Dryden's Bride

by Margo Maguire

  First, she barred the door behind them. She doubted that the one surviving thief would be moving anytime soon, but she was unwilling to risk another dangerous confrontation. If the scoundrel regained consciousness and managed to go back and steal the horses, then there was nothing to be done about it.

  She tore Hugh’s tunic and used the material to make a tourniquet for the wound in his arm. Then she dried him as well as she could and felt his head for lumps, finding a nasty one right at his crown. Dragging him closer to the fire now, Siân covered him with blankets, then threw her cloak over her shoulders and went outside to secure the horses in the stable. They really couldn’t afford to lose them.

  For the next few minutes she wouldn’t allow herself to worry about Hugh. She had to concentrate on taking care of everything else so that when it came time to leave for Windermere they would be able to do so.

  Luckily, the animals hadn’t wandered. They were still standing in the dry building, out of the rain. There were a few leaks that Siân noticed, but for the most part, the shelter was sound.

  She dried the horses down and threw their blankets over them, then stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, and wondered what to do about the thief who lay unconscious in the yard. She assumed the other two were dead, and therefore no threat to them, but she couldn’t very well leave the third man at large to try to steal the horses again. Nor could she leave him out to catch his death in the rain. Clearly, she had no choice in the matter. She had to get him out of the wet.

  Glancing around the stable again, Siân spied a long, thin strip of leather. It may have been a whip at one time, or part of a bridle, but it was about to become the man’s shackles. She picked up the length of leather and braved the rain to get to the unconscious man. Finding him facedown where she’d left him in the yard, Siân pulled his hands together and tied them securely. Then she pushed him onto his back and pulled him by the feet through the mud to the stable. Leaving him just inside, she shoved the door closed and barred it behind her.

  Exhausted now, Siân went back to the house and, once inside, made sure the door of the manor was securely bolted against intruders. Then, leaning her back against the thick wooden door, she took a long, deep breath.

  There was still much to do. Hugh’s wet clothes had to come off and the wound in his arm needed tending. It was doubtful that anything could be done about the lump on his head, but Siân thought she might lay a cool, wet cloth on it—not that it would do much more than soothe the injury.

  Siân built up the fire, then returned to Hugh. He was still unconscious and unmoving. He was a mess. His clothes were soaked and covered in mud and the wound in his arm still oozed blood.

  She started at his feet, and quickly pulled off his soft leather boots. Covering him with a thick blanket—to protect her sanity as well as for modesty’s sake—Siân found the laces at his waist and released them. She grasped one side of his chausses and worked the wet cloth down his leg, then leaned across him and worked on the other side. By the time he was bare under the blanket, Siân’s hands were caked in mud and she was breathing hard and fast.

  Getting the doublet off was even more difficult. Hugh groaned when Siân moved his injured arm, and she shrank from causing him pain, but it was necessary to move it to get the doublet off. She pulled and stretched, then pulled some more, and finally managed to get it over his head and down his injured arm. When he was finally naked but for the cloth wrapped around the wound, Siân washed her hands, then started digging through her pack of belongings.

  Certain that the sword wound would have to be sewn, she located her needle and some thread, then ripped another strip of clean cloth from the linen under-kirtle she’d torn for him once before. Returning to his side, she uncovered his shoulder and arm, then peeled away the cloth that bound the arm and washed the wound.

  Hugh grimaced and groaned a few times as she stitched, but didn’t put up much resistance. Siân felt he was fortunate not to have awakened for the procedure.

  By the time she was finished, Siân realized she was now shivering from the cold. Her own clothes were soggy and mud-caked, and she was anxious to remove them.

  Only then would she be able to sleep.

  The flickering firelight hurt Hugh’s eye, and he mentally cursed whoever was pounding nails in his head. He was warm and dry, though for the life of him, he didn’t know how he’d gotten that way. Last he remembered, he was out in the stable yard, battling it out with a couple of thieving vagabonds.

