The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2)

by Cecelia Mecca

  He stopped working and wiped his mud-soaked hand on the front of his tunic. What could she possibly have to say? Unless she wanted to help him kill her brother, he had no use for her. But with three expectant faces staring at him, he picked up his sword and followed the servant away from the damaged wall. He supposed he could use a break. It would be a long night.

  “Hurry, my lord.”

  Although the boy carried a lantern, Bryce didn’t need the light. Even after so many years away, he could navigate this courtyard in his sleep.

  “She’s not well. Evelyn said the bump on her head may be her undoing.”

  They walked through the entranceway and into the hall. The tapestries depicting Scottish battles that had hung on the stone walls were blessedly gone. Men slept on the floor, which, while not exactly clean, was at least free of dead or injured bodies.

  His heart raced at the thought of meeting the sister of his enemy. She may be a valuable prisoner, but he wanted nothing to do with her. The girl’s clan stole his home, his brother’s inheritance.

  He stopped at the entrance.

  Bryce walked into the bedchamber that was once his own and looked around the room. Although the hour was late, moonlight from a small window and candles throughout the room told him not much had changed. The large bed he approached was familiar to him. While the usurpers had attempted to make Bristol their own, remnants of his childhood were everywhere.

  Was the carving he and Geoffrey had etched into the leg of the bed still there? A similar one graced his brother’s bed as well courtesy of the wood carver’s tutelage. Of course, the man did not intend for them to practice their skills on the furniture.

  He navigated the room easily and caught his first glimpse of his enemy’s sister when the candlelight flickered across her red hair. Nay, not red exactly. More like a shade between red and brown.

  As he made his way closer, he realized he’d been deceived. Sitting up in bed and glaring at him, nursed very much back to health if his guess was accurate, was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. A perfectly shaped face and long, dark lashes as delicate-looking as her skin seemed at odds with an expression that was anything but dainty. Her lips, even pursed, were full and made to be ravished.

  Ravished? Not bloody likely.

  “I was told you were nearly dead.”

  “You’re disappointed?” Her voice was like a splash of cold water. Why was he surprised this woman was so…feminine? She was a female, after all. A treacherous one. His enemy. But a female nonetheless.

  “I don’t like being lied to.” And he didn’t. Evelyn would answer for this deception.

  “You would not have come otherwise.”

  It was a statement, not a question. And an accurate one.

  “What do you want?”

  “You can’t give me what I want.”

  Oh, he was pretty sure he could.

  He kept the ribald thought to himself. Dangerous, given her position. A cream robe covered enough of her chemise to avoid being scandalous, but not enough to hide the fact that she was quite well-endowed. Any man with eyes could see she was also a rare beauty.

  “But since you’re here,” the woman continued, “I’d like to know what you plan to do with me.”

  “You were given access to our healer.”

  Her eyes narrowed even more, if that were possible. “Your healer?”

  She trode on dangerous ground. “I believe we discuss your fate, not that of Bristol.”

  He couldn’t reconcile the vision sitting propped up before him with the girl’s hardened brother. Two years earlier, on a scouting mission close to Bristol, Bryce had seen the man for the first and only time. Toren Kerr of Brockburg and four of his clan members had ridden within calling distance of where Bryce was hidden on a path just two days’ ride from Bristol. He had instantly known him for the clan’s chief. The fierce-looking Scot bore little resemblance to the gently bred woman before him.

  “What of my fate then, my lord?”

  He would make her position very clear. “You are my hostage. And will remain as such until your filthy brother pays a king’s ransom for your return.”

  Her face relaxed, the eyes that defied him moments earlier softening. He expected a retort, but instead the perplexing woman actually smiled.

  Damn, she was lovely. A siren capable of making him temporarily forget about Bristol’s defenses. About how angry he was that there was still a Kerr in his manor. He nearly asked what was so amusing but thought better of it. He cared not about the inner workings of his enemy’s mind.

