The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “And if Sir Griel chooses his own death, then what value would Sofia’s life have?” Kayne added, pacing and striking a gauntleted fist against his palm. “Griel will kill her before taking his own life, you may be sure of that. We must get her out of Maltane soon.”

  “We will, Kayne,” Sir Justin assured him.

  “When?” Kayne demanded furiously, turning about to face him. “You would never have waited so long to fetch your good lady wife, Lady Isabelle, out of her uncle’s hand, when he had taken her prisoner. Indeed, you did not wait, even when your brothers bade you to do so.”

  Sir Justin, who was as kind and gentle a man as Kayne had ever known, set a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. “I know that you want your lady back, and we have come—all of us around you, all who are as brothers to you—to make certain she is retrieved in whole, perfectly safe. But this is not as the time when Isabelle was taken. You know that. That small keep was as a crumbling ruin compared to this great fortress. So many men would be killed here in the attempt to scale these walls that ’twould grieve your soul forever.”

  Kayne closed his eyes. “I care nothing for my soul now. I want Sofia away from that devil.”

  “Aye, and so do we all, but even if we could master these walls, we could never do so in secret, and there is no assurance that Griel would not kill her before we had made our way into the inner bailey. Nay, Kayne, we must use our wits, and stealth and trickery. Alexander’s missive has put fear into Sir Griel’s heart. Let us play upon it as best we may, and make our plans accordingly. Can you be patient a little more, lad?”

  What could he say to his master, whom he loved as a father? With resignation, Kayne nodded.

  “I will be patient, my lord.”

  Sir Justin smiled encouragingly and gave him a playful shake. “’Twill not be much longer, I vow. We will meet with Hugh and Alexander in another hour and decide what is best to be done. But, look, fresh torches are being lit upon the wall in great number. Is your lady being brought out now so that we may see her?”

  The evening meal was sumptuous. Sir Griel’s cooks had provided a thoroughly delicious array of dishes, with courses of fish, meat, fowl, eggs, cheeses, vegetables and sweets. Fine wines accompanied each of these, and the servants proved how excellently they were trained not only in portioning each offering but also in placing and removing dishes in almost complete silence. Sofia had only seen such rich perfection in one other place—Vellaux. She never would have thought that Sir Griel would possess either the refinement or personal preference for such things. She had always supposed that, being so animal in nature, he would be animal in his surroundings, as well. But it was not so.

  Maltane was another surprise. She had seen the outside of it many times in her life, but had envisioned the interior castle as being cold, dank and harsh. Nothing could have been less true. Castle Maltane was a beautiful dwelling, light and clean and airy, ornamented with fine carpets and tapestries and furniture. If it was not quite of the same vast elegance as Vellaux, it was certainly very near to it.

  “You are very beautiful in that color,” Sir Griel said, lifting his wine goblet to her as he admired the elegant blue surcoat one of the serving maids had chosen for her to wear. “It matches the color of your eyes,” he added before sipping from the cup. “Makes you look like a bride.”

  Sofia said nothing, but drank from her own goblet, slowly, watching him with some deliberation. She didn’t trust him—didn’t dare do so, but she admitted that his present behavior bewildered her greatly. She had never thought him capable of the least measure of kindness, under any circumstance, yet now he behaved as any other noble host might do, and Sofia his honored guest.

  She would be a liar if she did not admit to being relieved at the change in her circumstances. The bath she had enjoyed in her new chamber earlier had been nothing short of sinfully pleasurable. The maids had washed her hair twice, completely scrubbing away the filth and vermin that had resided there for so many days. Her equally filthy skin had been cleansed as well, and then rubbed with soothing, sweet-smelling oils until it was soft and glowing. Then she had been dressed in a soft chemise of pure linen and set in a comfortable chair before the fire to have her hair combed and dried.

