“Blech!” Morralyn and Geraldine said in unison.
“Do they no’ ken how to make a good cup of tea?” Geraldine asked.
Arline had to agree. “Och! I don’t usually touch the stuff, fer ’tis awful. But, they seem to fancy it here.”
“I’d rather have whisky,” Morralyn said as she winced. “Even Scots whisky.”
“Aye,” Geraldine agreed with a smile. She stood, looking quite devious as she pulled a silver flask from her skirt. “I think I can help with that!”
Both Arline and Morralyn were surprised. Geraldine was never one to tipple, at least not that Arline was aware. And for her to have a flask in her skirt? ’Twas most unusual.
“Och! Do no’ look at me like that,” Geraldine said as she poured generous amounts of whisky in each of their cups. “Ye act like I’ve never touched the stuff.”
“But yer always the good girl,” Morralyn said as she lifted her cup and inhaled.
Geraldine giggled and sat back down. “That’s just what Domnal told me last night!”
Arline nearly choked on her whisky. “Geraldine!”
Geraldine rolled her eyes and smiled at her sisters. “I am a good young woman. I do no’ flaunt meself about like Morralyn does.” She looked over the rim of her cup at the two of them. “Ye probably think I am still a virgin too!”
It was Morralyn’s turn to choke. “Geraldine!” she exclaimed. “Tell me ’tisn’t so!”
Geraldine simply smiled and sipped on her whisky. “There is much ye dunnae about me, Morralyn. Like I said, I am the quiet one. It makes things much more fun, fer people do no’ expect such things from me.”
They sipped on their whisky and talked as they waited for time to pass by. Soon, Thomas would come to escort them to the chapel. Selina would wait until the last possible minute to dress Lily for the child had a way of finding dirt and trouble.
Morralyn yawned and gave her head a shake. “I fear I’m growing quite tired. Whisky usually lifts me spirits.”
Geraldine agreed with a nod and a yawn. “While I don’t drink as much as ye, I’ve tippled enough whisky in me day. Mayhap ’tis all the excitement of the past days catchin’ up with us.”
Arline began to grow quite tired as well. As she yawned, something niggled at the back of her mind and she could not quite put her finger to it.
Her head began to feel odd, fuzzy, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Moments later, her arms felt heavy and her legs felt as though they were no longer attached to her body.
Her heart began to race as she realized what was happening.
She tried to call out for help, tried to stand, to move toward the door. It seemed so far away, out of reach. She fell forward as she stumbled out of the chair.
“The tea,” she sputtered. “The bloody damned tea.”
Beatrice and Joan had been lurking in the hallway. Beatrice had disguised herself as a kitchen maid. Her hair was wound in a braid under a white kerchief and she wore a plain, gray woolen gown. Joan wore much the same get up, complete with a white apron.
They had been waiting rather impatiently outside Arline’s bedchamber. They had watching carefully from the end of the hallway in hopes that they could get Arline alone. Beatrice nearly squealed with delight when she saw three women leave the bedchamber. They would have to think of something to get Arline’s sisters out of the way.
Joan had slunk her way down the hall and listened outside the door. She heard a loud thump, like someone falling to the floor. She held her breath in anticipation of a great commotion to come from within the bedchamber. When nothing happened, she carefully opened the door and peered in.
Arline lay on her side on the floor. Her two sisters were passed out in chairs with their heads slumped forward. Joan waved for Beatrice to hurry inside.
“They all three drank the tea!” Beatrice said excitedly. “Hurry, now. Go get Edward and Tom.”
Joan hurried from the room and Beatrice barred the door behind her. She turned around and stared down at Arline. It was quite difficult for Beatrice to not let out a happy squeal. Things were going as she had planned them.
She strolled around Arline’s sleeping form, a victorious smile painted on her face. “Ye may be an honorable woman, Lady Arline. But yer a damned fool! I’m sorry, me lady, but I canna allow ye to marry Rowan. It wasn’t in my plans, ye ken.”