  Without a word, he spun and left the room. Passing the guard stationed outside her door, Bryce reminded himself to send for a lady’s maid. One who was a stranger to their hostage. And she clearly no longer needed a healer. He trusted Evelyn, but it was obvious she bore some tenderness for the girl. Better for Lady Catrina to remain in that chamber with only one person, a stranger, to bring her meals and tend to her needs. And with any luck, she would be the key to ensuring Bristol Manor remained in the Waryn family for many years to come.

  3

  He was alive. Catrina had hoped it with all her heart, but Bryce’s words had confirmed it. Her brother was alive.

  Evelyn must have known she had exaggerated her condition in order to get an audience with Sir Bryce. With any luck he wouldn’t take his anger out on the poor old woman, though she had no doubt the healer could hold her own. But she’d needed answers.

  In addition to the good news, he’d confirmed what she’d already feared. Her home, in one day’s time, had become a prison.

  She hadn’t been sure what to expect from Sir Bryce, though she’d heard much about the great Waryn brothers over the years. Some, like Evelyn and the other villagers, thought the men were near-deities. Revered for their prowess in battle, the Englishmen’s influence on Bristol was unmistakable. It had taken years for her brother and clan to gain acceptance.

  Were we ever truly accepted?

  Toren, on the other hand, accused the Waryn men of seeking favor from a weak and ineffectual king. He said the Englishmen had claimed land that rightfully belonged to her ancestors and to Scotland.

  What Catrina had not expected was for her heart to race from the moment he entered the room. From fear? Nay, she knew herself better than that. She’d heard the rumors, of course. The village matrons spoke of the brothers in ways that would make Father Simon blush. Catrina had assumed the talk was exaggerated, but Sir Bryce was every rumor and whispered compliment combined. His brother was a handsome man, of course, but there was something about Sir Bryce that seduced the eye. Black hair to his shoulders in waves that any girl would envy, cheekbones that looked to be carved from stone, and wide shoulders that hinted at the muscle beneath. He wore tight-fitting breeches and a white linen shirt that hung loosely, displaying a fair amount of skin beneath. No cloak or tunic concealed his appealing physique.

  She’d been told the man never smiled, so his mutinous expression had not surprised her. What made him scowl so? Her presence, most likely. To him, Catrina’s family deserved everything that had happened that day.

  She knew otherwise.

  Closing her eyes for what felt like a moment but was likely much longer, Catrina startled to a hard knock at the door.

  “Lady Catrina?”

  A girl around her age whose dress and timid demeanor proclaimed her a servant entered the room. Catrina didn’t recognize her.

  “Is there anything else you require this evening?” The girl’s voice was barely a whisper. A cap hid most of the servant’s light brown hair.

  Noticing her tightly clasped hands, Catrina tried to ease her mind. “Come in.”

  The girl took exactly two steps inside and stopped once again. Catrina sighed. This was going to be harder than she had hoped.

  “What is your name?”

  “Elise, my lady.”

  “Well, Elise, I’m pleased to meet you. You’re from Bristol’s village?”

  Elise l
ooked toward the door as if assessing her escape route.

  “Never mind. But just so you know, Sir Bryce is wrong. I’m not planning to escape.”

  The girl’s eyes widened.

  She’d hit her mark. Sir Bryce had wisely chosen to send someone she didn’t know, and it was obvious he’d warned her to be on guard.

  “You have a wee bairn, am I right?”

  If it were possible, Elise’s eyes widened even more. The bump in the servant’s plain brown kirtle revealed either a bairn or the recent delivery of one.

  “I’ve always wanted one myself.” Catrina shifted in the bed, grateful Evelyn’s concoction seemed to have taken away the worst of her headache.

  “‘Tis wondrous, my lady.” Timid, but at least she spoke.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Elise smiled, finally relaxing her hands. “A girl.”

  “Go and take care of…what’s her name?”

  “Mary, my lady.”