  Where were the scoundrels now? And what had happened to Siân and Henry?

  Dreading what he might see, Hugh glanced surreptitiously around the room and realized that he was back in the great room of Dryden Hall. The fire was going strong and little Henry lay sleeping peacefully next to him. It seemed that nothing was amiss, other than a deadly headache and the fact that his left arm felt as if it had been torn out by its roots. Those were things he would deal with later. Siân’s whereabouts was something he needed to know now.

  He moved his head slightly and surveyed the room again, but she was not visible. Where had she gone? What had happened to—

  Then he saw her. She was in the shadows of the room, just close enough to benefit from the warmth of the fire. Standing next to a bucket of water, Siân bent over and soaked a cloth, then stood straight again and ran the wet cloth down her arms and across her naked breasts. Water trailed down her belly, and when she shivered, everything inside him flexed.

  Siân was like an apparition, standing as she was, cloaked in shadows, enticingly visible one moment, then hidden from his view in the next. His throat thickened with arousal, as did other parts of his anatomy. Hugh knew he couldn’t continue this way, wanting her, denying himself at every turn.

  She would be his tonight, he thought fiercely as he moved to get up. He would claim her for his own, regardless of any other commitment, any other—

  Pain exploded in his head and shot down the injured arm as he sat up. Then nausea and an alarming dizziness overtook him. He closed his eye and gingerly laid his head down.

  Damnation! was all he could think before Siân rushed over to him and sank to her knees next to him.

  “Hugh!” she cried, holding a blanket up to cover her nakedness. “You’re awake! I was so worried!”

  “What happened?” He ventured a glimpse at her once the pounding in his head subsided.

  She told him everything, including what she had done with the unconscious thief. A crease appeared between his brows and Siân wondered if she’d done something wrong. Then the most remarkable thing happened.

  A small smile appeared on his lips.

  This was something Siân had never seen. He wore scowls, frowns, and impassivity on his face, but never smiles. And Siân’s heart swelled with joy for she knew that it did not come easy to him.

  “And you managed to carry me inside?” he asked. “All alone?”

  “Not exactly,” she replied. “I rolled you onto this fur, and then dragged you in.”

  A somber expression suddenly replaced his more relaxed one. “Siân, you should have stayed inside,” he said.

  Siân’s brow creased this time.

  “What if they…if Henry…” he said, when he was really thinking about the danger Siân had been in when she’d come outside to help him.

  All her warm feelings fled.

  She stood up abruptly and wrapped the blanket tightly around her, then grabbed clean, dry clothes and stepped into the shadows to dress. The surly earl of Alldale may have smiled, but she was exhausted, her emotions were in chaos and her nerves were frayed. There was no winning with this man! She’d saved his miserable hide, and all he could do was complain and berate her. Yes, she’d taken a risk when she’d gone outside to see what could be done, she knew it as well as he did.

  But all he could think was that she’d left Henry.

  She yanked on her linen under-kirtle—the one she’d ruined by using strips of it for Hugh’s various wounds—and p
ulled her fur to the far end of the hearth where she lay down and forced herself to stay still. She would sleep. She would forget about that small smile he’d given her.

  Swallowing back a pitiful thickness in her throat, she pulled her blanket up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.

  Let her brood, Hugh thought as he carried the packs to the stable the following morning. His head ached abominably and his left arm was next to useless. But they were going on to Windermere today. They could not afford to dally.

  Siân had barely spoken to him since the night before when he’d given her cause to believe he was ungrateful for her help. In truth, he was exceedingly grateful for his life and had no doubt that he’d be dead if not for her intervention.

  In good conscience, however, he could not encourage her fond feelings for him. He’d been an addled fool the night before, thinking that he could have Siân, and the marriage, as well. The relationship he had planned with Marguerite suited him. There would be no emotional entanglements with Marguerite, no intensity of passion such as Siân roused.

