The Bride Quest II Boxed Set

by Claire Delacroix

  Roar he had, but it seemed that Fergus had done more once his roaring had been complete. Now Angus regretted that they had never tried to repeat the deed, but there had been other challenges to face.

  On this day, Angus was put much in mind of his brother and their boyish pranks, for he had faced a goodly share of challenges. He had persuaded the guards that he was a leper when they had considered arresting him, and then he had circled around Airdfinnan without being spotted. Ewen would have delighted in this game.

  But after all of that, Angus had not been able to see the drainage hole when he reached the far side of the keep. He had feared it had been blocked up.

  There was no other way into the keep if it had, and the river was uncommonly high, so he had dared to check. He found it, just where he recalled, though submerged some two feet below the river’s swirling surface.

  Yet his father had ensured that an iron grill was locked over its mouth. Angus lingered low in the water and considered his choices as he reviewed the stationing of the guards.

  They were everywhere that he would have placed them himself. ’Twas as though Aloysius expected a confrontation, and not one from a single man. Angus eyed the walls and knew he could not scale them unseen, not even on this side and not even with a grappling hook. There was not so much as a shadow to hide a man. He could not pass through the gates and this was the only breach in the walls beyond that one.

  Indeed, he had not even been certain he could squeeze through it. He was no longer a boy of ten summers—but then, ’twas not of import if the way was barred. He took a deep breath and ducked beneath the surface, forcing his eye open underwater. ’Twas a lattice of cursed complexity, as one might have expected from a man so concerned with defense as his father.

  Angus swore silently, fearing what fate befell Jacqueline, for she had been within the keep for hours. In frustration, he grasped the grill and twisted it hard, blaming it for his inability to be of aid to her. His father would be sorely vexed to know the result of his planning!

  The grill moved.

  Desperate for breath, Angus broke the surface, inhaled greedily, and dove down again. He grabbed the grill again and wrenched it, vastly encouraged when it shifted again. Another breath and he tried again, the metalwork coming free suddenly in his hands. He broke the surface, then leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily, lifting the metal just slightly from the water that he might examine it.

  And Angus smiled when he saw the rust. If the water rose this high with any frequency, it would have been only a matter of time before the grill drifted free upon its own.

  Father Aloysius was apparently less concerned with worldly matters than Fergus had been, for Angus knew his father would have checked this potential weakness each year when the waters receded.

  Providence was again upon Angus’ side. He closed his eye, recalling how the drain had inclined slightly from the opening, perhaps for half a dozen paces, then turned sharply vertical. There had once been only a wooden trap over that opening, so that none would step into the hole, but one that he and Ewen had easily pushed up into the courtyard from the underside.

  He would hope that ’twas still thus, and he would hope that he could hold his breath long enough to reach that far. If the water was high enough that he could not take a breath at that grill, or if ’twas sealed, he would be hard pressed to return this far to take that second breath.

  He would not think of the practical uses of this drain. Indeed, ’twas the least of his worries. He would not consider his own terror of being trapped below the earth in a space of men’s devising, a space cold and wet and dark where a man might easily breath his last. Nay, he would think of the light shining through the grill at the other end, and ignore the shadows betwixt here and there.

  He would think of Jacqueline.

  Angus’ heart pounded with only the anticipation of what he would do, he told himself, not with terror. The demons gnawed at his thoughts, gleeful that they might soon be able to seize his wits, but he struggled to ignore them.

  The fact that he might fail did not change what he had to do. Angus took a trio of deep breaths, remembered his brother’s optimism and spirit, then dived beneath the murky surface once more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For the sake of her curiosity, Jacqueline sought the wondrous garden of Edana’s tale. She could not bear to think that tale had not had some foundation in truth.

  She was delighted when she found it at the rear of the keep, though ’twas secured behind its own high walls. There was one gate in those walls, one wrought of fancifully turned iron bars and locked against intruders. Jacqueline hung on to the bars and peered into the garden as best she could.

  It looked as most gardens did in the spring, half of the plants appearing dead and the rest clearly uncertain whether they desired to live. Someone had tended it recently, for ’twas not unkempt, but there was naught in bloom at this early date.

  At least there was naught blooming that she could see from this vantage point. She craned her neck and peered through the bars, then squeaked in surprise when a man cleared his throat behind her.

  ’Twas another priest and Jacqueline withdrew warily. He nodded and drew a key from his cassock. “Good day to you. You must be the guest of whom Father Aloysius spoke.”

  “Aye, I suppose I must be that guest.”

  He gave her an odd look, then unlocked the gate and stepped through it, excusing himself as he passed her. He pulled the gate resolutely behind himself, shrugging apologetically.

  “May I see the garden?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “I think it would not be for the best.”

  “Whyever not?”

  His gaze flicked to the hall, then he smiled for her. “I should not like to displease Father Aloysius. He prefers that the garden not be visited overmuch and truly I am here on his sufferance.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have a fascination for plants and herbs, though Father Aloysius has no obligation to indulge me. I heard of Airdfinnan’s gardens years ago and when I was sent to this area last year, I wrote and asked to see them.” The priest smiled. “They were much neglected and there are many here that I cannot name, but I have persuaded Father Aloysius to let me tend them in the hopes that much can be learned.”

