Moonstone

by Olivia Stocum

  “Y-you,” she hiccupped, “said you would not . . .”

  “I will take you to your chamber, and then leave.” He set her on the step above him and attempted to rub heat into her upper arms. “One step at a time now.”

  She turned, lifted her foot, then lost her balance and stumbled, catching herself with a pathetic little whimper.

  “Never mind walking. You’re too weak.” He hauled her into his arms.

  “I am not weak.”

  Scar tissue from an old wound in his shoulder pulled as Rhiannon wiggled. Her hipbone pressed into his stomach.

  “Stop,” he chided.

  A petite lass, a few years younger than Rhiannon, with earth-brown hair stood in the corridor, her eyes widening when she saw them. She held a silver hairbrush in her hand.

  “You’re the lady’s maid?” William asked.

  She floundered, and then shook herself. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  William nodded at the door. “Do you mind?”

  She opened it and William carried Rhiannon across the tiny chamber. He settled her on the narrow bed. “Her wrists and ankles need tending.”

  “I will see to it, sir.”

  He took in Rhiannon’s shape on the bed, the curve of her hip teasing him, making him wonder what she’d look like filled out to perfection.

  “Thank you,” the maid said. She assessed him, as if attempting to determine his station, then curtseyed.

  “Aye. I will be outside, if you should need anything.”

  “You will guard the door?”

  He hadn’t planned on it. His mouth was speaking for him again. “I will guard the door. Bolt it though, just to be safe.”

  “Thank you . . . my laird?”

  He nodded and she curtseyed again. When he left the chamber, he heard the bolt slide home behind him.

  William yanked his sword free and eased to the floor, his back against the door, harness buckles scraping on the way down. He set his sword over his lap. At sunrise he would slip out and have one of his men take his place.

  Maybe, if he put some distance between himself and Rhiannon, he could figure out what had just happened, and why.

  Chapter Two

  Despite the nightmares that plagued her each night, exhaustion always claimed Rhiannon. After drifting off, she awoke with the shock that comes from realizing that one is in a strange place.

  She stared at the ceiling until the fear flooding her body calmed into a dull simmer. “Alice?” she called.

  “I’m here.”

  Rhiannon looked down to see her maid curled up at the end of the bed. “What are you doing?”

  Alice slid off the mattress, stretching. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. I was worried about . . .”

  Rhiannon eyed her and she closed her mouth. Alice straightened her chemise, then picked Rhiannon’s silver hair brush up off the side table. “Should we begin, then?”

  Rhiannon’s life was a relentless cycle of captive days bleeding into nights full of bad dreams. “As ready as I can be.”

  Alice slowly worked the silver hairbrush through her waves. Rhiannon was grateful that Alice had remembered to take the brush with her when they left Hanover. It had belonged to Rhiannon’s mother, and she would’ve missed it more than anything else she’d been forced to leave behind.

  She looked at the raw skin of her wrists. “I cannot do this anymore,” Rhiannon said. “We need to escape.”

  Alice’s hand stopped mid-motion. “But how?”

  “There has to be a way.”

  “There’s no telling what Laird Geoffrey will do to you when we get caught.”

  Rhiannon flattened her lips. “Do try and have some confidence.” She staggered to her feet, her vision blurring. Alice caught her.

  “What about the Highland laird?” Alice asked. “He sat at your door all night.”

  “He did?” Rhiannon tested her balance, then deciding that she wasn’t about to fall over again, pushed away from Alice.

  Yes, the Highlander had defended her from Geoffrey last night, and she was grateful for that, but she didn’t dare trust him any further. He wanted her in just the same way Geoffrey did. “He was guarding his spoil, no doubt.”

  “What if he wants to help you?”

  “I am certain he does. I know how he wants to help me, too.” She shook her head. “Lecher.”

  “But he looked at you like he wanted to leap to your rescue.” Alice sighed. “He is nothing like Laird Geoffrey.”