  So pleasant this had been, with the glowing warmth and the steady stroke of the combs, that she had nearly fallen asleep. But all too soon it had been time to prepare for the coming meal she would share with Sir Griel, and the maids had helped her to dress in the silk surcoat she now wore, of a blue color so light that it gleamed almost white in the candleglow. Her long golden hair, still a bit damp, had been braided down the length of her back and crowned with a simple circlet of gold and pearls. New slippers had been provided for her to wear, though they were a little overlarge and Sofia had to walk with some care to keep them from falling off.

  Following the manservant who had come to light her way to the great hall of Castle Maltane, Sofia had felt nearly herself again, and for that she could not be but grateful. In the back of her mind was the knowledge that this night she was going to sleep on that soft feather mattress in her new chamber—instead of a dirty straw pallet writhing with insects—with a decent blaze burning in the hearth to keep the room warm and comfortable. She was ashamed to discover how much this meant to her, but she realized, too, that she would be foolish to turn such suddenly offered comforts aside merely to anger Sir Griel. He would not care if she chose to stay in the damp, dark cellar with only rats for companions, and, in the end, she would truly only end up spiting herself.

  Sir Griel had greeted her at the bottom of the castle’s main stairway, which ended directly in the great hall, dressed in a fine and lordly manner. He offered his arm to escort her to the table where they alone would share a meal—for except the servants, there was no one else present—but Sofia had merely stared at him until he had dropped his arm.

  The meal itself had proceeded in a casual, though very elegant fashion, with servants dressed in full livery undertaking their duties as if they were serving a king and queen. Sofia found it all rather foolish, considering that she was Sir Griel’s prisoner, who only a few hours before had been held captive in one of his dungeon cells. But the food she could not ignore. She was full hungry, and for one horrible moment thought she might actually faint when the delicious smells from the first course of a wine-boiled salmon covered in mustard sauce was brought to the table. She tried so hard not to devour her food as it was placed before her, but feared that she failed miserably, at least until they had reached the vegetables. By then, her hunger had been, for the most part, sated, and she could at last attend to what was taking place about her.

  Sir Griel strove to be a charming companion, though even the most generous spirit could not say that he was very good at it. Not that Sofia gave him any encouragement, for she most assuredly did not. He tried to make conversation, and if she replied at all it was with but one or two words. For all that, he did not give way. He seemed to enjoy their shared meal, despite Sofia’s reserve.

  “I have sent a missive to your father, also to Kayne the Unknown—”

  “Sir Kayne Sager,” she corrected. “Son of Sir Ronan Sager and the heir of Vellaux.”

  “Indeed.” Sir Griel gave a nod of his shaggy head. “I have also sent a missive to Sir Kayne, requesting that your father be allowed to cross the siege lines and visit you here on the morrow. Would you like that, Sofia?”

  Sofia nearly dropped the knife she was holding. He had said before that he would bring her father to speak to her, but she had not truly believed that such a thing would be possible in the midst of a siege. She had assumed that Sir Griel had been baiting her in his previous offers, but now she could see that he meant what he said.

  “I…I would like to see my father,” she said, very surprised at this generous and unexpected offer. “That would be…most kind in you.”

  “I can be kind,” he told her, “and will be, if you do not press me otherwise. We could be happy here together, at Maltan
e.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “Never.”

  “If you would but give me a chance to prove myself, Sofia,” he said earnestly. “Only a chance.”

  Sofia set her knife down. “I wish you would not speak of it. You have been too cruel, my lord. I can never forget. You ask the impossible of me.”

  His face darkened, and she saw the inner struggle that took place playing itself out on his features. But, at length, he said, “You must speak to your father before making such a final determination.” He wiped his lips on a linen cloth and, with the help of a servant, pushed back the heavy chair in which he sat. “Now. Do you wish to see the army outside of Maltane’s walls, before darkness comes? You will like to have some fresh air, I think.”

  “Aye,” Sofia said, her heart beating faster with anticipation. She wondered if she would catch a glimpse of Kayne. Even a brief sight of him would fill her with joy. A servant was behind her at once, pulling her own chair back. She stood, and moved away from the table. “I should like that very well.”

  “Then come,” he said, wisely not offering his arm this time. “The climb is high to the outer walls, but well worth the view.”

