Catherine shot a glance through the door. In the gray light of dawn, she could see the courtyard, and a part of the outbuilding where the kitchens must be located.
And she could see a sprightly gelding standing with a little donkey beside a stone watering trough. They were both saddled, and--more important--they were unattended. The heavens were indeed smiling on her.
Putting her head down, Catherine moved swiftly through the open door and across the rain-softened ground of the courtyard. Looking neither right nor left, she strode quickly to the gelding and tossed the reins over its head. All she needed to do was to climb up onto this horse, and make the dash across the courtyard and through the arched passageway to freedom.
Taking one quick look around as she threw the leather bag across the steed’s neck, she could see that the only people between her and that open arch were a half dozen men and boys working on horses by the stables. She could make it, she thought joyfully. By the saints, she would make it!
Stepping onto a stone mounting block, Catherine had both hands on the saddle when she found herself being pulled backwards by two meaty pairs of hands.
“I do not think we’ll be going, just yet,” one growled.
“Get the bag,” a voice commanded.
Trying to keep her feet under her as they hauled her across the courtyard, Catherine struggled against their hold, but she didn’t dare make a sound. From their rough handling, she had a sudden thought that perhaps they hadn’t discovered her identity. Perhaps they were simply taking her off to a dungeon. After all, she’d been caught trying to steal a horse. Her hopes continued to rise as she was dragged into the lodge through a door she hadn’t seen before.
Her eyes were slow to adjust to the dark, but to calm her fears, she kept reminding herself that she was shrewd, she was fierce, she had a purpose. She would find a way to escape any prison John Stewart might build. At least, she was not being forced to marry the man against her will.
“Just as I expected.”
Catherine’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and she found Athol’s fierce eyes staring down at her. It took all her strength to keep her knees from buckling beneath her weight as she felt the steely hands release her.
“Begin, priest.”
CHAPTER 4
What the hell had he done?
Glancing at the backs of his two men as they trailed the obstinate woman out of the Great Hall, John Stewart’s brow creased into a deep frown. By St. Andrew, what madness had overtaken him to force this poor lass to go through with such a wedding?
Rudely dressed in the borrowed tartan, Catherine Percy had been surly but silent throughout the ceremony--until the priest addressed her. But then, like a she-devil, she’d come to life, caterwauling like some eldritch creature over the infamy of such a wedding. At that point, however, Athol’s patience had crumbled like dried parchment. His grip on her arm had been strong enough to break a bone, though she’d hardly acknowledged it at all. She’d simply glared fearlessly at him, her midnight blue eyes blazing with reproach.
And they’d continued. She’d been left with no options. She’d been given no choice.
Ignoring the priest who was edging along the wall toward the door, Athol sank into his chair at the dais. So much for the trust that her family had placed in his hands! So much for the protection he’d promised to give. He ran a weary hand over his face. Well, she was safe, and she would continue to be--that was all he’d agreed to. What’s done is done!
Staring into the fire crackling in the huge open hearth, John Stewart cursed his foolish temper. He’d been so riled after discovering Ellen with that thieving escort of his ward--his wife, he corrected himself--that he’d been about to burst with the need to strike out. But with the two vile creatures already gone, Catherine Percy had been the only one left. God knows, obstinate as she appeared to be, she probably didn’t deserve marriage to him.
John Stewart had never been fool enough to think the imminent union between him and Ellen was a love match. She’d been his mistress in recent years, and as far as he could surmise, she’d had a healthy appetite for other men before they’d met. But what he’d never suspected was that she would be discontented with his generous offer of marriage. She was from a good family, true. But as far as her prospects for marriage, his name and his wealth were certainly superior to anything she would have ever hoped for elsewhere.
He stretched his legs toward the fire and squeezed his eyes shut. But what had he been thinking tonight? This was all a mistake, that he was certain of! And wasn’t it just his luck? Nay, he thought, cursing his temper. It wasn’t just Fortune’s wheel that had married him to Catherine Percy, a woman with the same scrupulous virtues as his cousin, Susan MacIntyre.
When the dowager brought Susan up to the Highlands more than six months ago with the intention of marrying the lass to him, he’d been appalled at his mother’s choice. The fact that she was a dour-faced prude had not been Athol’s only objection to the young woman. She had no life in her, no interest with anything beyond her damned needlework. By the devil, she didn’t even like to hunt! He’d known old nuns with more blood in their veins. Nay, she was not the woman for him.
So he’d erred a bit in judgment. Asking for the hand of Ellen Crawford hadn’t been the best of choices, either. But if the time had come that he was to be pressured into taking a wife, at least it could be someone that he would enjoy in bed.
Athol rose abruptly to his feet and strode to the fire. But that was all, he thought, before he’d known the truth about Adam of the Glen.
The devil take the man! A bastard brother! So much for the ideal marriage he’d thought his parents had been blessed with. But what was most amazing was the fact that the dowager had somehow kept the secret for all these years. That, in itself, gave Athol a completely different view of his mother’s power.
But why had she withheld the truth from him? He knew of dozens of bastard children being raised in the households of their noble fathers. So why was this Adam treated as an exception? But more important, what claim was this devil trying to establish by raiding his lands?
