Colette backed away from him, scanning the room for something she might use as a weapon. The man, however, did not appear to be a threat. In truth, he seemed to be scanning the room himself, looking for some manner of escape. He pressed hard against the door as if he could somehow push his way through the lock. He was an ungainly lad, with long arms and legs, unruly brown hair, and glinting dark eyes.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a bold voice.
“Wheesht!” The lad held up a hand as if to quiet her.
“You will tell me who you are at once,” she said in a tone that brooked no opposition.
“Aye,” he whispered. “Only keep yer voice down, m’lady. I am Cormac MacLean.”
“Well, Monsieur MacLean, I know why I am locked into this room, but why are you?”
“I dinna intend to get locked in the room, did I? I was merely trying to…” And here his already soft voice lowered to such a low tone that Colette could no longer hear him.
“I beg your pardon?”
He stepped toward her, his eyes darting from side to side as if afraid that the walls might overhear. “I wished to read a book,” he whispered with great significance.
A book? Shocking indeed. From the look on his face, he might as well have admitted to a heinous crime or a mortal sin. “What book are you reading?”
“I dinna get the chance to begin. I’d only seen it in the room when we first came. But when I came today to try to steal a look, I found it destroyed.” He pointed toward the fireplace. Stepping toward the hearth, Colette saw the remnants of several leather book covers.
“Who would burn a book?” she cried, truly outraged. Everyone knew books were highly prized and of great value. Even if Red Rex was not the reading kind, and this was no surprise to Colette, he did strike her as motivated by profit. It was shocking he would burn something he could sell at a high price.
“My father hates books,” sighed the young man.
“Your father? Your father is Red Rex?”
Cormac MacLean shrugged. “Aye, my sire is Red Rex.”
“But you…” It was Colette’s turn to have her voice trail off into nothing. She wished to ask if the lad was certain as to his parentage because his lanky frame was so much different from his monstrous father.
“I ken I dinna look much like my father,” admitted the lad with another sigh. “’Tis not uncommonly remarked upon.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you take after your mother’s side of the family,” said Colette, trying to be of help to the dejected lad before her.
“Aye, my father accuses me of it often, as if I could choose a different form. Truth is, I have it on good authority I am his son. My mother was even married to him,” he added as if it made it only worse.
“Is your mother with you?” Colette asked, hoping to find a sympathetic soul.
“Nay, she was a fragile thing and died bringing me into the world. I was raised by monks and taught to read, but my father says all that reading while I was growing up made me scrawny. I came to sneak just a chapter or two, but it seems my father anticipated me and destroyed the books.”
Colette stared at the ashes. She already felt for Red Rex such a vehement hatred that it was hard for her opinion of him to sink lower—but it did. Burning books was unforgivable. Most of the books had been burned beyond recognition but there was one leather cover she recognized.
“This one I know. I read it many times,” commented Colette.
“Did ye?” Cormac’s eyes grew large, and he took another step toward her, but far from being intimidating, he now appeared more like an eager puppy, wanting a go at some new toy. “Do ye remember the story?”
“Yes, of course. It was one of my favorites.”
“Could ye tell me?”
Colette surveyed him, a new plan emerging. “I could. But I wonder if you might be able to help me as well.”
Cormac’s countenance fell. “If ye’re going to ask me to help ye escape from my father, dinna bother. I canna do it. My life would be forfeit. He’s been looking for a reason to kill me and that would be more than enough.”
“I cannot believe a man would kill his own son.” The words were out of her mouth before she remembered of whom she was speaking. A man who burned books was capable of anything.
Cormac raised an eyebrow and Colette knew he was right. She couldn’t help herself; she felt sorry for the young man. “Fine, do not help me. Just promise not to stand in my way.”
The man shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what I do most o’ the time anyway.”
“Good. But do you know a way out of the tower? For I imagine you would not wish to be here when your father returns.”
Cormac made a strangled sound. “Nay, that would be fatal.” He looked around the room once more until his eyes fixed on the door and a smile came to his face. “Aye, it will be easy enough. Remove the hinges and the door will fall off.”
“Can this be done? Can you take the door off the hinges?”
The man narrowed his eyes at her, and for the first time, she could see the likeness between him and his wretched father. “I could…”
“I shall tell you the story while you work,” Colette said to entice him.
Cormac smiled. “Aye, ’tis a deal.”
Colette returned the smile. “La Chanson de Roland.”
Thirty-seven
The plan was sheer madness. It had seemed like a good idea—in truth, it seemed like the only idea—but now, rolling along as the sun was setting, Gavin feared the plan was going to end quite badly. The risks were irrelevant, however, since it was their only hope to free Colette. He held tight to his sword. This had to work.
The wagon rattled along until he feared his teeth might shake free. He wished to move to a more comfortable position, but he was shoulder to shoulder with the other men hidden in the false bottom they had quickly constructed in the wagon. The Mackenzie master of arms was on his left side, and the son of the slain Laird Mackenzie was on his right. A few other warriors packed them in, tight and hot in the small, dark space. They had incorporated another wagon as well, dividing the dowry and trying to make it look larger while concealing more men.
