two fields. They came upon an abandoned wagon and dropped their loads of wood into it. After hitching the horses to the wagon, they proceeded on toward Wrexton.
Before reaching the gates, they threw their cloaks on, partially concealing their faces as well as their swords, and walked down the quiet lane. When they reached the castle gate, guards were posted, but they passed through without incident.
Hugh was accustomed to working stealthily. He knew how to blend in, how to look like and sound like a man who belonged. But this time, it was nearly impossible to practice the patience that was required to blend in. Siân was in danger, and if he did not get to her soon, he was afraid of the consequences.
He would not allow himself to begin thinking of what may have already taken place.
The two men carried their loads of wood through the bailey and beyond, until they reached the keep itself, then circled the stone fortress to the back, where they knew the kitchen would be. No one was about, but Hugh and Marcus kept their silence.
They dropped the wood onto the existing woodpile outside the door, and went to search out a place to hide their horses, which would not be an easy task. Two very large animals would be difficult to conceal—especially these horses, bred to carry knights into battle.
Eventually, they found a fairly secluded spot in the outer bailey. They tied the horses and left the wagon, then headed back to the keep, stopping only once to make a sketchy plan.
“He’s probably got her locked in one of his rooms down below,” Marcus said. “There is the buttery. Beneath it are storage rooms and the quay where the river flows through. Those rooms would be Wrexton’s closest imitation of a donjon.”
“All right,” Hugh said quietly, as a cold sweat chilled him. He’d avoided closed-in spaces for the last two years. Only for Siân, would he go back into one. “Do you know how to get there?”
Marcus took the lead. Walking past the kitchen, Hugh followed him silently till they reached the buttery, then came to a stone staircase leading down. There was a thick, oak door at the bottom, and neither man knew what they’d find beyond it.
Hugh gritted his teeth, and drew his sword. Marcus did the same. They both knew they had to go down in darkness, otherwise, they’d alert anyone guarding Siân.
Opening the door to what was sure to be a hell down below, Hugh took the first step.
Siân sat in Nesta’s small cottage and tried to pass the time working on the unending pile of mending that was always kept in a basket in a corner of the common room. She gained her strength back quickly under her aunts’ care, and other than a few scrapes and bruises, Siân was none the worse off for all the terrible hours she’d spent as Wrexton’s captive.
All that remained was for her to adjust to life back in Pwll. A life without Hugh, for he was most certainly en route to Clairmont even now, to claim his bride.
Siân tried to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the aching of her heart. Hugh was lost to her forever. He would have no reason to travel to Wales, especially not after his marriage. Clairmont—and Marguerite—would keep him occupied; and Siân would learn to live with the memories of the short time they had together.
Siân let the sewing drop into her lap as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the dismal chill of emptiness that came over her. She would not give in to tears again. They served no purpose other than to make her feel even more miserable. Facing the rest of her life without Hugh, knowing he belonged to Marguerite, was bad enough without weeping about it every minute.
It was midmorning already, and the sun shone brightly. Suddenly unable to deal with the damp chilliness of the cottage, Siân stood up and put the mending away. She pulled a dark, woolen shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside.
Holding her head up high, she walked through the village, meeting only a few children along the way. None of the adults were out and about, which was just as well. Siân did not think she could withstand a harsh word at the moment, and she knew she was in for some. The people of Pwll had been more than pleased to see Siân leave them to join her Saxon brother. She did not think they’d be overjoyed to have her back.
Even with the sun shining down on her, Siân was certain she’d never feel warm again. After all those hours in the cold, wearing the same torn and soaking clothes, she craved the heat of the sun. She intended to walk out to the western fields, where a few large boulders lay scattered about and she’d be able to sit in warmth and in peace. But she did not get very far. As she approached the church, she heard voices raised in dissension.
There was a gathering of people in front of the little church with the crumbling tower that had been only minimally repaired. Siân wondered what was going on, but she had the sinking feeling it was about her. She searched the crowd, and finally saw the faces of her aunts and several of her older cousins.
“We hide her, that’s what!” cousin Rhodri cried, and Siân knew he was talking about hiding her.
She could not tell if the villagers were in agreement or not, but there was a loud murmur of reaction to his statement.
“No one has to admit to seeing her,” Nesta said with an urgency in her voice. “Just because he lost her does not mean she would come here to Pwll!”
“But where else would she go?” one skeptical man demanded.
