The Knight's Bride

by Stone, Lyn

  The child awoke and blinked up at her when Honor hugged her a bit too fiercely. “I shall find us a home, dearling, never you fear. No kine-thieving highlandman will steal you from me, my lambkin. Never, so long as I live!”

  Once in the tunnel, Honor hurried through the absolute darkness, trailing her free hand along the wet stone walls, feeling loose rubble crunch underfoot. She felt no fear of either the darkness or what lay ahead. It could bode no worse than what she had left behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alan wrestled with his conscience the whole day long. He barked orders more sharply than his uncle Angus had ever done. He watched his troops—villagers and crofters unused to a harsh lord—struggle to hold their courage in the face of his fury as he put them through their paces. Weaklings, he called them. Grass crunching conies.

  They shamed him with their cheerful acceptance of his taunts and their doubled efforts to please. But that shame held a poor light to the self-reproach he already bore.

  Time and again he assured himself that he’d had no choice in the matter of Honor’s comeuppance. She deserved to weep. She deserved to worry. Why, then, did it twist his heart into knots to think of her doing so? Soft, he’d become. Soft as parrich.

  He had promised to take away her child, her wee Kit, whom she loved more than her own life. Bitter justice, he concluded. Better that Honor should have considered what her wicked dissembling might incur before she had acted. Would Tavish not have done the same had she confessed her lies to him?

  Nay, not in ten thousand years, his inner voice answered.

  “Hell and damnation,” Alan swore under his breath. He looked up and realized the menfolk staggered with exhaustion because he had completely forgotten to call halt to the sword practice. They dragged their wooden blades in the dirt, then hefted them up with sluggish thrusts. Sweat poured from their brows and stained their sarks.

  “Cease!” he shouted. And contritely added, “Well done, lads!” He waited until they dispersed and then slowly headed for the keep.

  Honor had not appeared for the noon meal. Not surprising, he thought. She surely felt keen shame now that he knew her for a liar. And likely dread, as well, that he would take the babe from her too soon.

  Mayhaps he should admit to her now that he would wait a year to do so. Or two. Kit would need her that long, surely. He would make it three to be on the side of safety. Infants thrived best with their own mams, he was sure of it. Three was not such a great age, four might be better. Who knows, by that time, Honor might well have learned the value of truth.

  People could change. He had done so and right quickly. He almost never lapsed into his highland speech now, Alan thought with pride. Not unless he was somehow vexed or did it apurpose. Honor could be different if she tried. Surely she would see that she must, given the alternative.

  He would go and tell Honor that now, so she would not sicken herself with tears all day. He would give her a goal to work for and she would be happier, knowing the reward in store.

  Alan hated thinking how much he longed to see her smile again. A false smile it would be if directed at him. He cursed himself for craving it all the same. Perhaps with time, he could make it real.

  “Sir Alan,” Nanette cried across the hall as he entered. “I must speak with you! Now!”

  “Pray wait, lass,” Alan stalled, and kept a steady course for the solar. “I have urgent business with your lady.”

  “Oh, but she is not here! That is what I was about to tell you!”

  “What do you mean, not here?” Alan asked, his gaze darting hither and yon. Everyone stopped what they were doing and regarded him with wary looks. Nan glanced toward the stairs that led to the kitchens and on down to the cells below.

  “Where is she?” Then he sighed loud and long, his lips tightening with frustration. “She has locked herself in a makeshift cell, like Hume’s, I’ll wager! Aye, courting sympathy. Choosing her own punishment so that I’ll relent and not take—”

  “Non, she has not!” Nan whined as she tugged at his sleeve. “She took Christiana and she has gone away!”

  He stared at the scrawny, pinch-mouthed female. Her dark eyes were pitch cauldrons, roiling with worry. “Gone? Where, woman? Where did she go?” Alan demanded.

  Nanette released his sleeve and wrung her hands together. His eyes fastened on her soft white claws, amazed that she had dared to touch him at all. She had never liked him, this one. Had she conspired to secret Honor and Kit away, somewhere out of his reach? He leveled her with his most fearsome look. Were all French women as devious as his wife?

