Betrothed

by Lori Snow

  Then, his mind latched onto what else Caitlin had revealed. “Her father hit her?” Why was he shocked? A father has the right, just as a husband.

  “Nay. Her brother, Lord Simon—the cur. Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord. I shouldn’t be speakin’ so of me betters. The Lord Simon only hurt milady after their sire died. I dinna’ think he boasted the courage while the real Lord Olivet still breathed.”

  But, there were the emptied trunks, belongings tossed everywhere at random and destroyed. Swiftly the possible ramifications ran through Donovan’s mind.

  A woman, enraged with an unwanted fate, might easily have thrown a tantrum before running. To the convent? No! This made no sense. Yet…

  Had Isabeau sent Caitlin on a fool’s errand so she could affect her escape? Had she rallied her courage against being forced to wed? Only a fortnight ago, she had tried to make her way to the sanctuary of the convent walls, running from Simon—with good reason.

  She was smart enough then to manage her escape undetected. Had she taken advantage of the day’s festivities to make another disappearance in the confusion? What could she hope to accomplish except to anger her husband? Did she hope he would denounce her?

  A woman could appeal to the church for an annulment, but he had plenty of witnesses to say she spoke her vows willingly enough. A healer would examine her. She would be proved soon enough to be a wife, not a maid. The church would not—could not shield a woman from her husband, especially when her husband held the rank of earl.

  Why was he even thinking of this scenario? It would be a foolish plan. He would never repudiate Isabeau.

  He felt the frown ease from his brow when he remembered Isabeau’s brave determination to endure his “test.” He recalled the tremors of her first release at his hands, her expression of confusion and wonder. Isabeau had already given herself to him gloriously.

  There been no bout of virgin temerity; not when she had sought out her betrothed with seduction masked as a picnic. This wife was not frightened of the marriage bed’s secrets. Isabeau had not run!

  But where was she? He needed to alert his men, to search the castle.

  The great black beast, Jaffey, snuffled and pawed at the sagging velvet like a puppy deprived of its treat.

  Turning to leave the room, Donovan caught the reflection of sunlight on metal. He cocked his head. Tucked under the foot of the bed, nearly out of sight, he could see the blade of a well-oiled knife and crossed the room to pick it up. Immediately he recognized the twin of throwing knife he had pulled from a tree trunk only yesterday.

  Caitlin hissed when she saw what he held. “’Tis Lady Isabeau’s dagger. Praise God, the blade is clean. ‘Tis a good sign, is it not? She has not been cut.”

  “Not a dagger,” Donovan corrected absently, “but a special kind of knife. One carefully weighted for control when thrown.” He tossed the blade in air and watched it twirl before expertly catching the shiny weapon.

  “Lady Isabeau has a set of three her father gave her as a reward for her practice. I aided in her unpacking when we arrived at Bennington. She said she had offered you a challenge.”

  “Aye, she did,” he answered absently.

  “She was looking forward to showing you her skill. She said most men would not appreciate being bested by a woman but that you are made of sterner stuff.”

  He tossed the blade and caught it again. “Would a man not teach his son the same man’s skill he taught his daughter? You are sure Isabeau did not run away?” he asked Catlan softly. She had proved her courage but he did not want to chase it away. “You even suggest a villain might make it appear she had done so. What villain, Caitlin?” Donovan coaxed, though he thought he knew.

  In spite of his gentleness, the girl began to shake. Her eyes glistened with fear. “I should have spoken earlier.”

  “You gave me your pledge of fealty,” he reminded kindly. “What should you have told me?”

  “I thought it was only the demon of my dreams. If harm comes to milady, ‘twill be my fault.”

  Donovan moved to the door where she had backed in a weak attempt to escape whatever demons she saw in her mind’s eye. “What are you saying, Caitlin?”

  “Yesterday, just before milady found Dame Granya, I thought I spied him. I thought for a moment he came to fetch me back. ‘Twasn’t done with their plans for me, ye see. I convinced meself I saw a shadow. How could he be inside Bennington with ye not knowing?” Caitlin cast him a pleading look. “But now milady’s disappeared. I know ‘twas no shadow

  “Who, Caitlin?” He wanted to shake the answer from the rambling girl but knew if he added to her fear the words could become locked inside her. “Who took Isabeau? Who do you think took my wife?”