  “Aye,” Rhiannon said in a rendition of a brogue. “And a voice like silk had he.” She touched Alice’s arm. “Men cannot be trusted. Please remember that.”

  “Not all men are evil. Your father wasn’t. Neither was your brother.”

  “And now they are both gone.” Rhiannon blinked back tears. She turned away from Alice, meaning to cross to the window in order to get her bearings within the castle, but she stumbled over her own feet.

  Alice steadied her. “Let me fetch you some food. Look at you.”

  She hated it, but Alice was right.

  She was weak.

  “Yes.” Rhiannon slumped down on the bed, her tired body immediately grateful. “Make haste as you go, and do not make eye contact with any men.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Rhiannon grabbed a hold of Alice’s rough wool skirt. “Never forget, this is Geoffrey’s home. If anything happened to you-” Rhiannon’s throat tightened.

  “I will be careful.”

  “Have you your knife, just in case?”

  Alice patted her skirt. “I do.”

  Rhiannon pulled to her feet, gave the room a moment to stop spinning, then followed Alice to the door. She held it open as Alice slipped out. A man in a green plaid with blue and red stripes was standing guard before it. Dark blond hair brushed his shoulders, and a neat beard coated his angular jaw.

  “Where’re ye off to, lassie?” he asked, softening his voice.

  Scotsmen, Rhiannon thought, narrowing her eyes at the man. She needed to warn Alice about them and their brogue. More than one woman had been tempted out of her skirts by it.

  Alice looked up, then blinked as if she’d seen something interesting. Rhiannon cleared her throat and Alice looked away. “Food, for my lady.”

  “Go on then,” he told her.

  Alice slipped past him and Rhiannon closed the door. She pushed the bolt into place, said a prayer for Alice’s safety, and then turned to survey her chamber. There was a small canopy bed with a side table, and a round pine table with a pair of hard-backed chairs. A fire burned in the hearth. There were enough peat blocks stacked against the stone wall to fuel it with for days. But it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t be there much longer. They were leaving as soon as she came up with a plan for escape.

  Rhiannon went to the window and opened the shutters. Her chamber was on the second floor. There were guards below her window, but only two, and they were young, no more than fourteen.

  Which gave her a few ideas.

  Rhiannon picked up an iron candle holder and smiled.

  * * *

  William stared at the rough wooden beams in the ceiling. He’d closed the shutters over the single window in his chamber, but light streamed through the slats, reminding his inner clock that it was morning. Of course, it didn’t help that he was atop the covers, and fully dressed, with his bare sword alongside him like a frigid lover.

  He was on edge. And for good reason.

  This was Geoffrey’s home, and he wasn’t sure what Geoffrey’s next move would be.

  William sat up, placing his booted feet on the floor. He could steal Rhiannon and flee for the Highlands. He smiled. Tempting. Verra tempting. But it wouldn’t resolve things with Geoffrey. William was sick of Geoffrey’s games. If the man wanted to face him, then the duel over Rhiannon was the perfect opportunity.

  Unfortunately, William doubted Geoffrey had the balls to actually fight him. Nay, Geoffrey would manipulate instead.

  But to what end?


  And what did Rhiannon and Reginald have to do with it?

  William stood and ran his hands through his hair. His shoulder was stiff and he rolled it in one direction, then the other, loosening scar tissue. He poured water from pitcher to basin and splashed his face, hoping the cool liquid would bring some sense to his head.

  He realized there was one more option. Leave. Turn his back on Rhiannon. After all, he really didn’t owe her anything. William pictured her bruised face, felt her weak hands pushing against his chest, heard her wee frightened hiccups.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Nay, turning his back on her was not an option.

  More than that, a part of him wanted to take her home with him. William donned his leather sword harness and sheathed his sword. He tucked his pistol into the holster on his harness, then walked down the corridor to Rhiannon’s chamber.

  The captain of his guard, Connor, watched him with curious eyes. “My Laird.”

  William had told Connor little. He ordered him only to guard the lady’s door. But Connor knew him well, and had probably filled in more than a few blanks with all sorts of creative notions.