  “Steady,” Sir Justin murmured, his hand on Kayne’s shoulder, holding him back from surging toward the castle as more torches were lit. “Steady, lad.”

  Kayne drew in a deep breath and calmed himself. It was not yet dark, but the time had come for Sir Griel to bring Sofia out, and the additional torches marked the spot where she would be seen. He hoped for the best, that she would be perfectly well, but prepared for the worst. He had seen Sir Griel’s handiwork before.

  “There,” Senet said, pointing. “There she is, Kayne, do you see?”

  He did see, and pulled free of Sir Justin’s restraining hand to take a few steps forward, gazing intently at the small, feminine figure that appeared on the wall like a magical fairy set amongst Sir Griel’s armed soldiers.

  “Sofia,” he murmured, staring raptly at her. She was dressed in white—or blue, but that hardly mattered now—and was gazing all about in a confused manner, her head turning as she took in the sight before her, the hundreds of tents in the valley, the massive army spread out in siege of Castle Maltane. He could not be certain from this distance, but he thought—believed—that she appeared to be well and unharmed. He took another step forward, ignoring the warning calls of his friends, and lifted his voice, shouting, “Sofia!”

  “She cannot hear you!” Senet told him. “Come back, Kayne! Don’t risk your life!”

  Oh, but she did hear him. Kayne saw her tilt her head in a quickened motion, listening.

  He took another step forward. “Sofia!”

  Her eyes riveted to him as if pulled by force, and then her entire body, so small and slender upon the wall, surged forward. He heard her voice, as soft as a distant bird’s call, crying out his name.

  She looked as if she would pitch right over the wall, so far did she lean over it, held back only by Sir Griel’s hand upon her arm. She cried his name out again, and yet again.

  Kayne found himself moving forward without thought, each step quicker than the last, until he was nearly running.

  “I’ll get you out!” he was shouting, uncaring of who heard, if only Sofia did. “I swear it by my life! I’ll get you out, Sofia!”

  “Damn you, Kayne!” It was Senet, tackling him from behind, pulling him down into the damp earth. “Don’t be a fool! She’s well, and you’ll do her no good if you get killed only to see her more closely.”

  As if to prove his words, an arrow landed but a few feet away from them, and Sofia’s loud scream filled the air. More arrows followed, before Sir Griel gave the sharp command to stop them, but Kayne and Senet did not wait for that. They picked themselves up and ran for the safety of the hill upon which the others stood. Aric reached out and physically dragged Kayne up the last few steps.

  “You God forsaken fool!” he shouted, shaking him. “Has love driven you out of your senses?”

  “Aye,” Kayne said, breathing harshly and thrusting Aric’s hands away so that he could turn and look at Sofia again. She was yet leaning over the parapet, looking directly at him. A heavy drop of rain fell on his cheek, and within seconds another fell, and then another, thudding all about them, solidly striking the ground.

  Sir Griel took Sofia’s arm once more and began to pull her away, out of the coming storm. She struggled to free herself of his touch; the sight made Kayne’s entire body clench with fury.

  “By the Rood, I’ll kill him!” He would have stepped forward again, but both Aric and Senet stopped him this time.

  “Aye, aye,” Senet said, “kill him, then, but don’t get yourself killed as well in the doing. You were never such a fool as this before.”

  Sir Justin turned his gaze from the wall, where Sir Griel had just dragged Sofia out of view behind the line of soldiers. A few more arrows were let fly once the lord of the castle had gone, and the additional torches upon the wall were quenched.

  “Your lady seems to be just as you described her to me, Kayne,” he said. “Even from a distance, ’tis clear that she is very lovely.”

  “Aye,” Kayne murmured, his breathing yet harsh, his eyes fixed upon the spot where Sofia had disappeared. He shook off Senet’s and Aric’s restraining hands. “She is all loveliness.”

  “And now you have seen her,” Sir Justin said, clapping him reassuringly on the shoulder, “and know that she is well. Sir Griel has not yet dared to harm her, whether because of Alexander’s threats or the size of the army arrayed against him. But whatever has stopped him, Mistress Sofia has benefited from it. Now, we must find the way to make certain that she remains well until we can get her out of Maltane. Come,” he said, “the rain is falling harder now, and Alexander and Hugh will be waiting for us to arrive so that we may begin making plans.”