  Nanette’s nasal voice cut into his troubled thoughts. “I know not where she is now! She came out soon after you quit the solar. Just after dawn. She took the babe from my arms.” Nan paused, shaking her head sadly. “She acted strangely, so I meant to leave her to her thoughts. All the day I thought she had retired to the solar. When I went to take her food this eve and relieve her of the child, neither of them was anywhere to be found. I am so worried! Why would she do this?”

  Alan knew very well why. He clasped her shoulders and gave her a shake. “You have searched the whole keep?”

  Nanette sucked in a breath and held it for a space, then blew it out in a rush. “And the bailey. David believes she must have crept out the bolt-hole. The door was ajar and the provisions moved aside.”

  “What!” Alan thundered, furious as hell. God only knew what mischief would assail her outside the wall! “David!”

  The guard came running.

  “Why did you not tell me immediately she left, eh?” Alan yanked the fellow off his feet by the front of his sark and shook him.

  “We...we only found her gone th’ noo!” David stuttered. “She musta...nay, had to o’ left when she came to th’ kitchens this morn. She tricked me away from ma guardin’, sir! Tol’ me ta see ta th’ spit boy and then—”

  “Never mind that! Have ye sent anyone after her?”

  “Nay, there’s no’ been time,” David said, balancing on his toes and trying not to choke.

  Alan released him with a muttered oath. “Assemble the men.”

  “Morgan, Neil,” he barked, pointing to two of the men with minor wounds who still hung about the hall, recovering, “take torches and go through the tunnel. If she’s hiding in there, one of ye bring her back. The other, meet me at the outer end to let me know. If she isna in there, go on through and join me. We’ll look fer tracks and search the wood. Move ye! ’Twill soon be dark!”

  Alan tore out of the keep and ran at full speed toward the stables, shouting for the gates to be opened as he went. He had to find her before something else—or someone else—did.

  God, what had he done? Frightened her witless, of course, and sent her running. He should have waited until it was necessary to take Kit away from her to tell her so. With a bit of patience on his part, he might never have had to tell her that at all. Damn her for taking this mad risk, and doing it with a bairn in arms. Damn himself for making her do it.

  By the time he saddled his horse, five of the men were preparing their own mounts to join the search. “Bring two extra beasts for Neil and Morgan. God only knows what she’s got herself into.”

  “Do you think Laird Hume’s men might still be about somewhere, sir?” One of the men asked as they cleared the gate.

  “They are bound for the coast,” Alan stated firmly. Then added under his breath, “I hope.”

  Alan located Honor’s tracks immediately at the tunnel’s exit. Another small-footed set accompanied hers. He supposed she had taken one of the women with her. The moment Morgan and Neil appeared, the search party began to follow her trail south.

  “Sir! Sir, wait up!” Father Dennis shouted. His sandaled heels prodded none too kindly, urging his puny mount forward to join the group.

  Father Dennis reined in, cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders as if preparing for a blow. “Melior is gone, as well.”

  “That thrice-damned jongleur stole my
wife?” Alan could scarcely believe the pompous little songbird had such a powerful death wish.

  “More like guided her, I would guess,” the priest said. “Melior was widely traveled before he ever came to Lord Hume’s employ in France. He brought her to Byelough, a very difficult place to find without directions. If you recall, ’tis why I advised you to send him to Rowicsburg to get your father. He knows the countryside well.”

  “She’s heading south. If she didna change direction, she coulda gone ta Dunniegray. Naught else save England lies in this direction,” Morgan offered tentatively. He exchanged a worried look with the priest.

  Alan shook his head in disbelief. “Gone to Ian Gray? Ha! When she once begged me ta kill him? But if she has, would Melior know where the place lies?”

  “He would,” Father Dennis affirmed. “His livelihood once depended on knowing the location of every keep with a coin to spare.”

  “Damn his hide!” Alan cursed. He’d kill the little snipe when he caught him. Strangle him with a damn lute string.