There was a great deal that his mother had left to explain. Using her frail health as an excuse, the dowager had refused to say any more, simply closing her eyes. But Athol had drawn his own conclusions. As little as it was that she had told him, at least he now had a trail to follow.
The sound of his warrior’s footsteps at the doorway of the hall drew Athol’s attention. Thomas, the captain of his warriors, wasn’t trying to hide the pleased expression as he crossed to the fireplace.
“Aye, Tosh.” Athol growled. “Did you swallow the yellow bird whole, or did you chew it a few times?”
“Well, m’lord, to be truthful, I think we’ve only just got a glimpse of the bird, but the men are ready to move anytime you are. Davie’s just come back from that wee spit of a village they call Knockandhu.”
“And what word does he bring?”
“He says he found a few of the old folk there whose memories might be jogged...if you yourself were to put the questions to them.”
Athol nodded his approval, but then stared at the blackened ceiling--where he knew, in a chamber above, a terrified woman sat waiting. Tosh stood and watched him, patiently awaiting his instructions.
“First,” the earl said finally, “send one of the men to Balvenie with news of my marriage. My mother should know.”
“D’ye want him to spread the news as he goes, m’lord?”
“Nay! I want to make sure the Englishwoman is a wee bit more settled to her newly acquired station before we give her a chance to insult her people. Oh, and have someone speak to the priest. I want the marriage recorded properly, but he is to keep mum about the whole affair until I decide to make things known.”
Despite his hasty action, Athol wasn’t about to announce his marriage. Until his new wife was safely and snugly ensconced behind the walls of Balvenie Castle, he wasn’t going to risk her life unnecessarily. N
ay, he decided, his mother’s inference that the outlaw would end his mayhem as soon as Athol had a wife and an heir to succeed him made no sense.
But it didn’t really matter. The truth was, Athol didn’t want the man to back off. He wanted him out there, roaming the fields where he could be caught.
A bastard brother he might be, but as far as John Stewart was concerned, Adam of the Glen could grace a gallows as prettily as any lowborn thief.
****
Balvenie Castle, grim and forbidding, was a formidable-looking prison.
Catherine stared through the mist and the rain at the ominous, gray structure. Suddenly, her mount reared its head, jerking the reins in her hands, and the young woman felt a swift, hot bolt of anger shoot through her.
A forced marriage! A madman for a husband! Welcome to the far side of civilization. No wonder her mother had left these lands so long ago and never looked back!
Well! The earl of Athol was in for an unpleasant surprise. Catherine Percy had no intention of ever becoming a willing bride. She felt her spirits lighten a bit as they neared the arched opening into the castle’s courtyard. The man didn’t have a clue about her strength--about her perseverance. It would actually be pleasurable to dream of ways to torment the earl of Athol. She would get him for what he’d done and more. And she would get free of him. But first, she needed to focus on and assess the nature of her prison.
Near the front of the line of warriors Athol had assigned to escort her to the castle, a horse slipped on the muddy, narrow track. Knocking the legs from under the next horse, the beast started an avalanche of man and horseflesh down the slick incline. Catherine peered through the sheets of rain at the angry men and the terrified horses struggling to their feet at the base of the hill. It was the third time since leaving the hunting lodge this morning that such an incident had occurred. For the third time, no one appeared to have been hurt.
Amid the men’s shouting and the slow efforts to bring the wild-eyed steeds and their surly riders up from the gully, Catherine sat quietly and stared at the crenellated walls and the corner towers. The great iron portcullis had been drawn up, and a handful of stable workers were trudging down through the rain and the mud toward the party.
The great stone castle stood on a hill at the junction of two long glens. The high curtain wall was surrounded by sloping stone walls and a deep ditch that bristled with ancient pointed stakes. Catherine was certain it must be a formidable looking place on the best of days. But today, with the gusts of wind and rain stinging her face and the horses slipping and balking with every step, she thought it was easily the bleakest, most forbidding place she’d ever seen.
The line of warriors began to move again up the narrow path. As she crossed the plank bridge that spanned the ditch, she passed the first of the stable men. One lad peered up at her, dark red hair plastered on a dirty, freckled forehead, but said nothing and took hold of her mare’s bridle, clucking and encouraging the animal up the last few yards of the incline.
The passage into the inner yard was dark, but in a moment Catherine joined the crowd of jostling men and horses in the stone-cobbled courtyard.
Across from the thatch-roofed stables that huddled along one of the castle walls, servants stood peering out of the smoking doorways of what were certainly kitchens and a brew house. The well crouched in the center of the cobbled yard, and at the far end, a three-story stone building dominated the courtyard, looking as ancient and as solid as any of the Highland’s craggy peaks.
Catherine drew in a deep breath and waved off the proffered hand of the red haired stable lad. Dismounting, she tried to wipe away some of the mud and rain that she knew covered her face. Her travel clothes were a mess, and she was soaked through to the skin. She stood motionless as the horses were taken off to the stables.
