“You’ve checked your men’s horses twice today. There is no need to do so again.”
Kayne glanced at Senet, who strode beside him, but did not slow his pace as he made his way toward the enclosure where his own troop’s mounts were kept apart from the others.
“In two days we attack,” he replied. “I will have all perfect.”
“I do not know why I try to stop you,” Senet said with a sigh. “You were ever thus in France.”
“As were you,” Kayne replied. “And Aric worse than the two of us together.”
“Aye, aye,” Senet admitted, “but our men and horses were ever tired and scarred from so much battle, and thus required more constant inspection. You know full well that each man here is well-rested and ready to fight, and each horse fed and coddled like those in the king’s own stable.”
“I cannot be easy until ’tis all over and Sofia safely out of Maltane,” Kayne told him. “Sir Hugh said—”
“Aye, Sir Hugh said that Mistress Sofia is well, and that Griel is terrified, just as Sir Alexander intended that he be, and that his visit accomplished all that it was supposed to.”
They reached the enclosure and Kayne nodded to one of the caretakers to open the gate. He and Senet strode inside and Kayne shouted for another man to bring the horses to him one by one for inspection. Then he turned back to Senet.
“’Tis a relief that Sir Hugh’s visit went so well, but I can have no confidence in what remains of Sir Alexander’s plan until John has returned with his report. If he is able to return,” he added grimly. “He should have come out of Maltane by now.”
“Aye,” Senet said with a sigh, “’tis troublesome that he has not yet returned, but John is far too skilled to be caught—especially by a man such as Sir Griel. He’ll come out of Maltane when he’s satisfied that he has all he needs to know. And then he will be sorely aggrieved to know that we worried o’er him as if he were naught but a babe.”
“I only pray that he comes to no harm, even if he should be angered by such concern,” Kayne said, “and even more do I hope that he is successful in his undertaking.”
Senet helped him to examine the horses, carefully checking their hooves and mouths and making certain that they were ready for battle. That evening, before dark fell, Kayne and some of his soldiers would inspect weapons and supplies, and the morrow would bring a full day of inspection for each man in the assembled army.
“This one is fine,” Kayne told the man holding the head of the horse he’d been checking. “Take him back and bring another.”
“Aye, my lord,” the man replied, then looked up and nodded northward. “Sir Aric is coming, my lord.”
Kayne and Senet turned to see Aric riding toward them on a mottled brown steed.
“What news?” Senet shouted.
“John’s just come!” Aric jerked his head back in the direction of the large pavilions. “Sir Alexander wants us. Hurry!”
They were already striding out of the enclosure before he could finish speaking.
They found John sitting in Sir Alexander’s luxurious tent, drinking wine and laughing and wiping his grimy face with a damp cloth. Sir Justin and Sir Hugh were on either side of him, and Sir Alexander sat in the comfortable chair which was his alone.
“John!” Kayne uttered as he pushed his way past the tent flaps. “Praise God you are safe out of Maltane. What news?”
John grinned up at him.
“All is well, Kayne. Never fear. Mistress Sofia was locked in her chamber after Sir Hugh left, but she is well and being watched o’er by some of the serving maids. Domnal is well placed. The tunic was left where it could easily be discovered, and if he had the note—which her father gave to Mistress Sofia—then they will surely search for a man and not a boy. He will do well until the attack comes.”
“But there is better news than this,” Sir Justin said, smiling up at Kayne.
Kayne waited impatiently until his recently returned friend had finished another drink of his wine.
John wiped his mouth with the back of one hand before speaking.
“There is great discontent among Sir Griel’s servants and some of his men, for he is known to beat and even murder them for small offenses. As well, the soldiers within believe that Gwillym was killed when Mistress Sofia was kidnapped, and many of them are full angered, for he was their comrade. Some of them have come together in secret and decided to escape Maltane before the fighting begins. They mean to throw themselves on Sir Alexander’s mercy and beg to be allowed to fight for him against Griel.”