“It does not matter,” Bethan replied. “Wrexton does not know where they lost her. She could have gotten away miles and miles from here.”
“My sons have alrea
dy gone out to the woods and seen to it that Wrexton’s men will not find any trail leading back to Pwll,” Nesta said, surprising Siân, who had no idea that the boys had done any such thing.
“We all keep quiet about her, and Wrexton will be none the wiser,” Rhodri said.
“Besides, she’s one of us!” another one of the villagers called. “Like it or not, we must take care of our own!”
“We cannot abandon the lass,” the squire of Pwll said, “not when her father was one of the leaders of the great rebellion.”
There were rumbles of discussion again, and Siân could not tell whether the consensus was for or against her staying among them. She hadn’t known she would cause such a stir by returning home. Tears burned the backs of her eyes when she realized she was still not wanted. Even if her aunts and cousins and the squire managed to convince the people to remain silent about her return, her presence was just as dangerous as it had always been. She could not stay.
Too overcome to speak to the crowd, to tell them she would leave Pwll, Siân backed away. She felt like a child again, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She was alone again, but this time she was forced to flee in order to avoid bringing disaster again to the people of Pwll.
“Whoa, there!” called a gray-bearded man from his perch high upon his swaybacked nag. He was directly behind Siân, and she nearly ran into him and his horse. “You’re in a terrible hurry, lass.”
Siân still could not speak. She gave the old man an apologetic look and started to back away, but her desire for escape was thwarted by the crowd of people who were interested in the stranger in their midst.
“Ho, peddler,” Squire Powicke called as the villagers began to gather around.
“Greetings to you fine people of…Pwll, is it?” the old man said as he dismounted. He turned to loose his packs and pull them off the horse. “I bring you fine herbs and potions from my travels abroad….”
Siân did not care to stay and listen. Dejected as she was, she tried to make her way through the crowd, but was stopped in her tracks by the peddler’s words. “I bring comfrey from York, dittany grown in Llanfair, lavender of the Cumbrian hills, and fresh, precious foxglove from Castle Wrexton. Who of you has the dropsy…?”
Siân pushed her way back to the peddler. “What news from Castle Wrexton?” she asked the man.
The old fellow grinned. “Oh…now that’s a pretty story,” he said.
“Tell us!” the people cried, always hungry for news from abroad.
“It can be told from yon public house,” the peddler said as he shouldered his packs and started walking toward the alehouse. A large number of people followed him, crowding around when he got himself situated comfortably on a short, wooden stool.
“The earl’s got two men imprisoned, both,” the peddler said after a pint was poured, “mighty knights of England.”
“Who are they?” Siân asked, dismayed over the possibilities. If Windermere had sent knights to rescue her, and they’d been caught…
“Never heard any names, but they say the earl was expecting these villains.”
“Villains!” some of the voices exclaimed excitedly. Talk of villains was a good portent of a lively story ahead.
“Of a certainty,” the peddler reiterated. “The two came in disguised. Disguised! As wood peddlers, of all things, when all they were after was the earl’s gold.”
Siân breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, no knight of Windermere would go thieving across the countryside. It was no one of consequence to her, and she turned to make her way out of the room when the peddler continued.
“They stole through the castle gates, but the guards had their eyes peeled for just such blackguards,” the peddler said. “You see, the earl had a notion that they were to be invaded, and set the guard to watching for a man with a black eye patch.”
Siân stopped cold. The room swayed and she closed her eyes.
“Wrexton had them bound and taken to the courtyard, where they were whipped and beaten,” the visitor continued, “and he plans to hang ’em on the morrow.”
Siân put trembling fingers to her lips. “Dear Jésu…” she whispered, then turned and pushed her way out of the crowded public room. She did not stop running until she reached Aunt Nesta’s cottage.
“Dear God in Heaven,” Siân said, raising her teary eyes to Nesta, who had followed her home after hearing all that the peddler had to say. “It’s Hugh. Oh, why did he have to come for me? He should have been safely on his way to Clairmont….”
But Hugh Dryden was an honorable man and a chivalrous knight. Of course he had come for her.
Siân suddenly stood. “Madoc,” she said to one of her young cousins as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll need to borrow some of your clothes.”
“What are you going to do, Siân verch Marudedd?” Nesta asked, lines of worry crossing her face.
“I must go to Wrexton,” she replied, following Madoc to his box of spare clothes. “I have to help Hugh.”
“But you cannot go alone,” Nesta said, “Wrexton will—”
“—never even know I’m there.”