The wagons slowed to a halt. “We bring the dowry o’ Lady Marie Colette,” cried the driver, chosen for the role as being an older member of the party and less threatening. “Send forth Lady Marie Colette, and ye may have yer reward.”
“Give us the goods, or we’ll cut the verra life from ye!” The shouts of the ruffians grew louder as they charged the wagons.
The driver kicked the wagon twice. It was the signal. They expected foul play, and the men of Red Rex did not disappoint. The plan was for the drivers to jump down from the carts and run away. So far, it sounded like all was going according to plan. But would the thieves bring the wagons into the courtyard?
All was quiet for a few minutes. Sweat ran down Gavin’s forehead from the heat of the confined space. He longed to break free but held quiet. A few shouts were heard as the thieves climbed through the wagons, exclaiming over the riches they had found. Ironic that Gavin had often tried to convince Lady Colette to travel with fewer possessions, but now he was grateful they had at least something left to tempt the thieves.
With another shout, the wagons once again began to roll. The gates were opened with a loud squawk, and the wagons rattled on the cobblestones of the gatehouse. They were being brought into the walls of the castle.
* * *
Colette snuck down the darkened spiral staircase, keenly aware of the slightest sound. The sun had set, casting the castle into deep shadow, lit only by an occasional torch. She hoped the dark would ease her escape, but the black shadows only increased her anxiety. Her heart was beating so loudly she feared it would give her away.
She had managed, with help from the son of Red Rex and her rendition of the Song of Roland, to esca
pe from the bedchamber. Yet now she was at a loss as to how to escape the rest of the castle. Her unlikely benefactor, once he had managed to remove the door from its hinges, had merely saluted her and wandered off, not getting in her way but not helping her either. She should not have been ungrateful, but she did believe her inspired version of the Song of Roland had earned her a little more assistance.
The sounds of feasting came from the great hall. She hoped they were all passed out, drunk as sin, thus facilitating her escape. At the bottom of the stairs, she paused at the doorway. The door was not locked, but she did not know what was on the other side. Somehow, she needed to make it out the door, across the courtyard, and out the gate without anyone noticing her. She lifted a prayer and gathered her courage.
She opened the great wooden door a crack, peeking outside. She could see little in the dimly lit corridor. She opened the door farther, but only stone walls greeted her. She slunk into the corridor, picking up her skirts to prevent them from brushing against the stone floor. She had dressed that morning with the expectation of meeting her new husband, not with the anticipation that she would have to sneak through the castle without being seen or heard. She had always prided herself on being appropriately dressed for any situation, but her burgundy velvet gown was only a hindrance in her current plight.
The sound of voices rolled down the corridor, and she pressed herself into a dark corner to avoid being seen. She prayed she would not be discovered, but the voices grew ever closer as her heart beat against her rib cage harder and harder. The voices grew louder with every step she took until she realized they were coming right at her. She pressed herself against the cold, dark wall and held her breath, praying she would not be found.
Three men walked past, laughing at a crude joke and already stumbling from an excess of drink, even though the night was young. They passed her without notice and gradually the voices faded away. It felt like an eternity before she could no longer hear them, and she finally took a breath, gasping for air.
“I wondered how long ye could go wi’out breathing,” said a cold voice from behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.
She was face-to-face with Red Rex.
* * *
The hardest part about the plan was waiting. Gavin took a stifled breath, trying to suppress the growing feeling of being buried alive. He knew for the plan to work they needed to wait until the thieves and ruffians had lost interest in the wagons and sought more interesting sport. From the state of the men Gavin had seen that morning, he knew the whiskey ran freely and would win half the battle for them if they were patient.
Yet he also knew that somewhere in the castle, Marie Colette was alone, unprotected, and in danger at every moment. Gavin’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Any man who laid a finger on his wife would die, starting with that bastard Red Rex.
He tried to calm his mind, but all that came to mind was Colette in danger, and he was lying there doing nothing to save her. They must sneak out at some point, but when? How would he know when to spring the trap?
Lord, give me a sign. Help me to know when to act.
A panicked scream shattered the quiet of the night.
It was Colette.
* * *
Colette jumped in fright, staring up at the gleaming eyes of the warlord. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound would emerge.
“Coud’na wait to see me? Felt neglected, did ye?” Red Rex mocked her.
His mockery subdued her fear with anger. “I am the daughter of the duc de Bergerac. You will release me at once,” demanded Colette, though she knew it was a pointless command. She needed to speak now, before she lost all courage.
“Ye’ll learn to stay where I put ye. Ye belong to me now.” He sneered down at her, menacing in his sheer size and the coldness of his voice. He released her and pointed to the door that led back up to the tower bedchamber. She knew there was little point in resisting. Rex was a monstrously large man. There was no way to overpower him or outrun him.
Most unwillingly, she walked up the stairs, back to her prison. He followed along behind, his thunderous footsteps echoing off the stone stairs behind her, sending slivers of fear through her.