  Life would be well ordered and controlled at Clairmont. His role there was predetermined, predictable. It was the kind of life he needed.

  A rough voice called out as Hugh pulled open the stable doors. “Unbind me, man!”

  Hugh’s vision adjusted to the dimness of the interior and he made out the shape of a man on the ground.

  “Blighted wench went and tied me to—”

  “The lady can run you through for all I care,” Hugh muttered as he walked past the thief. He wasn’t going to waste time on the villain, just get the horses saddled and packed and they would be on their way. The only problem was how he would manage to lift the saddles and throw them onto the backs of the horses. Hugh didn’t think he had the strength in his injured arm to do it.

  He would have to get Siân to help him.

  He dropped the packs in the dust of the stable floor and went back to the prisoner. He was still securely tied.

  “On your feet,” he said, using one hand to haul the man up.

  He half pushed, half steered the thief into one of the horse stalls and latched the gate, effectively imprisoning him.

  “You can’t leave me in here!” the thief complained.

  Hugh ignored the man’s protests. Getting the horses saddled while keeping Siân and Henry safe was going to be a logistical nightmare. He had to lock up the blackguard, at least until they were mounted and ready to depart. Otherwise, the man would be free to grab Henry. Or, God forbid, Siân.

  Hugh stood outside the stable doors and deeply breathed in the morning scents. It was always best after a drenching rain, he thought. Clean and pure, open and free.

  He looked up and saw Siân walking toward him, along with little Henry. She seemed so natural this way, with the little boy tagging along, talking incessantly, his tiny hand carefully enclosed in her own. The little king’s speech was occasionally punctuated by her own, but for the most part, she let him chatter away.

  Dangerous thoughts began to crowd him as he watched her move gracefully down the path. Thoughts he could not even begin to entertain.

  “Siân,” he said hoarsely.

  Siân looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t realized that he was standing there. She made no response at first, but swung Henry up into her arms before coming any closer to him. The little king shielded her like a suit of armor.

  “You’ll have to help me with the saddles,” he said.

  She glanced past him into the dark, gaping doorway of the stable, but didn’t speak. Her beautiful eyes seemed tired and hollow, their expression decidedly unfriendly. Hugh could only be grateful she didn’t berate him for asking for assistance now, when last night he’d scolded her for coming to his rescue.

  Somehow, they managed to get the saddles on and the horses packed. Hugh was sweating profusely by the time they finished, and his head felt as if it had been wedged into a vise. His left arm was screaming in pain. It would be by sheer force of will if he managed to keep his seat all the way to Windermere, but Hugh had every intention of doing so.

  Once they got there, Kit Colston could work her skills on him, the way she’d done after his imprisonment. Hugh was well aware that it was only because of Kit’s knowledge and healing skills that he had survived his ordeal. Just as Siân’s quick action last night had saved him.

  Before they left the yard, Hugh returned to the stable and flipped a small knife into the stall with the prisoner. Having been brutally imprisoned himself, he could only be humane now.

  He had every confidence that by the time the scoundrel got loose, they would be miles away.

  It was just past midday when they reached Windermere Castle. Siân saw the high walls that surrounded the stone fortress and the three tall towers within. It was an impressive sight.

  “See th’ princess now, Hew?” Henry asked sleepily. He’d been courting sleep for the last few miles, but resisting a nap in anticipation of meeting the Windermere princess promised by Hugh.

  Siân glanced over at Hugh when he answered, well aware that it took every ounce of his strength to stay upright and in the saddle, much less to speak. His weakened condition took the edge off some of her anger, but she would never allow her heart to be so vulnerable to him again. He’d made it perfectly clear—repeatedly—that he wanted no part of her.

  It didn’t change her plans, really. Though she was late in realizing it, there’d never been any hope of a future with Hugh. Owen had told her often enough that she was not the kind of wife a nobleman would ever chose. Besides her utter unsuitability, she bore the Tudor name…not something she could readily discard.