“Oh, Siân, how can you—”
“I’ll dress as Madoc,” she said. “No one will know I’m female, and they will certainly never know I am Siân Tudor.”
Nesta shook her head and Siân hugged her aunt. “This is something I must do,” Siân said earnestly. “Don’t you see, Auntie? When I tried to kill Wrexton for what he did to Dafydd and Idwal, I wasn’t able to carry it out. I’d have been as evil and twisted as he is. But I can save another two men from him.
“I won’t let Hugh and his companion hang for me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Siân thought it through, and decided that she could not allow anyone from Pwll to go to Wrexton with her. She would not endanger any more lives than necessary, and Hugh’s was already on the line.
She dressed in her young cousin’s clothes, pinned up her hair and put on a cap, effectively obliterating all femininity from her appearance. For good measure, she rubbed a thin layer of dirt across her nose and cheekbones before setting off for the hills to the east.
She took the higher ground because she could see farther, and the choice of paths soon turned to Siân’s advantage. As she hiked east, toward Wrexton, a company of knights rode past on the lower road. None of them glanced her way, and luckily, there were enough trees for cover, so she was not readily obvious to them.
From her vantage point on the wooded bluff, she turned and watched Wrexton’s knights ride west. There was no doubt in Siân’s mind that they were headed toward her village. No matter where her “guards” had lost her, it was reasonable for them to assume she had somehow gotten back to her old home.
Siân vacillated between going back to Pwll to try and keep her village from trouble, and continuing on to Wrexton. Finally concluding that the villagers would remain silent about her return—after all, that’s what her family had already proposed—Siân decided she had no choice but to continue on her way.
Returning to Pwll would serve no purpose, anyway, other than to get her captured again, and taken to Wrexton under the watchful eye of a new guard. She could not help Hugh that way. But if all went well in Pwll, the knights might be set to scouring the countryside in search for her—keeping them away from Wrexton and her attempt to get Hugh away from the unscrupulous earl.
It was several miles to Castle Wrexton, and Siân followed the instructions given her by her cousin, Rhodri, who’d once journeyed there. However, she walked quite a bit off course at one point, and did not realize her mistake until she reached a promontory that overlooked the entire valley. And that’s when she spotted the majestic castle, nestled on the banks of a small river, in the distance to the north. It looked as if the river flowed under the castle wall, but Siân could not be sure from this distance.
Correcting her course again, she headed due north for Wrexton.
She did not know exactly what she would do once
she reached the castle, only that she had to find where Hugh was being held and somehow free him. It broke her heart to think of him going through anything even remotely similar to his imprisonment at Windermere. For all she knew, he was jailed in some donjon beneath Wrexton castle, subjected to some of the same horrors he’d experienced two years before.
Siân would not stand for it. Somehow, she was going to free him.
When she reached the castle, there was plenty of commerce going back and forth on the bridge over the river, but she was worried. If Wrexton had anticipated Hugh’s arrival at the castle, would he not have warned his men to watch for her as well?
Ambling like a young boy around the town at the foot of the castle wall, Siân occasionally glanced up at the guards within. Somehow, she had to get in without alerting them to her presence. But how?
She tried to move as if she had somewhere to go, some other children to find, so as not to attract attention to herself. But still, she had no idea how she would manage to gain entrance to Wrexton’s keep.
And then she saw it. Lying on the ground, among the high reeds that grew alongside the river, was the one thing that was going to make her task at Wrexton child’s play.
It was a nice, round leather camp-ball.
Siân looked around. There were plenty of children about—children who could easily be drawn into a game, if only it looked interesting enough. She pulled the ball out of the reeds with one foot, clasped her hands behind her back and started kicking the ball, tipping it back and forth between her own two feet. This was a version of camp-ball that was particularly popular in Pwll, so Siân was quite proficient at it.
She continued maneuvering the ball around her feet as she crossed the drawbridge and moved along to the outer bailey. She showed considerable skill as she kicked the ball around, attracting a small audience of young faces.
One young boy joined her, and they volleyed the ball back and forth, sizing up each other’s abilities. Then another two came along, and soon there were enough to make a game. They moved to the upper bailey, where there was more open space. Goals were determined and teams quickly chosen. Siân, who was presumed to be an older boy, started the game in the center of the “field,” kicking the ball toward the haywagon goal. Someone from the opposing team intercepted, and the game was on.
Dryden's Bride Page 21