by Allie Borne
Mary must have felt similarly, for she soon asked, “Is it likely that Mary’s abductors wish to get a cash ransom from you? They might expect that you are coming into a large dowry and would like to relieve you of it.”
“I had thought of that, but then why leave valuable horses and trinkets behind? I have to believe that the kidnapping is politically motivated. If they do not wish a cash ransom, then extricating her from their clasp will become very difficult. We may have to outwit them. Would you be willing to act as a decoy? At least one of the men has seen you.”
“Of course! We could tell them that they have kidnapped the wrong woman. Once they realize that the woman they have nabbed is merely a paid companion, they will be more likely to negotiate for her release.”
“It would place you in a great deal of danger. They may act to try to capture you instead.”
“I am sure you are capable of manipulating the situation in our favor, Lord Redland. You seem a man who has learned to survive. I will do what is necessary to recover my friend.”
As they drew closer to the keep, two armed guards rode out to meet them. “My Lord, we have captured a man that returned to the campsite. Rorey followed him and the man crossed the creek, to where we found Miss Luke. He has not spoken a word since his capture. We have placed him in the dungeon.”
“Have you ascertained from which clan the man hails?”
“Nay, he wore no clan colors, only a plain vest and shirt.”
Within the courtyard, Bryan dismounted and handed the reigns to the eldest of the two men. “Liam, take our horses back to the stable and make sure they get a good rub down.” He turned to Meri and, wrapping his broad hands about her tiny waist, lifted her from the grey pony as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow.
“Come, Miss Luke, let us get you situated in your bed chamber. I have a suspect to interrogate.”
“But, Lord Redland, I had hoped we might interview the scoundrel together. I might be able to recognize him. He must be my attacker, for, why else would he have returned to the place of my attack?”
“Tis out of the question. Thou hast told me what happened.” Meri lifted her chin obstinately and Bryan's brogue thickened with his rising anger. “Ye yerself said ye did nay get a good look at the mon. In yer delicate state, yer likely to be too quick to judge. You will go to yer room and ye'll rest. I will send Arthur up with some clan colors for ye to look over. This will help me in my investigation.”
Merianne said nothing. She did not agree with him, but she was also not on her own turf. As far as he knew, she was simply the maid servant of his betrothed. He had given her a great deal of lee way thus far and she had no intention of having him cut her off from the chase.
Bryan strode forward and she readily followed. Looking about her as they entered the great hall, Merianne was awe struck. The grand scale of everything about her was at odds to what she was familiar. In Brighton, she lived in a large house. This was a castle. While cool and drafty, it was magnificent. Tapestries hung from the wall. A grand, long table took up the length of the hall. It was clear that everyone here still ate together. This idea suited her perfectly. Although her head thrummed insistently and she felt the lethargy of the last few days pulling at the edges of her awareness, Merianne longed to explore every inch of her new home.
“Might I at least wait outside the door, and listen to what the man says? I might recognize his voice or know if he tells you a false hood.”
“Mary, I will not argue with ye,” was Bryan’s only response. Taking her hand, he placed it in the crook of his arm and escorted her up a staircase at the rear of the hall. Two flights later, they stopped at the second wooden door. Bryan pushed it open to reveal a cozy room with a peat fire burning in the grate.
“Is this to be my room?” Merianne asked, well pleased.
“Aye. Tis directly connected to the master suite,” Bryan indicated a small door beside the wash stand and facing the foot of the small bed. At her flushed expression, Bryan rushed to explain, “As ye will be tending to my wife, I thought she would appreciate her companion have a room close by. Have I misjudged?”
“N-No. Not at all. This is absolutely perfect. Will I be sharing this room with anyone?”
“Nay. This space is yours alone. Ye shan't be bothered here, ye have my word.” As Bryan spoke he peered directly into Meri’s grey eyes. His clear blue gaze communicated his intent so that even an innocent as herself understood. Bryan would not be knocking on the adjoining door or wishing to avail himself of her during the night.