  “Attend to wee Mary. I don’t need anything this eve.” That much was true. Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin planning the escape she did indeed intend to make.

  Elise bobbed a curtsy and left, the wooden door closing with a finality that made her shudder.

  Congratulations, Sir Bryce. It would obviously take time to get Elise to trust her. But she would, eventually. And Catrina only needed one thing from the servant to leave this blasted bedchamber and make her way back to her brothers.

  And then what?

  Perhaps the re-taking of Bristol would be enough to convince her stubborn brother they needed more allies. His refusal to give Catrina and Graeme permission to wed was what had kept her at Bristol Manor these past years. Perhaps something good could come out of these horrors.

  She yawned, the beginnings of a plan weaving together in her mind.

  Three days after they took back Bristol from the Scots, Bryce embraced Geoffrey as he prepared to head southeast to his home in Kenshire.

  They stood within shouting distance of Geoffrey’s men. Hugh had said his goodbyes earlier, and Bryce was grateful to have at least one family member remain at Bristol.

  “Take care, little brother,” Geoffrey said.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  His gaze was met and held by ice-blue eyes identical to his own. Geoffrey’s normally affable expression turned serious.

  “I would never have arranged it otherwise.”

  At first, Bryce had been opposed to his brother’s plan to relinquish his inheritance to him. His brother had given up so much for their family. It was his title by right. They’d fought about it for days until his sister-in-law finally intervened. Geoffrey had argued that his place was at Kenshire, and Bristol needed a lord who could be present and protect it from inevitable border attacks. He reminded him of the twins—Emma and Neill. The youngest Waryn siblings, Geoffrey said, needed security after years of uncertainty. Emma remained at Kenshire while Neill trained with a friend and noble knight.

  The Kerrs were not the only family, Scot or English, who claimed land in the disputed marches. Battles, raids, abductions. All were a part of life along a border only the kings recognized.

  Years after the border was declared, battles for land and titles still occurred daily. But Bryce, determined to secure Bristol for his family and their future, clung to the possibility, however remote, of peace.

  “Then I will secure Bristol and see that it remains in the Waryn family for generations to come.”

  Geoffrey cocked his head in a way that told Bryce he wouldn’t like what his brother was about to say.

  “I don’t doubt it, Bryce. And you know if there’s anything you need—”

  Geoffrey’s hand remained on his shoulder, squeezing it in a familiar farewell gesture. For a moment Bryce thought he was finished.

  No such luck.

  “But don’t make the mistake I almost did. Revenge is a cold bed to keep company with at night.”

  Here it was again—another sign of how much his brother had changed since his marriage to Lady Sara. Bryce wasn’t sure it was for the better. “Our parents’ deaths will not go unavenged.”

  Geoffrey dropped his hand. “I support your decisions, Bryce—” though his expression said otherwise, “—and we’ll give you as many men as you need. But know that there’s more to life than duty. You should consider—”

  “There’s much to be done here. Repairs. The wool trade. New defenses—”

  “At what expense? You aren’t happy, brother.”

  He pushed too far. “I will be happy when Bristol is strong enough to withstand another attack.” Bryce’s voice was low, controlled. But firm.

  “Will you?”

  The remark startled him, and he stared again into his older brother’s eyes. He respected this man, admired him above all others. Geoffrey deserved more than the lie that had nearly slipped from his tongue, so he gave the truth instead.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me. What happened at Huntington?”

  It wasn’t the first time his brother had asked, but it was the first he seriously considered answering. His brother was convinced something happened in the place where he squired. And he was right.

  The silence stretched.

  “Go,” Bryce said, refusing, once again, to lie to his brother. “Your men are waiting. Lady Sara is likely halfway to Bristol to fetch you by now.”

  Geoffrey didn’t move. Bryce refused to back down. His brother eventually mounted the enormous black destrier that would take him back to his feisty wife. “Give Lady Sara my regards.”

  “I will. She adores you for some unholy reason and will be happy to know you’re properly installed as the new Lord of Bristol Manor.”