“I do not suffer such lack of loyalty among soldiering men,” Sir Alexander said, “but any who leave Maltane will be allowed to stay behind the lines and wait until the fighting is done. Afterward, they may take their things and go. Those who stay within Maltane’s walls and lend us aid, however, will afterward be allowed to make me their pledge of fealty, if they desire it, and serve me at Gyer.”
This was indeed a great boon to any fighting man. It was no small honor to be allowed to serve the lord of Gyer.
“You took the chance of speaking to some of them, John?” Kayne said, suddenly realizing what a risk his friend had taken. “You revealed yourself?”
“Aye, but with every care, I promise you,” John replied. He seemed almost giddy with happiness at his success. “I did not know of a certainty what Sir Alexander would promise any man who threw his lot in with us, but was close enough in what I ventured to tell them. The outcome is that at least twenty of the soldiers will lend us their aid from within Maltane. They will see that Domnal is able to get into Mistress Sofia’s chamber to speak to her, and they will make certain that the gates are opened to us when the attack comes.”
“Most important of all,” Sir Hugh said, “they will keep the whispers and rumors that have been plaguing Sir Griel flying about Maltane, and thereby create even greater confusion than he has dealt with thus far.”
Kayne looked gravely at John.
“Do you trust that they will do as they’ve said? Is it not possible that they will instead reveal the truth to Sir Griel, in the hope of gaining reward from him?”
John smiled and shook his head.
“They would have taken me to him at once if that were so, and received a far greater boon. Nay, these are not cowardly wretches, Kayne, but seasoned fighting men. Many of them served in France, and two were even known to me as men who’d fought beneath Senet’s command. They despise serving a master such as Griel, and want no part of bringing harm to a gently bred lady. And, as I have said, they are full angered at what they believe is Gwillym’s murder.”
“But he is alive.”
John’s smile widened. “I fear I was amiss in telling them so. It seemed a better plan to use their anger to our benefit.”
Kayne drew in a slow breath, thinking of all this, almost afraid to let himself believe all could be so easy and simple. Wars did not proceed in such a happy manner. But, mayhap…mayhap this time, all would go well. He did not want many to die because he had been so foolish in letting Sofia be taken, and he did not want Sofia living with so bitter a knowledge, either.
“God is on our side, it seems,” he said at last. “And He could scarce ask for a better helpmate than John Baldwin. You have all my thanks, my friend.” He offered his hand and John clasped it.
“Now,” Aric said, “we must pray that Domnal does his work well, and is able to see Mistress Sofia very soon. But have no fears, Kayne.” His eyes lit with pride. “If any can manage the task, ’tis Domnal. He’s the cleverest lad ever born, and by far the most cunning.”
Sofia was standing by the chamber’s lone window, gazing out at the preparations taking place in the inner bailey below, when one of the two serving maids who were now constantly with her moved to open the chamber door. She’d not heard the scratching that had summoned the maid, but turned as the door opened and saw the girl speaking to one of the guards outside, whispering in turn and nodding her head. At last, she stepped back and o
pened the door wide enough to allow a serving boy bearing a bucket filled with coal into the chamber.
With a sigh, Sofia turned back to gaze out the window. It was dark now, but so many torches were lit upon the walls and in the bailey that she could readily see the figures of men moving rapidly in every direction, preparing the castle for the coming attack—if it should come. One of the maids had told Sofia that Sir Griel required her presence in the great hall early in the morn, and that the priest would be there before her. Sofia realized what Griel intended. She was to write the missive he would recite to her, and thereafter sign it. The priest would serve as witness, and afterward write out the documents required for the marriage service. It would be far more binding according to the law of the land than the betrothed marriage that Kayne insisted existed between him and her; and unless she was already with child by Kayne, ’twould be a difficult thing, indeed, to prove which of the marriages had come first.
But Sir Griel did not understand how it was. He thought that such a document would keep him safe, but it would not. Kayne would yet come for her. Nothing would stop him.