  “Caught a glimpse of her when her maid left to fetch her meal,” Connor said. A wench passed them in the corridor. “What happened to her? And what did ye do about it?”

  “Before or after my mouth took over my common sense.”

  “I am sorry I missed it. Notify me the next time ye plan to humiliate Geoffrey.”

  “I will be sure and do that.”

  “Who is she?” Connor cocked his head at the door.

  “For now, his betrothed.”

  “Canna have that, now can we?”

  Connor was William’s cousin, after a fashion. So were a number of other men of his clan, their relation ranging anywhere from second cousin to third cousin twice removed. But more than that, Connor was his friend.

  “Her cousin is her guardian, and he doesna give a nit for her,” William said. “I have not discovered why as of yet.” William spoke again, before Connor had a chance to digest his words and respond. “I may have challenged Geoffrey for her.”

  “May have?”

  “I did challenge him,” he conceded. “In less than two days I will fight Geoffrey to first blood. Then I will marry the woman, and take her home with me.”

  A slow grin transformed Connor’s face. “Tell me, is it her bright green eyes, or her glowing auburn waves? Or is it her height? You willna have to hunch to kiss your bride.” He circled his arms as if holding a woman.

  William eyed him. “Notice, did you?”

  “Aye.” Connor wiped his hand over his face, but it did little to erase his grin. “And from this point on I swear,” he held up one hand in an oath, “not to notice her again for as long as ye both shall live.” Connor sobered, lowering his voice. “Think she’s Geoffrey’s hand-me-down?”

  William took a breath, letting it out slowly. “Aye. And most likely through no fault of her own.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Spare her for me, will you? Dinna mention it to anyone.”

  “I willna.” Connor paused, his brow furrowed and his gaze trained on the uneven stone floor. “You will have to live with the knowledge though.”

  “Aye, I know.”

  “The whoreson. I’m sorry.”

  William propped his shoulder against the wall. “I willna expect too much from her as a wife.”

  “She’ll come around to ye.” Connor gestured at the door. “Her maid brought her a tray and some wine. She brought most of it back out. If the lady has had her food withheld for some time, then her stomach willna take kindly to it now.”

  William wanted to check on Rhiannon, but felt it was an intrusion. She might even see it as a threat. “Keep an eye on how much food goes in and out of her chamber for me.”

  “Aye.”

  “And appoint Charlie to oversee the preparation of my meals.”

  “Why?”

  “Geoffrey. I wouldna put it past him to try and poison me. On second thought, make sure he checks into Lady Rhiannon’s food as well, just in case.”

  “My Laird!”

  William turned to see his young guard, Angus, jogging down the corridor, his wild red hair springing around his head and the edges of his well-worn plaid feathering around his thighs.

  “Did you ask a lad to exercise your stallion?” Angus asked.

  “I did not.”

  Angus muttered under his breath, then shrugged in apology. “Dinna worry about it, my laird. I will take care of everything.”

  William stopped him. “Take care of what?”

  “The lad stealing your horse.” Angus screwed up his freckled face. “And the other lad, stealing Connor’s horse.”

  “Sakes,” William said. “That is all I need.”

  Connor groaned. “Not my Hercules.”

  “I will take care of it.” Angus nodded. “Ye have other things to see too.” The hint of a smile curved his lips and he glanced at the door.

  It was amazing how quickly gossip could spread among men.

  “Nay, I will,” William said. “I could use the diversion. Where did you see them?”

  “The gates, my laird. My assumption is that they will proceed directly for the woodlands. Take my horse.”

  * * *

  Rhiannon was sore, her head ached, and her stomach hadn’t decided whether or not to reject her last meal. But she had a strong horse beneath her, and the wind in her face.

  And that was enough for her.

  “We did it,” Rhiannon said.

  Alice clutched her stolen horse’s chestnut mane, the reins dangling unused along its neck. “I . . . suppose.”