  “Lord Simon!” Caitlin practically screamed before burying her face in her palms. “Forgive me, my lord. I failed her and she has been nothin’ but kind to me.”

  “No harm has come yet.” Donovan silently prayed for the truth of his words. There was evidence of a struggle, but no blood; no body in the chamber.

  “No harm will come to Isabeau,” he reassured them both.

  “We will assume you did not see shadows. Somehow Lord Simon, like the snake he is, slithered within the bailey walls.”

  Caitlin whimpered.

  “With your information we will be fast on the trail.” Donovan tried to console the girl but he sorely lacked the practice. "Tell me about the shadow. Where did you see him? What was he wearing?”

  Jaffey whined and butted his head against Donovan’s thigh. The beast’s strength nearly knocked him off balance. ‘Twas a wonder Caitlin had stayed on her feet earlier. “What do you suppose this hell-hound knows of Isabeau?”

  The dog’s ears perked as he settled back on his haunches, waiting patiently for instruction, the brown eyes light with intelligence.

  Caitlin blinked back the tears she fought valiantly to control. “My lady swears the giant has more intelligence then most people.” She offered him a damp smile. “She said that ‘twas Jaffey who led her to you when you were downed by yer warhorse. Even before he acted the hero, she ordered that he be given the run of the castle.”

  “Jaffey!” Donovan commanded, “Find Isabeau!”

  “A Lady Isabeau,” Caitlin interrupted. She swallowed as if she realized her impertinence. “Felix the hounds-keeper has been teaching milady how to be with the dog.”

  Donovan did not bother to question but waved his hand at Caitlin, who in turn, made a hand motion to the dog. In a surprisingly strong voice she repeated her command .“Jaffey, a Lady Isabeau.”

  The dog barked once, circled a patch of floor. Donovangave a snort of disgust when, instead of heading for the stairs, the dog went straight to a center wooden panel in the wall. Donovan remembered the dog’s similar behavior on at least two other occasions. Then he saw a small piece of green fabric that appeared stuck between the wall and the floor.

  Isabeau’s wedding gown?

  The passage!

  How could he have forgotten its existence? He had only been through it once, when his father had shown him the secret.

  How did Simon know of it? If the bastard knew of the tunnel and made use of it recently, several things suddenly became quite clear.

  He found Caitlin at his back. “Get Sir Carstairs. Tell him to take twelve of the best men to the rock formation at the far edge of the west field. They are to follow the trail leading from the crevasse. Do you comprehend?”

  “Aye, my lord. Sir Carstairs is to take twelve men to the west field and follow the trail there,” she repeated carefully.

  “Good girl. Now, go!” He strode to an open chest and plucked a sword belt from the top. “And Caitlin…!”

  The girl slid to a stop, framed in the doorway, craned her neck. “My lord?”

  “Tell Carstairs to come heavily armed.”

  “Aye, my lord,” she called back as she raced from sight.

  Donovan fastened the weapon about his waist and drew the sword from the sheath.
He inspected the blade before glancing down at the dog. “Come, Jaffey. We have our lady to rescue.”

  Donovan strode to the panel, placed the point of his blade in a crack and slid it down the seam. A snick sounded just as the center panel popped forward just enough to afford a finger grip. He opened it wide. The tumble of clothing was just inside. Giving Jaffey the order for silence, he stepped into the shadows.

  “There’s vermin to purge,” he added in a low growl.

  His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness but he had experience with campaigns on moonless nights. He was not going to chance a lit taper revealing his position. Caitlin’s alarm may have given Donovan enough warning to capture Simon before he emerged from the other end of the tunnel. After all, Donovan was not the one burdened with an unwilling hostage.

  With his sword and hound at the ready, Donovan went hunting once more.