“Mistress.”
Sofia turned and saw the serving boy standing before her, dirty and ragged, his dark eyes very intent.
“I am Domnal, sent by my master, Sir Aric of Havencourt, at the command of his lord, Sir Justin Baldwin, and of his brother, Sir Alexander of Gyer.”
Sofia gave a start, suddenly remembering that her father had spoken of a boy. She looked at the maids, afraid that they were listening and would discover the lad, but they were already watching him.
“Have no fear,” Domnal said in a calm, serious manner, “they know, and are willing to help us. Without their aid and that of some of Sir Griel’s soldiers, I could not have come to you this easily.”
Sofia stared at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What are you saying? They’re helping you?”
He nodded. “We have been fortunate to discover friends within the castle. Sir Griel has not been a master to command loyalty.”
“Nay, he is not,” she agreed at once. “But what of Lord John? Is he safe?”
“He is well,” the boy replied, “and escaped from Maltane. He will be back at camp by now, making his report to Sir Alexander and the others, Sir Kayne among them.”
He was the most solemn boy that Sofia had ever beheld. He looked as if a smile had never touched his lips in all his life.
“Kayne is well?” she asked. At his curt nod she said, “Thank a merciful God. I have lived in dread, since they killed Sir Gwillym….”
Domnal’s brows lowered. “Sir Gwillym is not dead, but merely wounded.”
“Not dead,” Sofia murmured. “Are you certain? I saw him felled.”
“He is alive, returned to Vellaux, to which place his parents and brothers have been fetched.”
Tears of relief stung Sofia’s eyes. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “Thank God.”
She reached out and tried to take Domnal’s hands, a gesture of simple thanksgiving, but he stiffened and pulled free.
“We do not have much time,” he told her. “Only one of the guards at your door is with us, and the other will become suspicious if I do not come out soon. You must listen to all I have to say, mistress, and listen well. On the morrow you play your part, and on the day after, you must be ready for all that is to come. First, we will speak of your marriage to Sir Griel.”
Chapter Twenty
The attack came in two days, rather than three, in the very midst of Sofia’s marriage ceremony.
Though perhaps it could not truly be called a marriage ceremony. Sir Griel had forcibly dragged Sofia all the way from her chamber, dressed in naught but her chemise, into Maltane’s small chapel and thrown her to her knees before the priest, who stood at the altar, hastily dressed in all his finery, so pale and frightened and trembling that Sofia thought he would faint at any moment. Sir Griel, too, was trembling, as he stood over Sofia holding his long, sharp dagger. The fist in which the knife was clutched swayed back and forth, back and forth, ready—perhaps even wanting—to strike.
She had spent all of the previous day with the same deadly blade held over her head, her constant companion as she labored on the two missives that Sir Griel had instructed her to write. Opposite her, sitting at another table, the priest had served as witness to the act, wisely agreeing with Sir Griel that Sofia had written the documents of her own free will.
Both inside and outside the castle on that day, preparations for war had continued, loud in Sofia’s ears as she’d carefully scratched out with quill and ink each word Sir Griel spoke. There had been neither rest nor sustenance until she had finished the exacting, time-consuming task, and it was quite late when all was done to Sir Griel’s satisfaction. He snatched the documents aside and instructed his soldiers to return Sofia to her chamber, reminding her that they would be wed early on the following morn, and that she was to be ready to receive him, fully clothed in the elegant surcoat he had chosen for her to wear. His intention, she knew, was that the ceremony be as grand as possible, even in the midst of a siege, with all his castlefolk in attendance, as well as his most favored soldiers. They would serve as witnesses, in future, should there be any question of the propriety of the ceremony and the willingness of the bride.