There was far too much at stake to allow Arline to marry Rowan. Beatrice had no strong affection for the man, but still, he was an integral part to gaining everything that she had ever wanted and desired.
Joan quickly returned with Edward and Tom. Beatrice unbarred the door and quickly ushered them in. The men carried Morralyn and Geraldine to Arline’s dressing room and set them in the dark corner. When they returned, they set about rolling Arline into one of the large carpets. Edward hoisted Arline up and over his shoulder while Tom grabbed a trunk from the dressing room.
Beatrice gave a quick perusal to make certain no one could detect what was really inside the rolled up carpet. Once she was satisfied, she gave a nod of her head. “Quickly now, to the wagon. They’re all too busy to notice anythin’, but be careful! Remember, there be a reward fer ye after ye get to Edinburgh.”
Edward and Tom gave a curt nod and left Beatrice and Joan alone in the room.
Beatrice turned to Joan and smiled. “’Tis time fer me to go marry Rowan Graham!”
Thomas thought it only slightly odd that Arline had not waited for him to escort her to the chapel. He supposed she was tired of waiting and much too excited to start the ceremony.
He met her as she came down the stairs, alone. She wore a beautiful, blue gossamer gown that trailed several feet behind her. A heavy veil was draped completely over her head, covering her face in its entirety and he wondered how she could see. Women’s fashions were not something he paid much attention to.
“Are ye ready, lass?” Thomas asked as he offered her his arm.
All that he received was an excited nod as she placed her hand on his arm.
Thomas led her out of the keep and to the chapel. “I ken that I wasna too keen on the idea of Rowan marryin’ ye, lass. I’m glad I took me time and came to know ye. Yer a fine woman fer him. Ye make him verra happy. And I be verra proud to be escortin’ ye to him this day.”
He heard a sniffle and watched as a hand lifted to wipe a tear.
“Och!” Thomas smiled down at her and patted her hand. “I didna mean to make ye cry! But I reckon women more easily show their feelin’s then men.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Thomas could feel Arline tremble ever so slightly. He supposed she was nervous as well as excited. Domnal greeted them at the door of the chapel.
“Are ye ready, me lady?” Domnal asked with a smile.
She paused a moment, then gave a nod. Domnal opened the door a slight cracked, poked his head inside. He gave a nod to the priest before opening the door all the way.
Thomas cleared his throat, patted Arline’s hand again and guided her inside.
Lily was waiting with Selina just inside the doorway.
Selina knew the moment she saw Arline that something was wrong. She stepped forward, her brow knitted. “Me lady,” she whispered. “What happened to yer dress?”
Beatrice had to think quickly for some reasonable explanation and could only pray that Selina would not recognize her voice. “Tea.” She whispered her reply.
Selina’s face paled. “Och!” she exclaimed. “Ye spilled tea on it?”
Beatrice nodded her reply.
“Ye poor thing!”
Lily stepped forward and pulled on Beatrice’s dress. “I kept me dress clean, Arline!” she told her proudly.
It took a great deal of effort not to shoo the child away. Beatrice had never been fond of children and was even less fond of this one. She hated how Rowan constantly fawned over the child, bragged about how smart she was, how beautiful she was. Doing her best not to give herself away, she gave Lily a pat on her head before lo
oking down the aisle.
There he was. The man she’d soon be married to. She was not worried over what he’d do once he found out he had married her instead of the insipid Lady Arline. By the time he realized what had happened it would be far too late for him to undo it.
She stood taller, thrust her shoulders back and raised her chin. Lily was chatting on about something, but Beatrice ignored her. Besides, it was nearly impossible to understand a thing that came out of the child’s mouth, what with her lisp and inability to pronounce her r’s and l’s.
She took a deep breath and urged Thomas forward, quite ready to become Rowan Graham’s wife.
The moment he set eyes on his bride, the hair on the back of his raised and his skin prickled. His stomach tightened and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that something was horribly wrong.
He forced a smile and leaned in to speak with Findley. “Do no’ give on that something is wrong, Findley. But I tell ye, that is no’ me bride,” he whispered. “Spread the word to the men.”