  C hapter 39

  The slanted sunlight, even baffled by the swaying tree branches, caused Isabeau to squint her eyes. After the tunnel, lit with a single candle, starlight would seem bright. She took in deep breaths, grateful for the fresher air. Simon’s odor in the confined space had added to the pitch and roll of her stomach.

  “Move.” Simon pushed her toward a gap in the underbrush.

  She blinked as she stumbled in the direction Simon indicated. Where were they? She intentionally went to her knees, one hand grabbing the wrist of Simon’s hand that held the knife while the other palm spread ground-ward to buffer the impact. Rather than let her pull him down, Simon loosened his hold on her clothing and let her fall.

  “Clumsy bitch,” he snarled. “You always did have the grace of a cow. Get up.”

  “I get worse when I am scared or nervous,” she reminded him while she slowly stood. Brushing the dirt and ashes from her hands she unhurriedly turned to face him. Her green wedding dress was torn. She’d heard it rip; caught in the sliding panel when Simon closed it. She’d brought part of the tunnel outside with her; dirt clinging to her hands and clothing. Still blinking, she hoped Simon would think her eyes were slow to adjust to the light. They were in a cave.

  Beyond the trees, Isabeau could see the bailey walls but their distance from them startled her. The trek through the tunnel brought them to the far side of the cleared land on the edge of the forest. The huge stones and trees concealed the cave’s exit from the watchers on top the castle towers. If she was foolish enough to test Simon’s will and wave towards Bennington, no one would see. She would have to think of another way to reveal their direction.

  Simon looked at the sky before scowling down at her. He had given himself a week to bring Isabeau to Kirney. Time was running out. He kicked dirt in her direction.

  “Get moving, wench. Someone eagerly waits for you.”

  “Who?”

  When Isabeau was too slow to move, Simon grabbed her hair and yanked her to her toes. She bit back the whimper of pain and then sucked in a breath when he touched his blade to her throat.

  “I will not fail this time,” Simon said. He was not answering her.

  “Fail?” Isabeau asked, though she spoke through an unmoving jaw. She felt the pin prick as the knife pierced her skin. “What plans -- could you -- possibly have that -- are worth -- bringing the wrath of Bennington down -- on your head?”

  Simon laughed as he pushed her forward. “Bennington? I doubt he will bother to come after you. Why would he? Do you think he wants another wife who wishes to avoid his bed? He will see your pledge ring and your hasty escape with a few clothes. Naturally, he will conclude that you ran, just as you did from Olivet.”

  Isabeau sucked in her breath. Her shoe was untied. It would fall off if she was not careful.

  “Did you think I would not find out about your pitiful attempt to escape? Where did you hope to go? Did you think to find sanctuary with the nuns at St. Ignatius? They would not have stood against me. I am your legal guardian.”

  He pushed her through the thinning brush, deeper into the forest. They soon came to a little-used path leading away from the castle. “I am your guardian,” he repeated. “You will go as I see fit.”

  “Not -- any longer. I am -- a married woman.”

  “Buh,” he said as he pushed for more speed. “The church will set aside an unconsummated union. Allyonshire will not gainsay it once you have been bedded by your true husband.”

  Ice ran through Isabeau’s blood. What did he mean true husband?

  “What have -- you done?” It was hard to keep pace with Simon as he pushed along the path.

  “I will see that you honor your prior wedding contract. Herzog is most anxious to initiate you into wedded bliss. He paid a fine price for his virgin bride and does not suffer rejection kindly. I told him his bride has tried to run from her fate. He is looking forward to dispensing the appropriate discipline.”

  “You are -- a fool,” she warned breathlessly.

  Humor crackled through Simon’s sly laugh. “Herzog will shut that smart mouth of yours. He loves the smell and taste of blood. Did I tell you? He has a real talent for inflicting pain. I will enjoy hearing the music of your screams. Perhaps he will employ the custom of a Royal Wedding. Kirney enjoys an audience to his debaucheries. Would he do any less when bloodying his lance in his virgin bride?”

  “You are -- too late.” Her words came out on ragged wisps of air. She stumbled in earnest as her slipper snagged on a fallen branch.

