Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  Angus leaned down, his words a low threat. The woman held herself so rigidly before him that she might have been carved of wood. “Count as high as you can, then count that high over and over again. If you move too soon, speak too soon, cease to spin too soon, I will ensure you feed the worms as surely as my kin. Do you understand?”

  “Aye.”

  “And if indeed you find your way back to Ceinn-beithe, I would have you tell this Duncan MacLaren that the payment for the sins of Cormac MacQuarrie has come due. I care only for the return of what is rightly my own. And your chieftain’s sole desire, I would expect, would be for the survival of his beauteous daughter.”

  “But how—”

  “Have you not heard that when the will is sufficient, the way will be found?”

  “But, but—”

  Angus had no interest in excuses. “Tell your chieftain to await my terms at Ceinn-beithe. Begin to count immediately. Keep your voice low.”

  The man did so, punctuating each number with a step in his circling. Angus cast an eye over the foursome, watching as Rodney gave the same instruction to each in turn. The sun was yet high and he knew they would become bold enough to call to each other before long. Aye, they would be safely home at Ceinn-beithe before night fell, even walking as they must.

  Satisfied with what he had wrought, Angus turned his steed for the hills, his captive clasped to his chest. He halted at the last turn of the road, and smiled at the sight of the men turning silently on the moors, while Rodney’s steed galloped toward them. ’Twas a sight he would not soon forget, though ’twas but the beginning of his vengeance.

  “They will perish, and for what reason?” the maiden asked in soft recrimination. “How does this ensure your message will be delivered and this Airdfinnan surrendered to you?”

  He realized with a start that she might well reveal their course, if she was ransomed as he fully expected. And the MacQuarries were a vengeful lot—he would not have them know who had sheltered him before Airdfinnan and its high walls were his own.

  Although he could not guess whether Edana still drew breath, he meant to seek refuge at the old storyteller’s hut. If she lived, she would aid him, and she could tend the woman’s ankle far better than he. He intended to return this woman in the fullness of health so that no insult could be taken.

  In addition, Edana’s abode was deep in the forest and not readily found—even if the seanchaidh drew breath no longer, Angus would find shelter there while he allowed Duncan to fret. Indeed, anxiety would bring a quicker resolution once his demands were made.

  He wanted naught but to see this injustice resolved.

  All the same, Angus would see that none paid a price for aiding him. His captive could not witness where they rode, lest she alert her father of Edana’s location once she was ransomed.

  “Give me another length of cloth,” Angus demanded of Rodney. The woman caught her breath and shrank away from him, but he blindfolded her all the same.

  ’Twas her hair that slowed his task, for he hesitated to tighten the knot lest it pull at her golden tresses. He shed his gloves and carefully worked each silken strand free of the cloth. Her lips worked in silence, their movement drawing his attention to their ripe softness.

  He wondered how sweet she would taste. It had been long since he had lain with a woman, and longer still since he had lain with one who was not a whore. This woman was all soft curves, her fine if simple garb revealing her privileged station. She was indeed a beauty, and unless he had forgotten much of the world, an innocent who had been sheltered from men.

  Which would explain her fear of him. Indeed, he knew that he cast a fearsome image, what with the scars he now bore. He wondered where she had been going with this group of guards, what man had won her as his bride.

  To his surprise, her lips set as the blindfold was finally knotted, as if she were annoyed with him.

  Perhaps she was not so meek as he might have believed.

  No doubt she rode to her nuptials on this day. The unwelcome thought came to him that if she was to wed an ally of the MacQuarries, then there was another compensation he might claim. He could steal what another man had bought and thus render injury against his father’s traditional foes. Angus let his gaze wander over the woman’s ripe curves and was tempted by the possibilities.

  Another man might have taken what he could. But Angus was not a man to claim what was not offered, and he heartily doubted this beauty would offer him much beyond her fear and then her scorn.

  “You have not answered me,” she insisted with unexpected impatience. “How does abandoning these men serve your purpose?”

  “I owe you no explanation.”

  “I should think that you do! These men serve my stepfather loyally and have done naught to earn this fate. How could you abandon them so? ’Tis heartless. ’Tis unfair!”

  “Ah, but I have learned that what is fair has naught to do with matters of war,” he murmured. “And my heart, if ever I had one, has been lost so long that I scarce miss it.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, the ruby softness of her lips inviting his touch. She might have argued further, but he bent to brush his lips across hers.

  ’Twas only to silence her, or so Angus told himself.

  Her lips were breathtakingly soft, the taste of her gasp unbearably sweet. Desire raged through him and his hand fell to the indent of her waist. He caught her against him and might have deepened his kiss without another thought.

  But she recoiled and her breath caught, her panic nigh-tangible. Angus lifted his head as she froze. She trembled like a spring leaf before him, and he instinctively tightened his arm around her, stunned at his unexpected urge to protect her.

  Even from himself.

  Indeed, the demoiselle’s terror gave full credence to her claim that she was not Mhairi. Though it had been more than fifteen years, he could well recall the audacity of Cormac’s daughter. A wee lass, she had been confident in her sire’s adoration and protection—she had feared naught from the moment she could crawl. No woman could feign such fear as this one showed.

