The pleasure of lying next to her had haunted him for the rest of the night. He’d lain by the hearth, listening to Corwin’s soft snoring, while his restless body had hungered for Addy. He’d longed to run back up the tower stairs, wake her with a brazen kiss, and spend the night showing her that he loved her still. Instead, he’d tossed and turned and tried without success to force her from his mind.
Yawning, he let the spoon drop against the side of the pot, removed the vessel from the flames, and set it to one side to keep warm. The crash of the forebuilding door told him that Corwin was on his way up to the hall.
“Garrett,” the lad cried. Judging by his footfalls, he was running up the stone stairs.
“All is well?” Garrett called, standing.
Corwin emerged, clutching a saddlebag.
Bewilderment raced through Garrett, for he recognized the worn, brown-leather bag that had once been his; he’d given it to a fellow squire before leaving Blyndwick Castle. “Where did you get that?”
“The stable. ’Twas buried under straw.”
How had the bag come to be in the stable? ’Twas impossible…unless Ransford had acquired the saddlebag long ago and ordered Stockton to leave it during his visit yesterday.
Corwin handed over the bag. “It contains clothes and a parchment.”
“A parchment?” Garrett fought a flare of misgiving.
“I managed to make out some of the words. You need to read the missive. Right now.”
Garrett set the saddlebag on the table and withdrew the rolled document. ’Twas addressed to Addy’s sire, and the wax seal had been broken. At any other time Garrett would have scolded the lad for reading someone else’s correspondence, but the current situation reeked of deception.
Garrett unfurled the parchment; the cured skin rasped against his fingertips. He read aloud the lines of black ink penned in handwriting markedly similar to his own:
Lord Mortimer,
From this letter, you will know I did not perish in France, but am very much alive. Your fair, beloved daughter Adaline is my captive. She will remain my hostage until you have surrendered your fortress and estates to me.
“God’s blood,” Garrett choked.
“Read on,” Corwin urged.
By noon on the twenty-fifth day of July, you will deliver documents to Lord Devon Ransford that declare my ownership of your castle and estates. While Ransford knows naught of my plans, he has been told to expect a missive from you. He will do as instructed if he wishes to see his betrothed again.
Refuse my demands, and I will kill your daughter.
Signed,
Garrett Thurlow.
Garrett’s stomach tightened into a brutal knot.
“I do not understand. Why is this letter from you?” the boy asked.
The misgiving within Garrett increased tenfold. Swiftly rolling up the parchment, he said, “Go and ready the horses.”
“Why? What—?”
“Do as I said. Go!”
***
Fingering knots out of her loosened hair, Addy stilled as she heard someone approaching the chamber. Bittersweet memories of lying in Garrett’s arms last night brought a flush to her cheeks, and she plunged her hands into the washbowl and vigorously scrubbed her face to conceal her blush.
Garrett strode in, his expression grim. He held a rolled parchment and wore a sheathed sword at his left hip.
“Good morning,” she said, drying her hands on her gown.
“’Tis not good at all.”
His gruff tone sent unease rippling through her. “What has happened?” Did she dare to hope that he’d brought word of when she’d be released?
His lips pressed together as he handed her the parchment. “Corwin found it in a saddlebag hidden in the stable.”
She unrolled the document. Upon seeing the signature, she realized the missive must be a ransom demand. “Why are you showing me—?”
“I did not write it.”
“I see now. ’Tis not your signature. You do not form the letter r in that way.”
“Exactly. Now read the missive.”
Frowning at his brusqueness, she delayed a moment before reading. Her eyes widened. “If you did not write this letter, who did?”
“I can guess,” Garrett muttered.
“But, why—?”
“The man who hired me wants me dead. He knows your sire will never yield his holdings to me.”
A sickening wave of dismay raced through Addy. “Oh, Garrett.”
“We need to leave here as soon as we can.” He moved to take her arm, but she darted back, out of reach.
“Addy, do not test my patience!”
“Who is this man who hired you? If he is betraying you, then you do not owe him any loyalty.”
Garrett’s mouth flattened. He clearly struggled with his conscience.
“We can find a way to stop what he has planned,” she said earnestly. “But, you are going to have to trust me.”
Despair touched his gaze. “I do trust you.”
“Prove it. Tell me the man’s name.”
He swore softly and strode toward her. She stood resolute, chin up, until they were face to face, barely a hand’s span apart. Her pulse beat wildly as he glowered down at her. The thrill of challenging him, her undeniable desire for him, swirled up inside her.
“The man who hired you,” she insisted.
After a tense silence, he said, “Your betrothed.”
***
“Denman hired you to kidnap me?” Addy appeared shaken, but outrage swiftly sparked in her eyes. “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
Because he is a selfish and ruthless bastard. “Like a heroic knight from the ancient legends, he wanted to rescue you from peril.”
“Oh, for God’s—”
“He believed you would look more kindly upon him.”
“What a vile thing to do.”
“I said the same.”
“Yet, you went along with the plot.”
Garrett resisted the impulse to defend his actions. He’d known what he was doing was wrong, but he’d done it anyway, to save himself. Now, his own wellbeing was far less important than ensuring Addy didn’t come to any harm. Ransford was clever and merciless; he no doubt had other plots unfolding of which Garrett had no knowledge, but which could be deadly.