But Sir Griel had not considered that the attack might come not only a day early, but while ’twas still early morn and very dark. Domnal and the two maids had arrived in Sofia’s chamber with the object of secreting her to a safe place, but Sir Griel had been alerted to the sudden attack much sooner than anyone had suspected he would be, and had burst into Sofia’s chamber knife in hand, utterly ignoring the others as if he didn’t see them at all. His eyes alive with fear and desperation, he strode forward and took hold of Sofia, dragging her out of the chamber, her long hair streaming behind her as she stumbled along in order to keep pace with the frantic madman.
Loud shouts of confusion and the clattering of boots running in every direction penetrated the thick castle walls, but the fighting would be confined to the outer and inner bailey for a time. Gaining entrance to the castle itself, which was guarded by Sir Griel’s most trusted soldiers, would be a far more difficult matter.
The small chapel was not separate from the castle itself, as was oftentimes the case, but located in a wing off the great hall and reached through a short, wide passageway. The only doors were two ornate and elegant, deep-red velvet curtains which had been parted to allow admittance, and then, as soon as all were present, tightly shut once more. The chapel itself was grimly lit by the light of a single torch, fixed near the altar to show the priest, who had been summoned but a few minutes earlier.
As Sir Griel dragged Sofia forward down the center of the cold stone chamber, she saw that the chapel walls were lined by some of Sir Griel’s men, their faces shadowed in darkness, but small flickers of light gleaming from the armor they wore. They were dressed for battle, ready and waiting.
Now, kneeling before the priest in the place where Sir Griel had thrown her, her hands pressed flat against the smooth, icy floor, Sofia strove to slow both her heightened breathing and the rapid pace of her heart. She was frightened, but, strangely, not trembling. Kayne was coming for her. He might even now be inside the castle walls, fighting his way toward her. And Domnal had vowed that he would not desert her even if the fighting came lapping at their very feet. Now, Sofia knew that she herself must stay calm and think clearly. This was the only advantage she held over Sir Griel, who was breathing so harshly and was so clearly unnerved that his voice shook badly even as he shouted at the priest to begin the ceremony.
The priest began to recite something in Latin, mumbling his way through the words, while outside in the great hall the sounds of confusion and terror grew ever louder. Sofia could hear tables being knocked over and dragged across the rushes laid out on the floor. A woman screamed and a man shouted back at her just as loudly. Through it all, the priest strove to speak.
&
nbsp; “Faster!” Sir Griel shouted at him. “Wed us!” The knife in his hand began to move at a more rapid pace, gleaming in the torchlight. Sofia dared to lift her head enough to glance upward and saw it there, rocking back and forth like a pendulum, the tip of the needlelike blade pointed downward, aimed directly at her.
“Wh-what is your intention t-toward this w-woman?” the priest asked in a shaking voice.
“I will have her as my wife,” Sir Griel replied bluntly.
“What is your intention—” the priest turned his gaze upon Sofia, kneeling yet on the ground, and swallowed loudly “—your intention toward this man?”
Sofia knew what Griel wanted her to say—knew that she had to say the words to save her life—but she could not. She opened her mouth to utter the lie, knowing fully that no man present could swear before God that she had done so willingly, but her tongue was frozen. How could she speak aloud that she wanted Sir Griel for her husband? She despised him beyond all knowing.
“Say it,” Sir Griel said, his voice filled with the madness that had now possessed him. All about them the battle noises raged more loudly. Above Sofia’s head, the knife in Sir Griel’s hand swung dangerously closer. “Say it!”
“Father, I beg your forgiveness!”
The words came from the velvet curtains, which were fumblingly pulled aside to admit a boy who was dressed in white robes similar to those the priest wore. He rushed in, nearly tripping over the robe’s long skirts, running his fingers desperately through his long, dark hair to straighten it. Everyone had turned at the intrusion, and each soldier had set his hand upon his sword, but at seeing that it was merely an altar boy late in coming to serve the priest in the marriage rites, they relaxed and laughed among themselves. Sir Griel growled with acute fury as the boy stumbled up to the altar, yet muttering apologies for being so late in coming to tend his duties.
The Stolen Bride Page 24