Merianne smiled boldly through her flushed cheeks. “I had expected nothing less, Lord Redland. Miss Warren is lucky indeed to be linked with a man such as thee. You obviously respect women and therefore will be including me in what you have learned from your captive, as soon as you have finished interviewing him, no doubt.”
“Mary, God help me if your mistress is as insistent as thee,” Bryan growled, then grinned despite himself. The lass was a handful but he enjoyed her company. She kept him engaged without putting forth an effort. She had demanded nothing of him but his respect and confidence. The likelihood that his betrothed would prove as pleasing seemed nil to him.
“Dinner will be served in two hours. Ye may sit next to me and tell me of the tartans. If I discover anything of import from the vagrant, I will tell ye then.”
“Who shall escort me to dinner, My Lord?”
“Are servants escorted to meals in England?”
Merianne bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. How could she have misspoken?! She rushed to cover her mistake. “No, in truth, we are not. I had simply wished to avoid the stress of finding my way to the hall at the appropriate time. Perhaps Arthur or another could fetch me when it is time? I am not aware of your customs.”
“Of course. I will ask Arthur to bring ye to dine.”
Merianne closed the door after Bryan had left and looked about her new chamber. This would be the smallest room she had ever known, but it was hers alone. Bryan himself had promised her that she would not be bothered in this space. An excitement welled within her. She felt so independent in her own private room. After walking about and inspecting every inch of the stonewalled chamber, Meri sank onto the bed. Propping her pillow against the head board, Merianne leaned back with her arms behind her head. It was odd to be able to have time to herself. It hadn’t been until she took Mary’s place that she had had such luxury. She welcomed the opportunity to be alone with herself and her own thoughts. A few minutes of listening to the peat fire sizzle and watching the candle on the side table flicker, however, had Meri’s mood settle into melancholy. As much as she had enjoyed the novelty of her alone time, she was beginning to feel, well, alone.
As ‘Mary,' she did not have the responsibility of a household to fill her time. She did not have the promise of Lord Redland’s attention. Currently, she did not even have her companion to share her thoughts and schemes. She could swear that an increasingly weighty urn of hollowness had just settled heavily upon her chest. She did not want to be a paid companion to a ghost of a mistress. She wanted to be herself again and she wanted Mary back.
Where was this Arthur? Getting up again and pacing within her small space, Meri began to feel anxious. Her head hurt but she was too restive to sleep. On the third trip past her wash stand, Meri’s eyes settled upon the tiny door. It adjoined Mary’s room to the master bedroom. The booming of her heart seemed to echo about the tiny room as Merianne contemplated sneaking into Bryan’s chamber. It was to be her chamber also, after all. That is, if he still wished to marry her, once her intrigue was discovered.
“I am going to do it,” Merianne told herself, feeling deliciously wicked. She had just creaked the door open when a brisk knock sounded at her chamber door. Jumping out of her skin, Meri leaned her hip against the adjoining door and called out, “Aye?”
“Tis I, Arthur. May I enter?”
“Of course,” Meri answered, walking to open the main door.
; A rather short, stocky man with white whiskers appeared before her. He stood erect and proud, wearing the typical saffron dyed tunic and simple black vest. As with the rest of the Highlanders, Arthur’s legs remained bare. He wore plain leather shoes on his feet. Merianne smiled at her elder, inviting his converse.
“I have come to show you a variety of clan colors. Tis Lord Redland’s hope that you will recognize the one of your attacker. I have six patterns here, other than the Murray Clan’s.” Arthur stood, waiting to be invited into the room. His small stature was completely overruled by the man’s deep chest and confident air. He might only be a few inches taller than Meri but his presence seemed to fill the room. Arthur’s white beard belied an obviously ruddy complexion. Beneath his wind-burnt face and deep crow’s feet, Meri could see rust colored freckles. They ran down each forearm, she noted, as his abundant sleeves hung from the elbow.