  “We are through the gates. If they were going to stop us, they would have by now.” Rhiannon nodded. “Into the woods. Your horse will follow mine.”

  “If you s-say so, my lady.”

  Rhiannon heeled her mount into an easy canter, the charcoal stallion snorting and tossing his head. She held her cap down so it wouldn’t fly off and alert anyone to their sex. Behind her, Alice bopped up and down, one elbow flopping, the other hand holding down her cap. If it hadn’t been for Alice’s discomfort on horseback, Rhiannon would’ve been off like a shot.

  Rhiannon trained her gaze forward and took a moment to plan ahead. She and Alice would have to find employment somewhere, but she wasn’t too worried about it. She’d been around horses the whole of her life and could pass as a stable lad, assuming she kept her weight down and her hair covered. Alice was another story, but they had time to work on that. Whatever they decided to do, they would have to hold out in the forest for a bit. There was something Rhiannon had to take care of.

  Assuming she could figure out how.

  Chapter Three

  William flat-out refused to lose his horse to a thief. He had trained his stallion, Jeremiah, himself, and the two of them had been through a lot together.

  Once through the village, he heeled his borrowed mount and thundered across a field. Turf kicked up under the horse’s heavy hooves and William wiped mud off his face with his sleeve.

  They broke through the tree line, oak and birch flashing by. William scanned the woods and saw a path of broken branches just wide enough for a horse.

  He followed it for a time, then reined his borrowed stallion to a stop, frowning at the sight before him. The horse thieves were meandering through trees and shrubs, admiring the scenery like one might flowers in a garden. William tapped his mount with his heel, moving in behind them as if they were in a slow-motion game of cat-and-mouse.

  He cleared his throat. Two young faces turned, caps shielding their features. They jerked in unison.

  William gestured. “Dismount.”

  The taller of the two lads shook his head. He was young, his jaw smooth and his clothing loose as if they were hand-me-downs from an older brother. He turned the rein with a skilled hand and disappeared from view. He didn’t dress with enough affluence to keep horses, so he was proba
bly a stable boy. The second boy followed on Hercules by default, since Hercules was accustomed to flanking Jeremiah. William didn’t go after them, he didn’t have to. He whistled to his horse.

  He heard a thump, and a moment later Jeremiah trotted toward him like an overgrown lap dog. Hercules followed with the other lad still on his back.

  Dismounting, William took up Hercules’s flopping reins and led the horses to where the taller lad was sprawled out on his stomach in a blanket of bracken, sunlight pouring through tree branches in fuzzy rays over him.

  “Up on your feet,” William said.

  “I’ll not go with you.” The lad pushed himself under a patch of brambles.

  “You haven’t any choice.” William tethered the horses then followed, thorns scratching his hands. “Stop!”

  The boy clamped one hand over his cap and pushed further in, elbows digging mossy turf and branches crunching beneath his slender body. He had William at a slight disadvantage, because he was smaller. But unlike the lad, William’s entire upper torso was covered in leather, and he could easily dismiss the thorns that stung his face and hands.

  William grabbed a hold of both the boy’s legs and pulled, shifting backward until he had him all the way out. The lad writhed against him like a wild animal, catching a solid blow to William’s right knee. He bit back a growl and slung his leg over the boy’s torso, then pinned his wrists together with one hand and yanked the cap away.

  Burgundy hair spilled over the ground, glowing where the light caressed it.

  Rhiannon.

  William looked at her wrists, noting the broken skin from the ropes she’d been bound with the night before. Her lip was split from her recent fall, trailing blood down her chin. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She shivered beneath him, the curves of her hollow flesh hidden in folds of cheap wool. A tear welled in the corner of her eye and she turned her face from him.

  “I’ve not so little left,” she said, her voice raspy, her hipbones pressed into his thigh. “If you take me now, know that I will kill you later.”

  Her fear drove into him. “Take . . . I wouldna force myself on a woman.” It occurred to him that he should probably move his leg. He slid back, then before he could stop himself, tucked his arms around her, pulling her into him and cradling her on his lap.