  “Nonsense.” Simon tilted his chin in the direction of the path. “Kirney knows nothing of your betrothal. He waits at the road to his holding. He may even have a priest at the ready. It matters not. I have signed the contract with him. When he takes you, you are as good as wed in the church’s eyes. ‘Tis the law.”

  “I am – already -- wed,” Isabeau forced the words through the fear drying her throat.

  “’Tis all in the bedding.”

  “Donovan is -- my husband. He has -- taken me to -- his bed.”

  Simon stopped so suddenly he jerked her head back where he still gripped her hair.

  “I do not believe you. The vows were spoken only this morn.”

  “Why do you think he rushed the wedding vows? I already carry the heir to Bennington Castle.”

  “Bitch! Whore!” Simon pushed her to the ground. “Why should I believe you? You would say anything to save your white hide.”

  “You were right when you said he did not want another reluctant bride.” Rocking back from her hands and knees, she rested on her bottom so she could look up at her tormentor. “He wanted to be sure that my body would accept his. Many times he explored my woman parts and I know well the part of him that attaches to my body to create a child. I know the pleasure the earl takes in emptying his seed into my womb.”

  “No!”

  She did not have time to move out of the way of his open-handed strike. The impact to her jaw brought white spots before her eyes.

  “Whore!”

  Isabeau rubbed her cheek. “Why would I lie? According to you, Lord Kirney will know the truth soon enough. What will he do when he knows he has taken his liege’s wife? Do you think he will let me live to give testimony against him? What will he do to us both when he knows your bargain is broken?”

  She wondered from where came her courage, her audacity to defy Simon. Since their father’s death, she had quietly endured her half-brother’s tyranny; found the strength to protect others, but not herself.

  But now she did defend another. With her body, she protected Donovan’s heir. Above all, she must protect Donovan’s child. She pressed her hand on her belly.

  Simon noticed the gesture and howled in frustration. “Damn you to hell, bitch.”

  Isabeau read his growing belief in his wild eyes. She also saw a terror beyond all fear unfold before her.

  “What do I do?” Dancing in place, Simon looked up the path then back the way they had come. “What do I do?” he repeated.

  He glanced once at the knife he still held, then at Isabeau. For a moment, s
he thought he would use the blade on her. Instead, he grabbed her hair again and dragged her to her feet.

  “Not in this place.” He spoke as if to himself. “I need time to think; to get away. Allyonshire need never know I was here.”

  They retraced the path only a short time before Simon hauled her down a faint fork. Isabeau limped. She had lost her slipper. Thin branches slashed at her while she did her best to shield her face and remain on her feet. Simon was desperate enough to kill her if she fell to the ground again.

  “This is all Allyonshire’s fault,” Simon panted his words as they made fast time down the narrow trail. “Why does he still live? Did he not drink his nightly wine? The powder worked well enough on the brat.”

  “What -- are you saying?”

  “The powder stuck well enough on the candied nuts that the brat enjoyed. Perhaps the wine diluted it too well?”

  Comprehension chilled Isabeau’s bones. She pulled back strongly enough to stop her brother. “Are you speaking of Christian? They said fever took Christian.. You murdered him? A child? A baby?”

  “He was in the way. My son should be the next earl. I worked hard enough planting my seed in the countess’s belly.” He spoke no more but jerked Isabeau forward until they came to a small clearing near the mouth of the same cave. The narrow path must have been a short cut.

  Isabeau tamped down on her trembling. She needed to remain calm, to think with clarity. “But Syllba was Marta’s…”

  Simon looked down at her as he slowed and led her towards the dark opening. “You know of Marta’s -- affection? I found the knowledge quite profitable. The countess could refuse me nothing. She would do anything rather than have her preferences revealed. I would allow her visits to Syllba. In return she accepted my seed. She would even meet me here and act the whore she was. I wonder which she hated more, taking a man into her body or stripping down and groveling on the ground as I pounded into her.” He continued to pull her towards the cave as he bragged of his conquest.

  “I cared not that she hated my touch. What mattered was the babe in her belly. All would have been well, but she began to suspect what had happened to Allyonshire’s get. She was going to tell all. She should have seen reason…”