“Are ye gonna stand there gawkin' or are ye gonna look at these patterns, Lass?” Arthur demanded.
Shaking her head slightly, Merianne responded quickly. “The lighting in this room is not the best. Is there a place we could look that might have better?”
“The sun is setting as we speak,” Arthur answered gruffly, scratching his temple. “If we hurry, we could view the samples out of doors.”
“That sounds perfect, thank you,” Merianne returned, smiling.
Arthur was struck by the petite woman. She seemed a bundle of contradictions. Her small frame and delicate complexion should have been part and parcel with a meek disposition. Instead, she seemed self-assured and confident. Her face, both beautiful and flawless when viewed from the right, became mottled and bloodshot when viewed from the left. Her grey eyes flashed as she caught him assessing her injuries. No serving wench, but a warrior princess reflected in their depths. She no doubt hailed from Scottish stock, this amber-haired beauty.
Arthur offered the lass his arm and escorted her down the stone stair case. He walked her briskly out onto the back garden where a small stone bench stood. “Let us sit here and look at the colors before the dying of the light.”
Nodding, Merianne sat and looked up expectantly at Arthur. Pulling the fabric remnants from beneath his jacket, Arthur presented them to Meri. Quickly, she went through the stack, eliminating the ones that were obviously incorrect. Within a few moments she was down to two plaids. Studying both, Meri shut her eyes and called upon the image etched there, on the back of her eyelids. The lines ran horizontally. This was the plaid the man had worn.
“Tis this one,” Meri responded, holding up her right hand.
“These are the Cumyn colors. I cannot say that I am surprised. The clan has fallen on hard times and their Laird has never been overly fond of Redland. The fact that Bryan plans on wedding an English bride would have seemed an affront to his verra beliefs. If Sir Philip is behind this, I fear for your mistress’s safety. He is ruthless and without honor. We will wait to see what Redland discovers.”
Looking at Meri, Arthur regretted his blunt words. She had paled visibly. “Art thou well, Lass?”
“We must not wait!” Merianne urged. “We have waited long enough. Now that we know who is behind the abduction we must leave immediately to confront them. I cannot stomach the thought of Mary in the hands of such a man.” Standing, she walked briskly back towards the hall's entrance. Arthur scurried to collect the discarded remnants and rush after her.
“Miss Mary, wait!” Arthur called. But Merianne did not heed him. Instead she marched through the double doors and across the dining hall to where Redland stood speaking with one of his guards.
“We mustn’t wait, My Lord.”
Bryan stopped mid-sentence and turned to look down at her, brow furrowed. “Mary, this is Sir Robert Murray, my cousin and neighbor. Sir Robert, this is Mary Luke, my betrothed’s companion.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss,” Sir Robert bent over Meri’s hand and kissed it, lingering just long enough to convey his interest in her person. Merianne paid no heed to his attentions, however, as focused as she was on her task at hand.
Inclining her head, rather than curtsying, Merianne returned, “Thank you Sir Robert. I am glad that you are here. I was just hoping to impress upon Lord Redland the importance of setting out to rescue Mary immediately.”
Another young man approached the trio, his delighted grin giving away the entertaining nature of her behavior. “Andrew, this is Miss Luke, the young woman we recovered from the campsite. Miss Luke, this is my brother, Sir Andrew.”
Merianne simply stood, staring expectantly into Bryan’s eyes. She wanted a response to her query. The one she received, however, was not at all to her liking. “Miss Luke, I do believe you forget yourself.” Bryan’s voice had taken on a dry ascorbic tone that warned of his displeasure with her comportment.
“My Lord?”
“I have welcomed my guest and brother back to the keep and wish to avoid discussing the unpleasant topic at hand. Why do we not sit and enjoy our meal? We can discuss the retrieval of my bride after the clan has settled into their supper.”