“We must go to my father,” Addy said. “You will tell him what you just told me. We will show him the parchment and the letter you wrote me years ago—”
Catching her hand, Garrett tugged her toward the door. Corwin should have readied the horses by now. “First, we must get you somewhere safe.”
“Nay.” She tried to wrench her hand free. “We should speak with my sire.”
“Not until you are out of harm’s way. There is no telling what Ransford has planned.” Ignoring her struggles, Garrett pulled her onward.
“My father can help you! After you have told him—”
“Your sire will not believe a word I say.”
“You do not know that.”
Reaching the doorway, Garrett glanced back at her. “I know Ransford. He owns the loyalty of many men throughout England.”
“Owns?” she echoed.
Garrett nodded and led her out of the chamber. She’d stopped fighting him, as though his revelations had shocked the defiance out of her. They descended the stairs, hand in hand, her gown whispering in the confined space.
“Does Ransford own you?” she asked quietly.
A painful tightness constricted Garrett’s throat. “He did.” There was a great deal more he wanted to say, to share with her, but those revelations must wait.
She laced her fingers more firmly with his. The offer of comfort made his eyes sting. He shoved aside the inconvenient welling of emotion and urged her to move faster down the stairwell. Once outside in the bailey, she glanced about, no doubt trying to recognize the fortress.
Corwin was
waiting near the run-down, thatch-roof stables, holding the reins of his saddled pony and Garrett’s destrier. When Garrett drew near, pulling Addy along behind him, the boy bowed to her. “Good morning, milady.”
“Good morning. You must be Corwin.”
The lad smiled, obviously pleased that she knew his name. Then Garrett’s chestnut-brown destrier sidestepped and tossed its head. The horse had always been a bit high-strung, and it must sense the urgency of the upcoming ride.
“Easy,” Garrett murmured, stroking the animal’s glossy neck. He was going to have to let go of Addy’s hand. She might try to escape, but she wouldn’t be able to move very fast in her long gown. He’d easily catch her on horseback.
He met her gaze. “Do not run.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, but didn’t answer.
“’Twould be foolish for you to flee, for there is no one else around to help you; Corwin and I are the only folk in this area. You would only delay us getting you to a safe place.” He hoped she’d see the sense in his words.
The destrier sidestepped and flailed its head again, almost jerking free of Corwin’s hold. The boy swore.
Letting go of her hand, Garrett reached for the horse’s reins.
***
Addy sucked in a breath as she waited for Garrett’s fingers to slip free of hers. If her guess was correct, they were at the deserted keep not far from St. Agnes. If she could reach the town, she’d be able to contact her father.
Oh, God, she had no choice but to run. She might never get another chance to escape, and she would not be a part of whatever plan Ransford had devised.
Wait…. Wait….
Garrett’s fingertips left her skin.
Run!
Addy bolted for the drawbridge.
“Garrett!” Corwin yelled.
Her gown tangled about her legs, threatening to send her sprawling. She fisted her hands into the silk, yanked her hem higher, and raced on, stones skittering beneath her shoes. The salty scent of the sea carried on the breeze. The ocean was nearby, and if she was lucky, caves where she could hide.
“Addy!” Garrett roared.
At his fierce cry, she ran harder, faster. Once he got on his horse, he’d be upon her. She had to reach the cliffs. He couldn’t take his mount down the rock face.
Upon reaching the sand, she’d run until she found someone who could help her get home. Her sire would know what to do—and how to ensure Denman got the punishment he deserved for what he’d put her through. Her sire would be able to help Garrett, too.
The chime of a bridle and the clop-clop of hooves warned her Garrett was taking up pursuit. Her dress billowing, she ran across the splintered drawbridge and onto the dirt road leading away from the fortress.
Hurry, Addy. Hurry!
Hoofbeats sounded behind her.
Veering off the road, she raced across the scrub grass toward the ocean.
“Halt,” Garrett shouted, his cry muffled by the breeze gusting in from the sea.
Her side pinched from running, but she refused to stop. The drop down to the water was only a few yards away. Breathing hard, she slowed, turned, and began to descend the rough stone, one perilous foothold at a time.
Hurry.
She heard the breathy snort of a horse and ducked as earth tumbled down from above, some of it hitting her back before falling away.
“Addy! You are going to be killed.”
The concern in Garrett’s voice tore at her, but she couldn’t give up now. Her fingers closed on a jagged chunk of stone as she slid her right foot lower. Her gown snagged on the rock; she yanked it free with a ripping sound.
Above her, Garrett cursed. Then came the scrape of a boot: He’d started down the rocks after her.
Oh, God. Hurry.
Her left foot slipped, and she winced as she fell hard against the stone, bruising her leg. Heedless of the pain, she continued down, until finally, she reached the gray-brown sand, bordered on the right by the sea, and the left by steep rock cliffs.
Her legs and arms ached, but she forced herself to run. The sand shifted under her feet, slowing her down, but she struggled on. A muffled thud warned her that Garrett had reached the sand, and a sob burned inside her, for she was growing weary. She couldn’t outrun him. She’d have to hide.
