Annelise did not doubt that Murdoch had sent Isabella to watch her.
She closed the shutters against the chill of the evening, noting that dark clouds were gathering. It would rain during the night, which would obscure the trail of her departure. Perfect.
Annelise gave no indication of her thoughts as she brushed her hair and braided it. “You are, of course, welcome to stay, but I doubt I will be good company,” she said, then yawned again. “You could dance on the pallets and I would still slumber.”
Isabella gave her a sharp look, but Annelise calmly tied the lace on her braid. She snuffed the candles and laid down on her pallet, closing her eyes immediately and sighing with contentment. “What a long day this has been,” she murmured sleepily.
Isabella hovered over her with her lantern. “You do not wish to talk for a bit?”
“About what?”
“Garrett the hunter.” Isabella dropped to the pallet beside Annelise. When Annelise looked, her sister’s eyes were dancing with curiosity. “Murdoch said you were kissing him in the goat pen today.”
“He kissed me.”
“And?”
“It was most pleasant.” Annelise rolled over and nestled into the bed, as if fighting off slumber.
“Yet he has left Seton Manor at Murdoch’s insistence. You must be annoyed with my husband, if not more.”
Annelise shook her head and yawned again. “Nay. Murdoch speaks good sense. He explained all to me after the evening meal. What life would I have in the forest with a man who has naught to his name? Perhaps I should be happier pledged to a knight.” She felt her sister staring at her and dared to push her deception a little more. “Orson is very handsome, is he not? It must cost a great deal of coin to keep such a horse and to be so finely garbed.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you looked most bored when he was talking to you.”
“I was told once that feigning disinterest would encourage a man to try harder in his suit.” Annelise stole a glance at her sister. “It must be true, for Orson was very determined to entertain me.”
Isabella watched Annelise, her expression thoughtful. Then she glanced around the chamber. “What happened to the wolf pelt?”
Annelise shuddered. “It smelled. I gave it to Bess, for she liked it well. I don’t think she could smell it, although it was most awful.” She sighed as she let her eyes closed. “I suppose one could not expect Orson to know how best to cure a pelt.”
Isabella’s voice sharpened. “You said Garrett killed the wolf.”
Annelise shrugged as if indifferent. “Maybe it was a different wolf. Maybe I erred. Whoever cured this pelt did not know his craft, and I would think a hunter would have been skilled in that labor.”
At that, Annelise pretended to be falling asleep. She let her breathing deepen, well aware that Isabella was watching her closely. Finally Isabella extinguished the lantern and laid down on the pallet beside Annelise. The two sisters lay in the dark for long moments, even as Annelise heard the wind rise.
There was a storm coming.
But she would be safe with Garrett.
Chapter Eight
True to her tale, Isabella fidgeted for a while, tossing and turning as if she could not find a comfortable way to sleep. Annelise breathed steadily and deeply, praying her sister could not hear the thunder of her heart.
It seemed an eternity before Isabella’s breathing slowed, as well.
Annelise waited, listening to the creaking of the wooden manor in the night, its familiar sounds and rustlings. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Annelise thought about the story of the white wolf and its ending. She wondered why Andrew had chosen to tell that story. Was it because it featured the killing of wolves and he and Orson claimed to have done the same? Or was it a mere fiction, like the tales told of Ravensmuir and its laird who spoke to ravens? Perhaps he wished to show the rightful place of a wife in his reckoning, or to prompt a conversation between herself and Orson on the subject. Annelise felt there had been some collusion between the two knights, although she did not know why. It was a macabre tale, in her estimation, one that left her dissatisfied and troubled. She wished she could discuss it with Garrett.
And that was when she realized the import of what she had heard. The Fae could hear the thoughts of others, according to Andrew, and that had been the talent that had given Florine the ability to enchant Coinneach. She had been able to discern his every desire and anticipate his every objection. According to Andrew’s tale, even a child half-Fae would have some Fae ability.
Florine’s son had been blond with blue eyes.
Just like Garrett. Annelise nearly sat bolt upright at the realization. Had this been a tale about Garrett? Was the ability to hear others what ailed him when he entered Seton Manor? It made tremendous sense, for he had seemed to be in physical pain. Annelise was sorely tempted to leap out of her bed and find him, but she forced herself to wait.
Would he be able to find her, because of her thoughts?
She had to know.
Finally, Annelise could bear the waiting no longer. She eased out of her bed. Her heart was pounding and her palms were damp. She backed away from the pallet, her gaze locked on Isabella, and reached beneath the cloak for her dark kirtle. She tugged it on and laced it hastily, cast her cloak over her shoulders and donned her boots. She walked on the tips of her toes to the window, wincing when the shutter creaked a little. She glanced back at her sister before she cast her bag over the sill.
Isabella slept on.
Annelise blew her sister a kiss, swung her legs over the sill and hastened across the kitchen roof as silently as she could. Her heart was racing at her own audacity, but she was making her future her own.
Even as she fled, Annelise realized that boldness could prove to be a trait difficult to abandon.