Merianne responded as if she had just had the air knocked from her. “Retrieval? You dare to discuss the issue as if you are arranging the acquisition of a piece of furniture or a sought-after manuscript?” Meri’s voice became brittle and high pitched. She lost all notice of her volume. “We are talking about a woman’s life! At this very moment she may be being beaten, tortured, or, or worse! How dare you speak so callously, My Lord!” Flushed and defiant, Meri faced her betrothed with arms stiff and hands clenched into fists her sides. Redland did not respond in word or action, only calmly looked at her as the silence stretched before them.
Breaking eye contact, Merianne remembered that she had, indeed, forgotten herself. She was the paid companion of Redland's betrothed, not his bride. Many were staring agog at the interaction, whispering behind their hands. She had embarrassed Bryan with her lack of social etiquette and for that she was sorry. On the other hand, her concern was for her friend. Social niceties had their place, Merianne decided. If righteous indignation did not work, then she would use feigned modesty to her advantage.
“Forgive me, Sir Robert,” Merianne curtsied. “Sir Andrew, I do apologize. I am beside myself with worry for my companion. Lord Redland is right. I forget myself. Please, continue with your conversation and forgive my interruption.” Turning to leave, Bryan stopped her with a hand at her elbow.
“Allow me to escort thee, Mary. I am sure that my kin will understand ye have had a stressful few days. Why do ye not tell them of yer attacker while I fetch us some cider? Sir Robert, no doubt, will appreciate yer valor.”
Merianne took the hint and sat herself between the two knights. Blinking back tears, Merianne tried to swallow the suffocating sense of helplessness and mentally reorganize her plan of attack. Aggression had not worked to mobilize the troops...perhaps coercion would. If Bryan wanted her to share her tale, then she would give him more than he bargained for.
“It was still night when I awoke, but I could feel the cold gray fingers of dawn prying at my eyelids.” Merianne smiled inwardly as the neighboring diners leaned in eagerly. She was a wicked weaver of tales and would soon have them eating out of her hands. “Rolling over in our make shift tent, I stared blindly at the canvas above me. It must have been close to four in the morning. My hair felt heavy with dew and I could hear the faint stirring of birds. Their halfhearted twittering warned of a new day. I stretched stiffly. I felt sore and filthy. After a few long moments of tossing and turning, I tapped on Mary's shoulder and brought her gently awake.”
“'What is it?' she asked groggily, 'Are you suffering from a megrim? I can fetch you a cup of water.'”
“'No, it is not that, Mary,' I told her. 'I feel restless and cannot sleep. I plan on washing a bit before the men rise. Can you keep an ear out and not let anyone come down the creek?'
“On Mary's consent I picked my way down to the creek bed, humming to myself happily. It
really had been quite fun, playing the gypsy these past two weeks. Soap in hand, I knelt to gather some chilly creek water within my cupped hands. Splashing my face, I sighed. I knew I hadn't the time to wash my hair as I had hoped, so I quickly braided it and then turned back towards camp. A royal purple sunrise winked pink through the sparse conifers and I paused a moment, taken aback by the stark beauty of this place. The twisting creek and rocky hills rolled bravely into the broad sky. I took a deep breath of the brisk air and fairly skipped back to camp.
As I was moving about without my slippers, I stopped short when a sharp pebble jabbed my toe and ricocheted down the bank. The small stone's 'ting!' echoed about the water, unaccompanied by the caw of a bird or the padded shuffle of a rabbit. It was too quiet. Our tent sat a mere fifteen yards away. So near camp, I should have heard the clanging of pots or the laughter of men. No noise...I froze like the rabbit and the bird. A foreboding began to fill me until I was overtaken with the sense that I too had become prey. A beast was near.”
An audible gasp preceded Lord Redland's response. “That is quite enough, Miss Luke. Everyone kens the rest o’ the tale.” Merianne looked around the hall and met the red-rimmed amber eyes of a young woman about her age. Meri could not look away at the intense grief reflected in those shadowed orbs.
Instantly, she realized that those men who died had lovers and kin sitting at this very table and she felt a deep sense of longing and regret forcing her hand. She stood and cleared her throat.