  Besides, Hugh was promised to Marguerite Bradley and that was that. Siân would go ahead with the plans she’d made that night at Clairmont before they’d taken Henry and run. She was not some helpless, ignorant waif. After Henry was settled at Windermere, Siân would defy Owen and find employment in some noble house.

  But first, she would avenge Idwal and Dafydd.

  The road to Windermere was much better kept once they reached the town border. It seemed to Siân that there was a great deal of commerce going on, but Hugh’s deteriorating condition worried her so much that she could not appreciate everything she saw. He was gray and drawn and she was anxious to gain the castle walls and get him to his friends where he could rest and heal.

  “Lord Alldale!” a man called from the doorway of a large building. His voice registered surprise on seeing Hugh.

  Siân turned to look upon two men who had been leaving the building when they’d spotted Hugh and called out to him.

  “Juvet,” Hugh replied, his voice strained and harsh. Siân knew he was near the end of his endurance and she wanted to get him through town and past the castle walls.

  “His Grace is here,” the man named Juvet answered. “He will, no doubt, be pleased to see you.”

  “No doubt,” Hugh muttered almost too quietly for Siân to hear.

  “Where’s th’ princess, Hew?” Henry whined. He was tired and ill-tempered and Siân knew he was another one who needed to find a bed at Windermere Castle.

  “We’ll find out now. Her father is inside,” Hugh replied, pulling up and dismounting. “Juvet,” he called to the shorter of the two men, his voice sounding slightly stronger than before. “Help the lady, would you?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” the man replied as he gave a hand to Siân. “Are you all right?” Juvet asked, looking back at Hugh, who was not able to move his left arm at all now.

  Before Hugh could answer, a tall, dark-haired man stepped out into the overcast day. Dressed in finely tailored clothes, with the dignified and imposing manner of a high-ranking lord, Siân knew this had to be the duke of Carlisle, Hugh’s friend, Wolf Colston. His striking features were marred by a terrible scar that creased his forehead and traversed his brow and cheek. Siân knew that it was only a miracle that could have saved him from death after such an injury and she wondered about it.

  The duk
e squinted against the brighter light outside and when they alighted on Hugh, his sharp gray eyes darkened with concern. In only a moment, he was at Hugh’s side, questioning him.

  Not wishing to intrude on Hugh’s reunion with his friend, Siân stood waiting next to her mare, holding the fidgety child, when suddenly Henry whined impatiently, “Hew! Where’s th’ princess!”

  The two men looked up and walked over to where she stood holding Henry, who was clamoring to get down!

  “Lady Siân Tudor,” Hugh said, his voice sounding strained, “this is Wolf Colston, Duke of Carlisle, Lord of Winder—”

  “’Tis a pleasure, my lady,” the duke said, bowing slightly over Siân’s free hand. Siân made to curtsy as etiquette demanded, but Colston kept her from doing so. “Forgive me for being brief, but we must get Hugh to Windermere. He does not appear at all well.”

  Siân nodded as the duke took Henry from her arms, out of her charge. “That is so, Your Grace,” she said distractedly. “He was badly wounded last night…” She hadn’t anticipated giving Henry up just yet; she’d hardly adjusted to the idea that Hugh would never be hers. Now the little boy she cherished was gone from her, too.

  “Can you mount, Siân?” Hugh said. “If not—”

  Siân wiped all expression from her face when she saw Hugh glance her way. She was not about to let him see that she was completely bereft now. Not only was he lost to her, but her little Parry was gone now, as well, into the capable hands of the duke of Carlisle. She was really and truly alone again.

  Blinking back pointless, idiotic tears, she climbed back on her horse and headed for Windermere Castle.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was difficult for Hugh to stay upright in the saddle. Fortunately, it would be only a few more minutes before they arrived at the massive stone steps of Windermere Castle and he could find a quiet place to deal with his headache and his wound.