  Bryce slapped the back side of his brother's mount. “Godspeed, Geoffrey.”

  Dust kicked up everywhere as the small retinue of men rode away. Most of the retainers his brother had brought from Kenshire remained to help Bristol rebuild. But as he watched Geoffrey and some of the men ride away, a sinking sensation forced him to turn toward the stables. He was intent on visiting the village when a voice from behind, so timid he could hardly hear her, called his name.

  He turned to find the maid he’d assigned to Lady Catrina standing before him, wringing her hands.

  The girl was clearly terrified of him. Perhaps the previous lord had been cruel—something he could easily imagine—or mayhap the girl was saddled with a heavy-handed father or husband. He would have Thomas inquire. He’d not have any woman under his care being abused.

  “Yes, Elise?”

  He must have surprised the maid by using her given name.

  “Milord . . .well, the Lady Catrina . . .”

  The Kerr girl.

  “She wants to ride Davie,” Elise blurted.

  “Who the hell is Davie?” He hadn’t intended to raise his voice, but for the briefest moment he’d imagined Lady Catrina naked, her long red-brown hair tumbling around her as she moved above a faceless man.

  What is wrong with me?

  When tears formed in the young girl’s eyes, he was immediately contrite. Of course. Davie was Lady Catrina’s horse.

  “She will not be leaving that room, Elise, even to ride Davie.”

  The servant didn’t move.

  “Is there more?”

  She swallowed hard. Bryce took pity on her and softened his tone. “What is it?”

  “She said, my lord, if you said ‘nay,’ I should tell you that you can escort her yerself. It’s just…she’s worried about her horse.”

  The lady’s horse would be exercised daily, but she must know that. This was more trickery.

  “Two nights ago the woman claimed to be on her deathbed. And now she’s intent on exercising her horse?”

  Elise lowered her head and peered at him through thick lashes.

  “Tell Lady Catrina’s guard to escort her to the stables. Immediately.”

  Elise smiled and practically ran away from him.

 
That was a mistake. He had done it for the servant, not the woman.

  Bryce turned back toward the stables. A familiar scent, a mixture of manure and hay, greeted him. He entered the wooden structure, which was larger than most in a manor this size thanks to his grandfather’s affinity for horses.

  The stable master was nowhere in sight.

  “The palfrey, my lord?”

  A young stable hand walked out of a stall, looking at Bryce with the same trepidation he’d sensed from Elise. The boy was young, no more than ten. He’d be spending the better part of his days putting the servants at ease if this continued.

  “Aye. And your name?”

  The dusty, sandy-haired boy began to prepare his mount and muttered, “Arthur.”

  Bryce could understand the servants’ unease. Those not old enough to remember his family wouldn’t know they would be treated well. He had thought fortifying Bristol would be his most difficult job, but it seemed endearing himself to the people was going to be equally as challenging.

  Not an easy task for someone like him.

  “That’s a fine-looking weapon, Arthur.” He pointed to the dagger that hung from a worn leather belt around the lad’s waist.

  “A gift from . . .” The boy’s smile faltered.

  Bryce tried again. “Where is the groom?” Stable hands didn’t typically tend to the horses beyond their feeding, but Arthur appeared to be alone. From the way he handled his horse, Bryce could tell it was a role the boy knew well.

  “Killed in the battle, my lord.”

  How could he have forgotten? It was no wonder the lad was in a state.

  “Was he a friend?”

  Better get used to losing those close to you now. Life on the border will teach you heartbreak before long, if it hasn’t already.

  “Aye. Trained me when yer father beat my pa bloody for stealing cattle.”

  Bryce stared at him. That didn’t sound like his father.

  “He got caught when my ma turned him in. Pa beat her bloody too.”

  That made more sense. His father had never tolerated abuse toward women. Servant, serf…it mattered not. Though it was a man’s right to beat his wife, his father had not allowed it to happen on his watch.