  “They do not use the herbs in the kitchen?”

  “It appears none have the skill.”

  “Then why do you not have an apprentice?”

  He looked at her, then shook his head, bemused. “I have wondered much the same, though ’tis not my place to question the decisions of those above me.”

  “Even if they err?”

  He studied her. “You are a most uncommonly forthright guest.”

  “One might say that I am not a guest.”

  The priest shook his head with a frown. ’Tis not my place to know of it, or I would have been told.” He made to turn away, but Jacqueline called after him. ’Twas clear that he was not about to risk his own desires.

  “To how much would you turn a blind eye, if doing so ensured your access to this garden?”

  He paused, glancing back to survey her in a silence that stretched so long that she feared he would say naught more. “’Tis of great import to me to study these plants,” he said finally. “’Twas most difficult to convince those who hold sway here to let me come.”

  “Aye, I can imagine as much.”

  At her vehemence, he shrugged. “Perhaps, but I would hesitate to suggest that I have not been made welcome here...”

  “Though you have not been.”

  He chuckled at a bluntness he clearly found unexpected, but still was unwilling to utter what he had already made clear. Jacqueline instinctively liked him, despite his caution. Perhaps ’twas a useful trait within these walls. He was not unlike Ceinn-beithe’s priest, who spoke carefully and seldom criticized his fellows.

  “I am Father Michael,” he said, returning to the gate, though still he did not open it
for her.

  “I am Jacqueline.”

  “’Tis a delight to meet you, Jacqueline.” He inclined his head. “Perhaps we shall see each other again.” He walked into the garden, pausing to touch a leaf here and a bud there.

  Jacqueline gripped the iron once more and called after him. “Why is the garden gated?”

  “I understand it has always been thus.”

  “Why?”

  “’Twas said that the chieftain of Airdfinnan feared for the health of his sons.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “There is much that is toxic in a garden of medicinal herbs and evidently there once were bees here, for there is a skep. No doubt he did not wish his sons to frolic here unaccompanied, lest they taste something or trouble something they should not.” The priest smiled. “’Tis not an unfitting impulse for a father.”

  “Nay. ’Tis not.” Jacqueline took a deep breath, concluding that she had naught to lose by seeking this priest’s aid. Father Aloysius already knew that she favored Angus’ suit for Airdfinnan and ’twas possible that this man did not fully agree with Father Aloysius.

  Sooner or later, she would have to eat and she wagered that whatever she had the chance to consume would be poisoned. She had not much time.

  This priest might be her sole chance to see Angus avenged and herself freed. Father Michael might well be deceiving her, but her situation could hardly be made worse.

  “Just as ’tis not an unfitting impulse for a father to bequeath his own holdings to his son.”

  Father Michael eyed her anew. “Of course ’tis not.”

  “Yet Airdfinnan is held by no blood of the chieftain Fergus MacGillivray, despite that man’s own desire.”

  “’Tis held in trust, for the return of his son Angus from crusade.” Father Michael shook his head. “Though I have heard that he is gone these fifteen years and it seems unlikely he will ever return.”

  “Especially if Father Aloysius would ensure his demise when he does.”

  “What is this?” The priest closed the distance between them with quick steps.

  “Angus MacGillivray is returned. He has been here and I have been in his company. But Father Aloysius commanded Angus be killed rather than surrender Airdfinnan to his hand.”

  “That cannot be so. ’Twould be a travesty of justice!” But Father Michael was not so convinced of even his own claim. His gaze roved over Jacqueline’s features with concern, as he clearly sought some hint that she lied.

  “’Twould be wicked indeed, but ’tis no less than what he has done.” Jacqueline leaned closer. “I am here because I foolishly believed a priest would do what was right, though Angus warned me otherwise. Now I am imprisoned here, as a “guest”, though perhaps I was only admitted at first in the hope that my presence would draw Angus to his death.”

  She shook her head, unable to halt her tears. “But Father Aloysius has dispatched sentries to see Angus dead and I, as the only witness of this injustice, am undoubtedly intended to never leave this keep alive.” She held the gaze of the intent priest. “Is the study of your herbs worth leaving this wickedness unpunished?”

  They stared at each other, she willing him to believe, he clearly fighting his warring convictions.

  “’Tis a fable you tell, no more than that,” he said finally. He inclined his head then turned hastily away, returning to his inspection and dismissing her.

  Jacqueline’s heart sank as she watched him go. When he did not so much as look her way, she turned away. ’Twas not right! She turned and surveyed the courtyard, guessing that none who had pledged fealty to Father Aloysius would aid her or Angus. She doubted there were any others here, beyond the priest who had just refused her appeal.

  That meant she could not afford to die within the circle of these walls, despite Father Aloysius’ intent. She had to escape.

  Jacqueline had to see Angus avenged. She owed him no less, for her role in his predicament. She might not be able to save him from those sentries, but she could do all she could to see his name cleared of Father Aloysius’ lies.

  It seemed a paltry exchange, though she knew Angus would want no less. First, of course, she had to see herself freed.