  He supposed his scars were worse than he had feared, or appeared worse in this land so little accustomed to the brutality he had witnessed and endured.

  “They are men of resource,” Angus said gruffly, disliking his need to reassure her. He would not apologize for his touch. “I have no doubt my message will reach listening ears.”

  And with that, he gave Lucifer his spurs, leaving the counting men of Ceinn-beithe behind him.

  To Jacqueline’s thinking, hers was not an enviable situation.

  A man who might well have been Reynaud had captured her and meant to finish what that French knight had begun. There was no one to aid her, none who even knew what had become of her, and surely he lied about the chances of her guardians surviving. She did not even know herself where she was, much less where she was headed.

  Though she had a very good idea what her fate would be once they arrived.

  She had to escape. It did not matter what lie she must tell, what deception she must make, what injury she had to inflict. None could aid her this time, so she must keep her chastity intact herself.

  Jacqueline was not entirely certain how that might be managed, but she had faith that an opportunity would arise. She would pray, she would be patient, and she would be as observant as she could under the circumstances. And she would hope.

  She certainly would not provoke her captor with questions again, nor would she draw his attention to her in any way. Aye, ’twas best that she be nigh invisible, motionless, silent, unworthy of his attention. She tingled from head to toe in the wake of his kiss. The sensations within her were unfamiliar, doubtless a product of her terror.

  She refused to think upon that, though her lips burned, as if they would chastise her for the boldness of her curiosity.

  The priest of Ceinn-beithe oft said ’twas her cross to bear.

  They rode for what seemed an eternity, no sound reachin
g Jacqueline’s ears beyond the steady beat of the horses’ hooves and the whisper of the wind. She tried to gauge their direction. Though she failed to discern anything from the wind, she guessed that they must ride to the east.

  After all, only Ceinn-beithe and the sea lay to the west, and she knew they did not ride there. She would have tasted its salt in the wind if the knight had taken that unlikely direction.

  Beyond that ’twas difficult, for she knew that once they reached the hills, a hundred roads and paths forked in a hundred different directions, then forked again and again. It seemed imperative that she deduce where she was being taken, but she could conclude naught with certainty beyond a general sense of leaving her family behind.

  And security with them.

  ’Twas a different manner of isolation and silence than she had expected to find in this eastward ride, and she was filled with a terror beyond any she had felt before. The lure of the convent brightened during that endless afternoon, for it seemed a haven of security and femininity.

  Somehow she would escape her captor, flee to the convent, and complete her novitiate with all haste. If naught else, her circumstance proved that the world was filled with dangers and threats and uncertainties that she would prefer to avoid.

  Jacqueline was relieved when the knight’s companion began to grumble, as much for the relief from the turmoil of her thoughts as from interest in what he said.

  She had noted already that he was older than the knight and was garbed as a mercenary. He was completely bald, his head a gleaming tanned pate, and he had a pointed, carefully trimmed beard in the Norman fashion.

  He spoke Gael with a cadence slightly unfamiliar to Jacqueline, as if he came from another part of these Celtic isles. This was surprising, as she had assumed from his appearance that he was from Sicily or some other Norman province.

  “Aye, and a fine lot of trouble you have found yourself with this scheme,” he muttered. “How would you be seeing the resolution of this?”

  “’Twill be exactly as we discussed,” the knight said stiffly. He held her so tightly against his chest that Jacqueline could feel the rumble of his voice in her own bones.

  “Bah!” The other man spat. “A fine plan ’tis, that was what you told me, and a plan that cannot fail!” The other man scoffed. “Cormac will sell his soul to win back his beloved daughter, upon that we can rely, ’twas what you said.”

  “’Tis a good plan.”

  “Aye, perhaps ’twas. But she is not Mhairi, and her father is not Cormac, and both they two are dead.”

  The knight cleared his throat. “It matters naught—she is the daughter of Ceinn-beithe, one way or the other.”

  “So you say. But if her father is disinclined to meet your terms, then we may have saddled ourselves with a woman for naught!”

  The knight refused to raise his own voice in response. “We know naught less or more than we did afore. All plans are fraught with risk—indeed, the greater the prize, the more considerable is oft the risk.”

  “Your wits are addled, boy!” the man declared darkly. “You were kicked in the head one too many times by a Saracen, Angus, and that is the truth of it. Though I suspect that you have been stubborn from the first.”

  The knight chuckled, though ’twas not a merry sound.

  Angus. His name was Angus. ’Twas odd for him to have a Celtic name, for Jacqueline had been certain he was a French knight. But if he had had any doings with Saracens, then he had been in Outremer.

  That detail was enough to awaken her cursed curiosity.

  Suddenly the red cross she had spied upon his tabard made more sense. He was a crusader, which meant he had been gone for years. Her heart warmed slightly in his favor, for crusaders left all the temptations of this world behind to fight for the greater glory of Christ. Had he seen Jerusalem, that fabled city of gold? She wondered how she might ask him of it.