Findley feigned a happy smile as he patted Rowan on the back. “What do ye mean that be no’ yer bride?”
“That is no’ Arline,” he whispered.
“How do ye ken?”
“That woman has a bosom. In case ye haven’t noticed, Arline is tall and quite slender.” Rowan’s stomach began to churn with anger. “And where be her sisters? They were to walk in front of her.”
Findley looked up, still smiling, and studied the woman. Figuring that Rowan would know better than anyone if the woman was his bride or not, he turned to whisper in Duncan’s ear. Within moments, word was spread amongst the men standing next to Findley as well as those stationed around the chapel.
To the untrained eye, Rowan was nothing more than an excited groom. He waited at the altar with a broad smile plastered to his face. His insides however, were one big knot of anger and worry. He scanned the faces of the guests as Thomas began to walk the woman down the aisle. He recognized many of the faces. Not wanting to cause alarm or worse yet an all out brawl, he remained mute. Who knew if this woman had any accomplices or not? If she did, and Rowan moved too quickly, lives could be at stake.
Thomas detected something wrong in Rowan’s countenance. He also took note of the whispers between the men. Something was wrong, he just did not know yet what it was. He would wait for a signal from Rowan before he acted.
Playing the part of beaming groom, Rowan smiled as he took her hand from Thomas. “Thank ye kindly, Thomas, fer bringin’ me bride to me.”
Thomas nodded and stepped to the side. Rowan took his bride the last few steps toward the altar and stood quietly before the priest.
Rowan leaned in and whispered in the woman’s ear.
“If ye so much as move a muscle, I shall thrust me blade into yer side.”
She tensed ever so slightly and Rowan could feel her tremble. If the woman made any kind of gesture, instigated any trouble amongst the crowd, he would do as he had promised. If she had the courage to look at him, she would see the sincerity and the fury in his eyes. If anything had happened to Arline, he’d have no problems killing the woman standing beside him.
“Where the bloody hell is Arline, Beatrice?”
As soon as she was next to him and he smelled the cloying sent of roses, Rowan knew who was hidden behind the heavy veil. He never cared for the scent of roses. The only woman he ever knew to wear it was Lady Beatrice.
The question of how she gained entry could wait for later. For now, he had to find out where Arline was and if Beatrice had men in waiting to attack.
“Do ye have men in the pews?”
She refused to answer, refused to move.
“Beatrice, I swear to ye that I will ring yer bloody neck if ye do no’ answer me. Do ye have men here?”
The priest leaned forward with a look of concern on his face. “Be there a problem, Rowan?” he asked.
Rowan looked up and smiled. “Nothin’ we canna handle, father.”
“Yer a bloody bastard,” Beatrice seethed. Damn him, damn him, damn him! “Aye, I have fifty men in the pews and five hundred more waitin’ beyond the walls to attack.”
He smiled and looked over his shoulder. One look at the faces behind him and he knew she lied. Mayhap one or two, but not fifty.
He turned back to the priest. “Me bride and I need a moment alone, father. She doesna feel at all well.”
Rowan yanked on Beatrice’s arm and led her away from the altar toward the priest’s office. Findley followed while Duncan remained behind. Whispers erupted through the crowd, curious as to why the bride and groom suddenly left before the ceremony had even begun.
Wee William left his spot in the front row to come speak with Duncan. “What the bloody hell is wrong?” he asked.
Duncan put a hand on Wee William’s shoulder and drew him down so that he could tell him. The rest of the men began to spread out through the crowd, waiting, watching each person for the slightest sign of trouble.
When Duncan finished explaining the situation as he knew it, Wee William rose to his full height. “Damn.”
Thirty-One
Within quarter of an hour, Rowan had the information he needed. He hadn’t learned it from Beatrice but from her maid, Joan who had promised to tell him all that she knew only if Rowan would keep Beatrice from killing her.
He left Wee William behind to help guard the keep. Findley, Duncan, Thomas along with twenty-five of Rowan’s best men, thundered behind him as he led the way out of the keep.