*
As soon as Annelise had slipped out the window, Isabella opened her eyes. She bit her lip, praying that she had not erred. Thunder rumbled overhead and she rose to close the shutter. The sky was rolling with dark clouds, filled with such tumult that she watched the sky for a long moment. It reminded her of the storm that had broken when Murdoch had tried to escape the Elphine Queen.
She looked down into the yard and saw her sister’s fleeing figure and hoped she had chosen aright.
A faint sound had Isabella spinning in place. Had that been the door to the chamber? It was closed in this moment, but she crept across the room, listened, then opened the door. The corridor was empty, and once again, she believed her imagination had the best of her. The wood of the building merely creaked in the wind.
Isabella latched the door firmly just as there was a great crack of thunder. The clouds broke and rain began to pelt down on the roof. She wished the brazier had been lit on this night, for it was damp, but she did not want to return to Murdoch’s warmth. He would learn soon enough that Annelise had fled, and Isabella wanted her sister to have time to make her choice.
Isabella had need of more time to decide how much to confess to her husband, too.
*
As Garrett drew closer to Seton Manor, the thoughts of others grew louder in his thoughts. To his relief, the malice was diminished, perhaps because that person believed him to be gone. He listened as the sentries speculated about him, hearing the doubts in their thoughts as to his sanity. He stood in the shadows of the forest and listened to the tale that Andrew told. He could not hear Andrew’s voice, but he heard the knight’s words echo in the thoughts of those who listened, mingling with their questions, doubts and suspicions. The story might have been told by a chorus of voices, each slightly different, the result more chaotic than harmonious. Still, Garrett understood the gist of the tale and recognized its similarity with the one that Mhairi had told him.
Which was the truth?
Or which parts of which tale were true?
Garrett wondered. He listened to the thoughts of those who attended Andrew’s tale, most of whom liked it. Seve
ral found it familiar and he considered their notions, seeking a kernel of truth in it all. It was an exercise in futility, like sifting through a wagon of grain in search of a pea, but Garrett could not help himself.
Darkness fell and the night sounds of the forest surrounded him. There was a storm brewing, the wind stirring the undergrowth and driving dark clouds to gather overhead. It was easy to move close to the manor as time passed, for most of the people within its walls slept. Their dreams were not so coherent as to trouble him, save for that one pulse of malice. It had diminished now, no more than a current running deep below the surface of the murmuring thoughts. That it disguised itself was no good portent, to his thinking.
Then he heard a thought that startled him.
One way or the other, I claim my bride this night.
Orson. Resolve and anger rode in those few words, making it all too easy to recall the knight’s inclination to violence. Garrett heard a command uttered to the squire, gleaned the boy’s understanding of what the knight would do.
It was clear that Orson suspected that Annelise would flee on this night. As a result, the decision was made. Abduction was not an uncommon way to claim an unwilling bride from what Garrett understood, but he found it offensive as the tactic usually included rape.
That Orson planned to do as much to Annelise was horrifying.
Garrett had to stop him. But how? The sentries stood vigilant at the main gate, chatting to each other about Andrew’s tale. Garrett knew he could not walk past them. Was there another way into Seton Manor? Garrett searched the thoughts of those within its walls.
He heard a carpenter regret that the back gate had not been repaired on this day, and his conviction to remember the task on the next day. Garrett had not even realized there was a back gate to Seton Manor. The carpenter fell asleep, so Garrett sought some thought of it. He heard Bess, locking the goats into the shed, thinking of wolves in the forest and fearing for the goats. She silently cursed the carpenter who repeatedly had forgotten the task of repairing the gate. She vowed to herself to seek him out the next day and see it done.
As human thoughts faded into sleep, Garrett listened to the animals. The goats bleated softly, some of them sleeping and others nuzzling in the hay. Few of them thought of much beyond their bellies and their udders. One disliked the shed and thought about its preference for the pasture that was beyond the gates. Garrett saw the pasture in the creature’s mind from its vantage point.
The wolf had led him through that very meadow. He was certain of it.
Garrett strode through the forest, his footsteps quick and silent. The storm built overhead, the wind becoming more violent and the dark clouds gathering. The moon was obscured from view, the forest seeming to mirror Garrett’s agitation. He found the pasture and it looked much like the goat’s memory. Garrett crossed the meadow openly, for it was quicker and he would take the chance that no sentry kept watch so far from the hall. He could not hear one.
Just as the goat recalled, there was a small path leading out of the pasture on the far side. Garrett fairly ran along the path, hearing the thoughts of those in Seton Manor grow in volume. The path ran beside a brook, which led to the millpond at the back of Seton Manor. He spied an opening in a wall, one that could be missing a broken gate. Cautious now, Garrett eased closer and listened.
The yard beyond the gate was quiet. He could see the kitchens, the hut where he had been taken, the back of the stables. The dogs were dozing outside the stables, their bellies filled with scraps from the kitchens. One snored in contentment, but a second was partly awake. Garrett listened, knowing dogs to be most observant. He was aware of the dog’s conviction that they were all safe and felt its wariness rise as he slipped into the yard. The dog identified passing scents dispassionately as it dozed: manure, horse, straw, eggshells and vegetable trimmings cast to the pigs, a stranger.