Addy frantically searched the nearby rocks. There must be a cave close by. There had to be….
There!
Tears in her eyes, she staggered toward the large, yawning opening. She dashed inside, splashing through the shallow pool of seawater that had been left behind by the tide.
In the confined space, the eerie echo of her harsh breathing surrounded her. As she hurried to the brownish-gray rear of the cavern with its red-stained wall, she realized she’d been in this place before.
Running footfalls echoed from outside. She whirled around, to see Garrett race into the opening. He slowed then halted a few paces inside the cave, his chest heaving, his hands on his hips.
Hope of escape shattered in her breast.
Finding her in the shadows, he shook his head and laughed roughly. “Trust you to end up in this cave.”
Chapter Ten
Thank God she is all right.
Addy’s dirty, water-spattered gown was torn in several places, and her hair was a mess, but she appeared reasonably unharmed by her reckless climb down the cliffs.
The sharp, salty scent of wet rock and seawater filled Garrett’s lungs as he strode toward her. She retreated, moving farther toward the back wall; closer to the red stain that had been immortalized in the old tales.
“There is no way out except where we came in,” Garrett told her, as she continued to dart along the rear wall.
“I am not going with you,” she said hotly.
He admired her defiance, but he wasn’t going to let her remain here. “When the tide rolls in, this cave will partially fill with water. It becomes treacherous.”
“How do you know?”
He didn’t want to tell her the truth, but there were no longer good reasons to keep his past from her. Moreover, if he wanted her trust, so he could take her to safety, he must be honest with her. Gesturing to the reddish stain, he said, “This is Kael and Aelwen’s cave. Do you remember when I brought you here?”
Biting down on her lip, she nodded. Concern for her blended with his memories of their visit long ago and stirred up another intense wave of longing for her. He took a step toward her.
“If you remember the legend, Kael and Aelwen’s bodies were washed out to sea.”
“’Twas long ago,” she said. “If you know this cave still fills with the incoming tide, then you have witnessed that in recent years.”
His gut clenched at the encroachment of darker memories, as relentless as the ebb and flow of waves. “I have,” he admitted, moving ever closer. “Back when I…was obligated to do Ransford’s bidding.”
“After you left my father’s keep?” She didn’t sound angry, only curious.
He nodded and, as he reached her side, a ragged sigh broke from him. “He had taken me in when I had nowhere else to go. He had fed me, given me new clothes, offered me a knight’s training and a horse and sword, in exchange for my loyalty. He was like a father to me. When he asked for my help, I could not refuse.”
Her eyes glistened in the shadowed light. He wondered if Kael had ever seen tears in Aelwen’s eyes when they’d looked upon each other in this cavern.
“At first, I believed…I was helping others by gathering up the goods from shipwrecks,” he said, the words pouring from him like spilled water. “Yet, when I saw Denman killing survivors—”
She gasped. “Killing them?”
Guilt whipped through Garrett. “I should have stopped him.”
“How? You were but fourteen years old—”
“Still, I should have spoken out.”
“He would have killed you.”
Their gazes locked. He’d never expected her to understand. That she did only made hi
s guilt gouge deeper. “I should have at least told someone with authority, but I did not know who to trust. The sheriff was an ally of Ransford’s—”
“The sheriff?” she echoed, sounding horrified. “He knew of the murders?”
“Aye.” Garrett’s voice wavered, because he’d been a coward; he’d chosen silence instead of justice. Helpless folk had died because of his lack of honor. After leaving Ransford’s keep, he’d vowed never to be a coward again.
“What happened to the items you salvaged?” she asked.
“After we had loaded the goods into horse-drawn carts, Ransford ordered his lackeys to take them to an old barn a short distance away. I never went to the barn, but I learned of it by working alongside the other men. The goods were dried out, repackaged, and put in unmarked crates. Over the following months, the items were sold to disreputable merchants, who hawked them at town markets. Ransford, of course, earned a tidy sum from the arrangement, and so did the sheriff.”
“Mother Mary,” Addy whispered, clearly aghast. “How many times did you work on shipwrecks for Ransford?”
“Twice.” Garrett remembered both as if they were yesterday; he relived them in his nightmares. “I wanted to leave after the first, but I did not have enough money saved. After the second shipwreck, I vowed never again. I left Blyndwick Castle as soon as I could.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. He hated to see her cry. Always had.
With his right hand, he thumbed away the shimmering moisture that ran down her left cheek. The pad of his thumb lingered against her soft skin. Even that small caress made him yearn for her.
God’s blood, but she was crying because of him. Her tears were proof that, despite the years that had passed, despite all that had happened, despite his cowardice, she still cared for him.
As though her thoughts matched his, she reached up and pressed her hand over his. The urge to move away, to break the physical connection, welled within him. Running away kept him safe. Running away eased the restlessness inside him. Before he could move, though, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
The sweet, tender kiss tasted of all kinds of emotions—forgiveness the strongest of all. He groaned, for he didn’t deserve forgiveness. His soul was irrevocably tainted, and in no way was he worthy of what she offered so selflessly.
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