  Beyond the wood they lost all sign of the tracks as a heavy rain began to fall. “God’s cursed me,” Alan said, sighing, “I dinna think He wants me to find her.”

  “That is blasphemous,” Father Dennis remarked distractedly, as though performing an automatic duty.

  Alan looked down at the treacherous footing, picking a careful trail past the bogs where a man or beast could disappear beneath the ooze in moments. He refused to think what might be buried in that muck now, never to be found.

  If Honor and Kit had come to harm, he could only blame himself for it. He had used his anger and pride like weapons against her, and against the truth he must have known deep inside himself. Honesty had been the one constant in his life. Why then had he threatened Honor with something he must have known he would never do?

  He could no more separate Honor from her daughter than he could sever his own arm. He loved her—loved them both—too much to hurt either in such a way. And yet, they might both be dead beneath this very bog because he had to satisfy his need for retribution. Because in a fit of fury he had hidden the truth from himself and from the woman he loved.

  It dawned on Alan then that Honor’s lies alone had not caused his wild disappointment in her. The grand and enduring love he had envisioned her having for Tavish did not exist after all. The love he had hoped she would transfer to himself one day. Disillusionment. That was Alan’s problem with all of this. His wife fell short of perfection. She was merely human, and he had foolishly expected more.

  More truth, Alan suddenly felt a bit of relief in the realization that Honor did have faults. He only wished one of them was not this confounded streak of independence. Even though she had succeeded at it once, striking out on her own this way could prove extremely dangerous.

  He said a silent prayer for Honor’s safety, and prayed he had not come to his senses too late.

  “Ah, here he comes, my lady!” Ian Gray crowed, rubbing his palms together. “The noble Strode! I do vow he’s as full of himself as any lad I’ve ever seen. This will entertain us much better than that wee singing worm you brought.”

  Honor approached the shoulder-high edge of the battlement. She cuddled the sleeping Christiana close as she peered out at the riders picking their way through the boggy terrain.

  She had a strong feeling tonight’s entertainment would consist of the public flogging Alan would give her for leaving Byelough. No doubt Ian Gray would open the gates to him. But then, he had little choice in that matter.

  Dunniegray consisted of only two towers joined by crumbling walls at front and back. A poor keep, to be certain, hardly strong enough to withstand any determined attack for long. Not a siege, either, for there were few provisions here. She had asked.

  Her only hope had been that Alan would not find her here, that he would discount the possibility that she would seek shelter with a man she had once feared. Had Melior not followed her and suggested they go to Dunniegray, she would never have thought of it.

  Little did he know that she feared Alan of Strode above the devil himself. A pummeling she knew she could stand. He dared not murder her. She didn’t consider that a possibility anyway. But if he took her child away, it would kill her then and there. That he would do, for he had promised as much.

  “Please,” she whispered to God.

  “Oh, you needn’t plead, Lady Honor,” Gray said with a jovial smile. “I ken what must be done. Go below to your chambers where ’tis warmer, and see to the bairn. Bring her and join us to sup in half an hour. And see you keep quiet when you do. I’d play this my own way, eh?”

  “Show me a way out of this place, Ian Gray,” she demanded.

  He smiled down at her and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No need for that Trust me.”

  Honor rolled her eyes heavenward and expelled an exasperated breath. “I suppose I have no choice.”

  “None,” he affirmed cheerfully. “Be off now.”

  Honor saw little point in making any fuss that would anger Gray. Pleading their new kinship, she had asked for sanctuary and he had supplied it, such as it was.

  Alan might pull Dunniegray Keep down around their ears before this matter was settled, but her host must have some sort of plan to prevent that. Why else would he be smiling like a cream-fed cat?

  Best she spend the next half hour hiding Melior from the certainty of Alan’s wrath, and concocting a plan to escape it herself.

  Supper came all too soon and still she had thought of nothing that might remove her from this predicament. Losing Christiana would destroy her. She supposed she must cry mercy, for all the good that would do.