  Angus had insisted that Airdfinnan could not be assailed from the outside, but she was inside its walls. Keeps, after all, were designed to be defended against attack, while prisons were intended to keep prisoners within. She surveyed the high walls of Airdfinnan and decided that it worked effectively as both.

  There had to be some way to escape. The greater good had to prevail!

  Glumly, she trod around the perimeter, seeking some weakness. There were at least three ladders wrought of wood lashed together, no doubt the means by which the men scampered to the summit of the walls. All of the ladders lay on their sides on the ground, and when she surreptitiously tried to lift one, Jacqueline found ’twas too heavy for her to lift.

  She muttered a curse worthy of Angus’ vocabulary and continued on. She found Lucifer in a stable. The stallion was not pleased with his situation and showed his mood by stamping repeatedly, snapping his reins, and snorting the feed granted to him all over the floor. He trod in it and shat in it and bared his teeth at the stable boy who tried to approach him.

  Jacqueline spoke to him and scratched his ears and he deigned to be soothed, though he kept a watchful eye on that stable boy and flicked his tail in dissatisfaction. She lingered with him long, wishing she could explain Angus’ fate to him and wondering if his mood was due to his already sensing some dire portent. Her mother maintained that horses knew more than people imagined they did.

  Jacqueline stroked Lucifer’s nose and wondered what would become of a knight’s destrier in a place where there were no knights. He nibbled at her hair, tugging the braid playfully, as though he too had need of encouragement.

  Perhaps someone would eat Lucifer. One heard of such vulgarities. Or perhaps he would be sold to a king or a prince visiting from afar. Unless, of course, Rodney returned in a timely fashion and claimed his knight’s belongings.

  What had happened to Rodney? And how had her parents taken the revelation of her capture? Jacqueline was mortified to realize that she had nigh forgotten about them, though they would be concerned for her fate. Perhaps Father Aloysius could be persuaded to send word to them of her safety.

  But then, perhaps not.

  ’Twas up to her to ensure the survival of herself and Lucifer, up to her to ensure that Angus’ name was not left sullied, and up to her to calculate how that deed might be done. Jacqueline smiled at the stable boy, who eased closer to the calmed stallion. Lucifer brayed at him and stamped ferociously, snorting with satisfaction when the boy fled.

  “Perhaps there is a bit of the devil in you,” she commented, and gave him rump a farewell pat. The destrier snorted and nosed fastidiously through his feed bin once again, no doubt waiting for the stable boy to feel bold again.

  Jacqueline strolled, knowing she was not unobserved but seeking to look only mildly curious about her surroundings. In truth, she was thinking furiously, increasingly frustrated by the fact that the only apparent exit was the guarded gate.

  She paced the perimeter and ducked through every lean-to, finding the smithy, the butcher, the buttery and the henhouse. She avoided the chapel, for all knew that the sacraments offered by wicked priests were wicked in themselves. She would take no mass or offer no confession in this place, even if it meant she died unshriven.

  She found women doing the wash, though they refused to return her greeting or even acknowledge her presence. They scrubbed unceasingly, mute but fairly exuding resentment all the same. She wondered at this, then recalled Father Michael’s caution.

  The sun was sinking as the sound of pots echoed from the hall. Father Michael departed, locking the gate to the garden securely. Jacqueline watched him, but he did not so much as glance her way. He ducked into the hall and her heart sank with the surety that her charges were soon to be repeated.

  She had be
st decide what she intended to do and decide it quickly. The guards changed with such efficiency that there was no interruption in their vigilance, and no moment when the ladders were unattended. The sentries paced along the top of the wall, spaced with disquieting regularity, watchful as hawks on the hunt.

  The women wrung out the last of their washing and flung what looked like men’s chemises over a makeshift line. They dumped their cauldrons of water and Jacqueline jumped back, certain the area would be flooded. But the water barely spread across the ground at all.

  ’Twas then Jacqueline heard the gurgle of water flowing down a drain. She trotted after the women, her heart pounding as she spied the wood lattice nailed over what was obviously an outlet to the river outside.

  Here was her salvation!

  She feigned indifference and strolled past the hole, noting that ’twas wide enough for her, but acting as though she had not even seen it. ’Twas nailed down securely, the lattice so tightly fashioned that a rat would have had difficulties slipping though it.

  Somehow she had to remove that wooden lattice. Acting the bored demoiselle though her heart raced madly, she visited Lucifer again.

  “I will return for you,” she whispered, rubbing his ear. “Somehow I shall do it. Or I will buy you from him. Fear not!”

  The steed looked unlikely to fear anything. She took his brush, as though she had all the time in the world, and worried about those large nails in the lattice even as she brushed him down.

  ’Twas when she brushed his flank that she spied the awl. It had fallen in the straw underfoot, perhaps dropped by a frightened stable boy when Lucifer objected to his presence. No doubt the boy had not the audacity to return for it.

  It mattered naught—the tool was there. And in the twinkling of an eye, ’twas hooked through Jacqueline’s belt and hidden in the folds of her kirtle. Her mouth was dry, her heart hammering, her gaze quickly flying over the courtyard as she sought her moment.