A thin, ancient servant, drenched as well just from crossing the yard, approached her. The steward, no doubt, she decided. She glanced only briefly at his face, which was as gloomy and inhospitable as the castle itself. With only a low, mumbled greeting, he took her by the elbow, leading her across the yard and up the wooden stairs into the Great Hall of the earl of Athol.
If Catherine had expected anything of a greeting, the absolute lack of interest in her arrival stunned her. While the servants at the hunting lodge at Corgarff had bustled about, making Ellen Crawford and the rest of the travelers comfortable, here at Balvenie Castle not a hand was raised in welcome. Left standing inside the door of the Great Hall, Catherine simply waited in vain for some sign--for any sign--of hospitality.
The Great Hall itself was a fine, old-fashioned chamber with some green and gold wall hangings and a number of tapestries of French design covering the various walls. At the far end of the hall, a huge hearth yawned behind a dais, and trestle tables and benches formed a large square around the open center. Rushes covered the floor and a few old dogs lay curled up in the corners and under benches. Aside from the tapestries, the walls were adorned with the heads and antlers of a huge assortment of animals, hanging alongside weapons she could not even identify.
But the oddest thing, Catherine thought, listening to the water drip off of her clothes into the rushes at her feet, was that there was not a soul in the hall. Though the fireplace was prepared with great logs for a fire, no one had even bothered to light it. There were no serving folk preparing for the night’s meal, no crofters or warriors waiting to speak with the earl’s steward or administrators, no clerks busy at the benches. The Great Hall of Balvenie Castle was cold and empty and silent.
For the first time today, Catherine felt like crying. Feeling the chill of the Hall settling into her bones, Catherine shuddered at the incredible sense of emptiness she was suddenly feeling.
But the time for such sentiments was short-lived, for a grunt from the steward brought her head around. Behind the thin old man a short, heavyset servant wearing an unceasingly perplexed look on his face was carrying her travel chest and the rest of the meager possessions she’d brought along.
“Have you no serving woman coming along to wait on you?”
“Nay, but I can look after myself.”
“We’ll just see about that,” the steward grumbled, starting toward the arched entry into a round stair tower, his porter on his heels. “This way.”
Seeing no purpose in objecting--the Great Hall certainly offered no comforts--Catherine silently followed the two men up the stone steps. The dark, narrow corridor that greeted them on the next floor was hardly a surprise. It was as dismal as what she’d seen below.
Catherine followed them past a number of oak, ironbound doors that she assumed must lead to the quarters of the earl and his family. At the far end of the corridor, the two men turned into a seemingly endless gallery that she assumed must be above the kitchens and the brewhouse. Finally, they reached another narrower corridor, and the two men turned into an open door. Catherine stopped and backed up to allow an old woman carrying a basket half full of firewood to step out first. The serving woman’s bleary eyes traveled up and down as she appraised Catherine’s wet and disheveled condition. Finally, the old woman simply shook her head and, clucking like an old hen, disappeared along the semidarkness of the corridor.
Catherine looked down and ran a hand over her wet skirts. Soaked and covered with mud, she was a sorry sight indeed.
“Jean, one of the serving lasses, will be up to see to your needs.”
Catherine looked up and met the steward’s cool gaze. The other man had already wordlessly dumped her things inside the room and was heading back down the hall in the direction that they’d come.
“And Mistress Susan sends word she’ll be coming to see you, as well, before supper.”
Catherine simply nodded. She was cold, tired, and miserable. But clearly, that meant nothing to this dismal-looking man who was very plainly disappointed with his master’s choice in a wife. His face still creased in a frown, the steward finally turned to go.
Catherine waited until the steward disapp
eared down the hall before stepping toward her chamber. Obviously, now that he had her inside the castle’s curtain walls, the earl of Athol had little fear of her escaping. There were no guards posted in the corridor. No bar or lock on the door. Apparently, she was free to roam the keep.
As she looked up and down the corridor, the absolute stillness of the place only added to the chill that had settled into her bones. Resisting the urge to fight against anything and everything she was expected to do, Catherine forced herself across the threshold of the small chamber.
Her time would come, she reminded herself. Catherine pushed the door shut behind her and leaned heavily against it as she gazed about the room. Well, she thought with a sigh of relief, at least they hadn’t put her in his chamber.
A tiny, new-lit fire flickered in a low, narrow hearth, and the room was still cold and damp. The wooden shutter on the window would surely do nothing to keep out the wet, whistling wind. The plastered walls of the small chamber were free of any hangings, and the simple, narrow bed lacked a canopy or any curtain that might add even the slightest refinement or comfort to the sparsely furnished room. Catherine let her eyes take an inventory of all that surrounded her. Other than the bed, a small chest and a single stool were the only other pieces of furniture.
But she was used to this, she thought, pushing herself away from the door and walking toward her belongings by the fire. The years of happiness and comfort she’d been blessed with for nearly all of her childhood had abruptly ended when her father had been branded a traitor to his king. Living the life of a fugitive with her sisters and her mother, Catherine had learned long ago how to make do with what she had--and to seek happiness in her dreams. Dreams of a better future. And in dreams and plans of teaching all she’d learned in a school of her own.
Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) Page 4