The dog lifted its head, sniffing, and Garrett was relieved the moment it realized it knew him. It was the hound that had slept at his feet in the hall, and its tail thumped against the ground as he approached. Garrett paused to scratch its ears before slipping into the stables.
There were at least a dozen horses stabled there and they regarded him with drowsy curiosity. Horses were even more inclined than dogs to be interested in those they knew, and these horses returned to their drowsing when they realized they did not know Garrett. Two of the destriers he recognized as belonging to the knights, as well as the one palfrey. There was another pair of destriers that he did not recognize, and he assumed these belonged to Murdoch. There were also two large black steeds, magnificent and proud creatures, one a mare and one a stallion. They were striking for both their size and their beauty. Were these Murdoch’s steeds? The stallion’s nostrils flared as he assessed Garrett; the black mare snorted and returned to her feed bin.
He heard her dismiss him in her thoughts—for he was not Annelise.
If Orson meant to abduct Annelise, he would take his destrier and command his squire to follow. As much as Garrett did not want to condemn the boy, he had to protect Annelise. He found the knights’ trap, for it was not just finely made but flamboyant. The leather of one saddle had been dyed to match Orson’s caparisons. Garrett seized the trap for both knights’ destriers and that of the squire as well, though he could not easily imagine that Orson would stoop to ride a lesser horse.
Garrett knotted the reins repeatedly, creating a great mess of all the trap, so that it would take precious time to untie it. He removed every part of Orson’s saddle that he could, then scattered caparisons, stirrups and straps around the entire stable. He dropped some parts into the water reservoir provided for the more humble horses, doubting the knight would look there. He removed the bridles from the destriers, casting them into the manure piled behind the stable, then using his booted heel to bury them in the fragrant heap.
He slipped into the stall with the black mare, well aware of her uncertainty. He brushed her with long steady strokes, calming her with his touch, even though he knew that time was fleeing. He had her saddled when thunder boomed overhead. The rain began to fall upon the roof, echoing so loudly that he barely heard the door to the stable creak open.
But he felt Annelise. The serenity of his lady’s nature revealed her presence, although she was agitated on this night. Garrett spun to face her.
He might have spoken, but fury roiled behind her.
Garrett hid himself in the shadows of the mare’s stall, in the very nick of time.
*
Annelise made it to the stables just before the skies cracked open and the rain began to fall. Her heart was leaping, but she was certain she had not been seen. How would she find Garrett?
She would go first to the glade. If he could hear her thoughts, he might guess her destination, then come to meet her there. It was a thin plan, but the only one she possessed. It would have to do. Then they could ride to Kinfairlie to speak to Alexander. Annelise knew her brother would not deny her choice.
Once in the stable, Annelise strode toward the stall where Yseult was tethered. She realized that the horses were all watching her very keenly. They should have been asleep or dozing, but perhaps the storm had wakened them.
Though perhaps it was something else.
Annelise heard the dog sleeping by the entry growl, then the door to the yard was opened again. She recognized Orson, even silhouetted against the silvery rain.
“I was right,” he snarled. “You do intend to flee.” He advanced into the stable, and his squire slipped into the building behind him. The boy hauled the door shut behind him, making the shadows deeper.
When the latch dropped into place with a clang, Annelise shivered.
Orson stepped closer and she took a step back from the anger in his expression. She felt chilled to her very marrow, simply from that glimpse.
She feared he would strike her, then told herself he would not.
“Since you are so inconstant, my lady, we shall see this resolved here and now.”
And Orson reached for the lace of his chausses, even as he advanced upon her.
Annelise backed away, astonished. “I think not,” she said. She could not believe that Orson would force himself upon her, but he closed the distance between them with purpose.
If anything, his brow became darker with each step. “I think so.” His eyes narrowed. “You will learn this night, Annelise, that what I think will be what you think.”
“Nay!”
Orson’s eyes flashed at her defiance. Annelise realized this was no jest, no challenge she could win with words.
She lunged for Yseult’s stall. She could ride without a saddle, in a crisis. She had to flee in truth!
She had no chance to reach the horse. Orson snatched her up from behind, his leather glove locking over her mouth. He held her above the ground even as she struggled against his grip. “Bind her ankles, fool!” he commanded his squire, and Annelise realized he did not care how much he injured her.
A cold resolve settled within her. She had to fight him, instead of being fearful. She would have but one chance to surprise him.
This was it.
Annelise let herself go limp, as if she surrendered. Orson chuckled and loosened his grip slightly. “I see you can be taught. That bodes well for our future, Annelise.”
No sooner had he said as much than Annelise twisted and kicked him hard in the groin with her heel. She had never done such a thing, but she had seen a man felled by a horse’s kick in that place. There was no man she wished to see felled more than Orson.
He howled in pain and dropped her. “Bitch!” he cried and would have grabbed her again.
But Annelise was prepared for his move. She had hit the ground hard, but immediately scrambled toward Yseult’s stall. The squire blocked her path so she changed direction. She dared to glance back and her heart faltered. The squire held the rope and Orson’s expression was furious, the pair of them closing in on her. Annelise was terrified as she backed away.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 13