  Her husband stood in front of Gray, the sparsely provisioned table between them as Honor approached from the rear. She kept her eyes downcast and avoided looking at him directly.

  “Sit here, my lady,” Ian ordered when she arrived. He indicated the rough-hewn chair beside his own.

  Honor sat, holding Christiana in the crook of one arm. She felt Alan’s burning green glare, but could not meet his eyes for fear she would either fall to begging like one condemned, or else lose her temper and worsen her fate.

  “So, Strode, you say you’ll pay me for the lady here?” Honor knew Gray asked the question to bring her up to date on the discussion they had just been having.

  “If need be,” Alan said. She could almost hear his teeth grind. “But if you ask ransom for a kinswoman, you shame yourself, Ian Gray. I had thought better of you.”

  Gray laughed merrily as he toyed with his eating knife, flicking his thumb over the blade. “Aye, well, many have made that mistake. But I have not said I would demand anything for her release. ’Twas you who offered.”

  Honor dared a look at Alan. He had spoken very deliberately to Ian, biting off each word. Though he appeared deadly calm at first glance, she noticed a muscle tic near the hinge of his jaw. His usually open and friendly gaze had narrowed. The predatory stillness about him frightened her.

  Thankfully, he stood alone across the wide trestle table so that she remained well out of his reach. And, praise God, none of the men who rode with him were present in the hall, else they might have taken the place then and there.

  Gray’s men looked as well-ordered as Dunniegray itself, which was not well at all. Small wonder he coveted Byelough.

  Centuries worth of fires had smoked this hall, its stone walls free of any coverings or whitewash. Mounds of bones from countless meals lay about their feet, too many for his lazy hounds to bury. The rushes lay trampled near to dust. No self-respecting insect would bide there, she thought.

  The chamber Gray had shown her to had appeared little better. A warrior’s keep with never the touch of a woman’s warmth, was Dunniegray.

  Could she really remain here? Did she want Alan to allow it? A beating might be preferable. But if he meant to take her babe from her, she would stay and right gladly.

  “You refused to send her out to me,” Alan said calmly, breaking Honor’s
musing. “I assumed you brought me in here to set a bargain.”

  “No ransom, cousin. I would keep her,” Ian stated with a flash of white teeth.

  Honor cringed. Ian Gray might be near as finely formed as Alan, but the coarseness of the man made her husband look a genteel courtier by comparison. Still, if she must stay here in order to keep Christiana, then she would do it. Gray would not harm her. He could not take her to wife even were she free, since he stood godfather to her daughter.

  Her anger at Alan’s cruelty had not abated one whit. Love him, she might, but not enough to welcome suffering such as he intended for her.

  She opened her mouth to tell him so and felt Ian’s strong fingers bite into her thigh. A warning? He had said to be silent. She closed her lips and waited to see what he meant to do.

  Alan had sucked in a deep breath and his gaze roamed the hall. No chance without your men, Honor thought. Alone, he had not a prayer of taking her and Christiana and escaping this place. And he knew it.

  If Ian allowed him to leave, Alan could prepare an attack or seige to reclaim Christiana and herself. But he had no way of knowing whether this place also had a bolt-hole. Indeed, if it did, and if Ian permitted her to leave by it, she could well be in France before Alan gained entrance again. France was the last place she would attempt to go, but Alan could not know that for certain.

  He would do whatever he intended to do immediately, she believed. Honor only prayed he kept his wits and did not force Ian Gray to kill him.

  She noted a flicker of desperation as Alan exhaled slowly and assumed a mask of indifference. “You cannot wed her, Ian, so what is your plan?”

  “Och, I know that! I must marry for wealth, anyway, and all that she owned is already yours. Bruce wants you to have Byelough and so you must,” he said reasonably. “’Tis only right.

  “However, since you do not want the lady, I’ll keep her. She’ll make a right fine châtelaine,” Ian said, wriggling his eyebrows and leering at her. “I’m certain you have no objection there.” He speared a sliver of greasy mutton and offered it to Honor. She politely refused.