He stopped at the door propped up against the wall. “Ye’re more clever than I gave ye credit.” He glared at her. “I dinna care for wenches what thinks themselves above their place.” He backed her into the bedchamber and easily lifted the heavy oak door, slamming it back on its hinges with a bang that made her jump.
She scanned the room for some way to subdue the barbarian before her. It was pointless.
“Wenches are good fer only one thing, and it’s time ye found out what that is.” He strode toward her with a sickening smile.
Her heart pounded and her breath came in gasps. Fear gripped her, strangling her with its power. She backed away from the warlord, desperately trying to think of some way to escape. “If it is money you seek, my father will pay more with the assurance that I am untouched.”
“Then I’ll be sure to tell that to yer father.” He took one large stride toward her and grabbed her shoulders with both hands.
She screamed with all her might. It may be a useless gesture, but she would not relent without a fight.
“Shut up!” Rex raised his hand to strike, but suddenly a loud bang stopped him in his tracks. His eyes crossed, and he fell to the floor unconscious.
Colette stared at the large heap of Red Rex on the floor, confused as to what had happened until she noted Cormac, holding a frying pan.
“Is he…” she asked, looking at Rex.
“Och, he’s no’ dead. Got the hardest head o’ any Highlander what ever lived. But swiftly now if ye wish to escape.”
“Thank you, but why are you doing this for me?” she asked as she followed him out of the room and down the stone stairs.
“I’ve been thinking o’ what Roland would do. He’d ne’er cower before his father. Ye told a good tale, m’lady,” praised Cormac, leading her through a corridor until he reached a cluttered storeroom at the bottom of one of the towers, with a side door leading to the courtyard outside. Vaguely, strange, muffled noises could be heard coming from the courtyard, and she hoped this time she could escape the castle unnoticed.
“Thank you for helping me. I cannot begin to say how much I appreciate it,” said Colette warmly.
Cormac waved off her thanks. He peeked out the door and turned back to her with a small smile. “I wager ye’ve been telling stories yer entire journey, including some ancient tales from Greece, am I correct?”
“Yes, but how did you know?”
Cormac shrugged but gave no explanation. “I believe I shall go hunting today. Probably be gone for a while before I return. Whatever happens, I would request one boon from ye.”
“Name it.”
“I wish to hear yer version of that Trojan horse.” He gave her a sly smile, slung a bow over one shoulder, and casually strolled out the tower door, leaving Colette to ponder what to do next. Though unsure what adventures awaited for her outside the door, Colette was certain she would fare better with a bow in her hand.
Within the storeroom, supplies had been tossed about, and all manner of weaponry littered the floor in a haphazard manner. She stepped gingerly over several spears and picked up a bow and quiver of arrows. She had limited practice with the bow, but she had seen it shot many times. This was a different bow than she was used to, but how hard could it be to pull back on a string?
Just as she was wondering how she would manage to sneak across the courtyard, shouts erupted from the courtyard. At first, she thought Cormac had given the alarm as to her escape, but the sudden clanging of steel on steel made her realize a battle was at hand. She nocked an arrow and opened the door a sliver to peek outside. A battle was raging between a small but fierce band of Highlanders and the warlord’s men. She scanne
d the men until she found him.
It was Gavin, fighting bravely. He had come back for her! How Gavin and his men had gotten past the gates or even who these men were, she did not know, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.
She attempted to pull back on her bowstring but found it surprisingly hard to do. With great effort, she pulled back on her bow, but the arrow slipped and fell to the ground instead of flying through the air. Determined not to give up, she nocked another arrow and pulled back only to have her elbow grabbed, swinging her around.
Red Rex snarled down at her, grabbing her bow and throwing it to the floor. “Ye’re becoming most inconvenient. Let’s see how much trouble ye can cause after I’ve broken yer face.” He grabbed her shoulder and slung her up against a stone wall. She screamed and tried to pull away, but he easily held her fast. He raised his massive clenched fist above her. He was so large, she feared he could kill her with a single blow.
“Let her go!” Gavin charged in the room, swinging his sword at Red Rex.
The warlord threw her to the ground, quickly drawing his own broadsword, the ring of steel on steel reverberating in her ears. “I was a fool to let ye live, boy,” snarled Rex, the spittle flying from his mouth. “I winna make that mistake again.”
Gavin did not waste his energy in conversation with the warlord. He ran between Colette and Red Rex, protecting her. “Run!” he commanded, but she grabbed her bow.
Gavin could not protest; he was too busy defending himself from the attacks coming from the warlord in a furious wave. Red Rex attacked him as a man possessed, and Gavin defended valiantly, backing out of the storeroom, into a corridor. Gavin was quick and light on his feet, which was fortunate since the blows came fast, each one intended to kill. Red Rex was a master swordsman, clearly benefitting from a lifetime of practice in the warrior arts.
Colette nocked an arrow and tried to find a clear shot, but the men circled and scrambled about, making it impossible to shoot without the risk of hitting Gavin. Red Rex backed them both out of the storeroom, into the corridor and up a spiral stone staircase, leading to one of the towers. She sprinted up several stone steps, so she could have a better vantage and take her mark.
The Highlander's Bride Page 27