Rowan knew he was in pursuit of a wagon, driven by two paid men. The same wagon that Beatrice and Joan had hidden themselves in, in a false bottom, to gain entry. Beatrice was taken to the dungeon and he did not care one wit if Arline thought it too cruel a punishment. Beatrice was lucky he hadn’t ordered her to hang.
He also knew that Joan had slipped the sleeping potion into Arline’s tea. He hadn’t bothered to ask why for it simply did not matter. If he found Arline alive and unharmed, he would ask Beatrice the whys of it later. If she was harmed, Beatrice would not live long enough to answer any questions.
The wagon was easy enough to follow for it left tracks in the snow and mud. Still, the men who had smuggled Arline out of the keep had at least a one hour head start. Rowan prayed that the two men who drove the wagon weren’t stupid enough to do anything to harm Arline.
Many heads would roll this day. As soon as he got Arline back.
Fury simmered, just at the edge. If the men in the wagon felt the need to defend themselves, they’d not have long to live. Part of him hoped that the fools would try something stupid, just so he’d have the excuse to gut them.
Arline was having the oddest dream. She was being jostled about, like onions in a bowl. ’Twas an odd dream for a woman to have on her wedding day.
She felt groggy, disoriented, and quite nauseous. Her tongue, thick and dry, stuck to the roof of her mouth. An incessant throbbing in her head made her wonder if she hadn’t drunk too much at her wedding feast.
She tried to shake the fog from her head, but felt resistance. She tried lifting her hands to rub her throbbing temples, but something barred their movement. Were her hands tied?
Panic set in. Through the fog, her memory started to come back. She’d been in her room with Morralyn and Geraldine. They had just drunk a toast to something tawdry…then she remembered. She’d been drugged!
Bloody hell! She tried moving but soon realized her hands weren’t tied. She was bundled up in something. She wriggled and tried to kick her feet, but met more resistance. She was bound in something, from head to toe. Breathing became more difficult as the panic welled.
Good sense finally took over. It warned that she would smother if she did not remain calm. It was not an easy feat to tamp down the fear.
She was jostled once again and the force of it rolled her to her back. Although sound was muffled, she could very well deduce that she was in a wagon. Drugged and being taken away from the keep, from Rowan and Lily.
<
br /> Anger and determination soon replaced the fear and panic. Angry that whoever had drugged her was stealing her away to God only knew where. And fully determined not to allow it to happen.
She stopped her struggle to think and to feel what she could with her hands and feet. If she could just get her hands on the seam, hold tightly to it, she might be able to unroll herself from the carpet. She knew it was a thick carpet, not a tapestry, for it felt far too heavy and too smooth to be anything else. More likely than not, it was the same carpet that had covered the floor near her bed.
Carefully, she felt around with fingertips and toes, but came up empty. The wagon hit another bump of some sort. The jolt took her rolling again, on to her stomach. Mustering her strength, she wriggled until she was on her side. That made breathing much easier.
Focused intently on maneuvering her way out of the carpet, the wagon came to an unexpected halt. She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or more terrified. Either they had reached their destination or Rowan had found her. Please dear lord, let it be Rowan!
She lay still and strained her ears to listen. The carpet blocked out nearly all sound. Everything was muffled and disjointed. Her heart pounded against her breast as she tried to think of what to do next.
It felt as though hours had passed before she felt someone tugging on the carpet. She was being pulled along the bottom of the wagon in great tugs. Please, please, please be Rowan!
She was lifted out of the wagon and laid on the ground. At least they hadn’t tossed her into a loch or a river! A small miracle, but now there was hope of getting out of this alive.
A moment later, the carpet was being tugged again, and she soon felt herself being rolled out of it, all the while praying that it was Rowan, and not her captors. In a flash, she decided to run like the devil the moment she was free of the carpet. She’d only stop if she heard Rowan’s voice.
Another tug and roll and she was free! The bright sunshine stung her eyes as she rolled to her stomach, pushed herself to her feet and took to flight!
Rowan's Lady Page 34