  Of course, it took years to travel to Outremer and years more to travel back, which explained why he knew naught of Mhairi and Cormac’s deaths. Evidently, he had originally come from hereabouts, which was why Gael fell from his tongue with such ease. She wondered how long he had been gone and from whence exactly he had come. And she listened more avidly as his companion ranted.

  “What manner of man sends his daughter abroad with such slim protection as that? Not one overly concerned with her safety! Not one inclined to surrender much for her return!”

  The knight sounded reasonable in comparison, his words soothing in their assurance. “ Tis the mark of a man confident in the safety of his holding, no more than that. You forget what ’tis to not expect deceit at every turn.”

  “Whereas you would imagine there is naught wicked in this land,” the other man grumbled.

  “Calm yourself, Rodney. We must learn more before decisions can be made.”

  “Calm yourself,” Rodney echoed disparagingly. “Bah! There is a simple enough solution that could be made immediately—we could be rid of the woman. We could abandon her somewhere where she will be quickly found and leave this deed behind us. I told you all along ’twas an ill-fated plan, and now even you must have seen its weaknesses.” He warmed to his theme. “Think, Angus! ’Twould be the most sensible solution—abandon this folly before ’tis too late!”

  Jacqueline’s heart leaped.

  But Angus spoke sharply. “I will not surrender the only advantage I have in this!”

  “Surrendering her might well save your sorry hide. To capture a woman and return her shortly, unscathed, may not earn the vengefulness of the menfolk in her clan. But the longer you keep her, the more uncertainty there will be of her chastity—and thus the higher the retribution sought against you.”

  “I did not seize her for my pleasure,” he snapped, but Jacqueline’s lips tingled as if to argue the point.

  “Who will believe that? And aye, the longer we keep her, the more she knows of you and the more readily she will lead her family to you once she is released.”

  “You speak nonsense, Rodney. They will have no reason to seek retribution from me.”

  “I hope they have the wits to see matters in the light you so choose.” The other man harrumphed and the pair rode in uneasy silence for a long time.

  Finally, the companion sighed and appealed once more. “Angus, you cannot have been absent from the company of men for so long that you forget that the truth has naught to do with it—the lady herself might claim you had sampled her and none would question her claim. Bloodthirst runs hot in these lands.”

  “She will have no reason to make such a claim.”

  The older man snorted. “’Tis the ways of women that you forget, that much is clear. Do you not think she will be irked with you when all is done? Do you not think she will seek vengeance?”

  “’Twould be a lie.”

  “And who will be caring whether she lies? They will seize upon any excuse to take your hide, that much is certain.”

  “Will you seek vengeance?” the knight demanded, tightening his grip slightly on Jacqueline so that she could not doubt she was being addressed.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again when she realized she had yet to reveal that she understood their Gael speech.

  But the knight chided her. “’Tis clear enough you are following every word. I swear you have not taken a breath for fear of missing anything.”

  Jacqueline lifted her chin. “I would never lie.”

  “Aye, but would your family care?” Rodney demanded. “If you returned to them a month hence—”

  “A month!”

  “—in no small state of dishevelment, would they not seek retribution from the man who had captured you? Would your father not demand the head of this knight in compensation for all you had borne?”

  Jacqueline hesitated to answer. Though she knew that Duncan would indeed defend her, she was not certain what answer would better ensure her survival.

  “Would he?” the knight prompted, giving her another squeeze.

 
“I cannot guess my stepfather’s intent—”

  “Bollocks!” Rodney roared. “You know he would do so! There—the evidence is before you. A woman can lie with ease beyond expectation! They are all wrought this way, Angus, and you would be better off without this one in our small party.”

  The knight was resolute. “We shall keep her until we know our plan to have failed.”

  Jacqueline itched to ask the details of his plan but did not dare attract his attention and potentially his ire again. It took all within her to hold her tongue.

  “And when will that be?” Rodney demanded. “We shall not have an answer soon, upon that you can rely, and until then—bah! We are stuck with a woman, and a fair lot of trouble they are, no less a woman who may have no value to us whatsoever.”

  “She has made no demands as yet.”

  “You have but to wait.” Rodney raised his voice in an apparent mimicry of a woman’s tones. “Her bed will be too hard, her supper will be too coarse, her bonds will be too tight.” He growled low in his throat. “And she will have to piss more times than you can imagine. No sooner will she return from pissing than she will have to do so again. There is something awry in the making of women, for they have to piss more than a man could possibly imagine.”

  The knight seemed to stifle a laugh. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. You know little enough of women, my boy, but upon this fact, you can rely. They must piss before dinner and after and during, they must piss before coupling and after and oft enough they excuse themselves during the great act itself for such relief. And ’tis not enough that they must piss, but the place in which they piss is a matter of much deliberation as well. One would think that if one did this deed with such frequency that one would regard it as less of an event, but nay, ’tis never thus with women.”

  Truth be told, all Rodney’s talk was reminding Jacqueline that it had been quite a while since she had relieved herself. To her dismay, she could hear a stream rushing in the distance, its volume growing as the horses drew nearer to it.

  That sound only made her discomfort worse.