  Sofia could feel Sir Griel’s temper rising as he escorted her back to her chamber, half a dozen soldiers following behind them, their boots loud in each passageway they took. Sir Griel’s stride was as angry as it was swift; Sofia, in her over large slippers, had difficulty keeping apace. Sir Griel at last put his hand on her elbow, his strong, hairy fingers squeezing hard, and dragged her along.

  When they reached her chamber he threw the door open and thrust Sofia inside the room. She whirled about to face him.

  “I told you never to touch me!” she told him.

  “And I warned you, Sofia, never to push me too hard,” he returned just as hotly. He took a step into the room, his dark eyes flashing. “I could have seen him killed, when he came so near to the castle. I could have sent hundreds of arrows flying toward him—and one surely would have struck its mark.”

  Sofia knew he spoke the truth, and remembered the moment upon the wall with renewed terror. Kayne might have died—because of her—before her very eyes.

  “But I did not do so,” Griel went on, “for your sake alone, Sofia. Remember that in days to come. And remember, as well, that his life is yet within my power, just as yours is. I have already given this instruction to all my men, that if the army laying siege against us should storm the castle walls, and if by some miracle they should manage to get into the castle proper, they are all, to a man, to dedicate themselves to one goal. Not to fighting the enemy or protecting their master, but to killing Kayne the Unknown. Every man, each of my soldiers, Sofia, will make that his goal, and one will assuredly achieve it.”

  Sofia shivered at the words and mutely shook her head.

  Sir Griel smiled, the evil, cunning smile she knew too well.

  “Aye,” he said. “Think upon that as you find your dreams tonight, my dearest. If you wed me, Kayne the Unknown lives. If you do not, he will make the attempt to save you, and he will die.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sir Alexander Baldwin, the lord of Gyer, was an imposing and authoritative figure, a nobleman who rightly overtook the place of almost any other—short of the king. When he arrived at Maltane with his imp
ressive army, that was exactly what he did—took over, without asking whether he should do so or not.

  The first thing Sir Alexander did, apart from having his own large and comfortable pavilion set up, was to reorganize the men into proper companies, each led by his own master, but answering ultimately to him. After this he organized and separated living areas from cooking and eating areas, and made certain that the large number of horses present had separate enclosures for each company, with men to care for them. He also commanded that several especially large tents be set up to receive and portion out food and supplies as needed. About these tents he placed a constant guard, and threatened to see any man who tried to steal from them immediately hung.

  In anticipation of wounded from the coming battle, pavilions had been raised and filled with waiting pallets, and were already manned by a variety of leeches, barbers and actual physicians. To make certain that they had a constant delivery of supplies, Sir Alexander had his best men go out to every village and farmer within a ten mile distance to arrange for the daily delivery of ale, wine, bread, cheeses, eggs, meats, oats, hay, firewood and most importantly, clean water. Sir Hugh, who had fought in France many years before Kayne and his comrades, had happily had the forethought to include a number of skilled blacksmiths with his army, and these men Sir Alexander had set up in their own tents, so that they were already hard at work shoeing horses, repairing armor, and sharpening swords.

  In short, within less than a day of his arrival, Sir Alexander had taken a fairly well-organized assortment of fighting men and refined them into a completely organized, well-supplied army ready and capable of carrying out a long, hard siege.

  Half an hour after seeing Sofia on the walls of Castle Maltane, Kayne found himself comfortably ensconced in Sir Alexander’s luxurious pavilion, with servants pouring him wine and filling a plate for him with choice cuts of meats, a variety of fine cheeses and slices of both herbed and sugared breads. Senet, Aric and John were likewise being fed, along with Sir Justin, while Sir Alexander and his brother, Hugh, the earl of Siere, sat indolently in their chairs, having already eaten their fill, sipping wine and watching their companions enjoy their repast.