Warrior's Lady

by Gerri Russell

  Rhiannon stumbled in her haste to keep Sophia in sight. Catching herself before she tumbled down the stairway, Rhiannon slowed her pace. And Sophia vanished.

  A blast of cold, mold-laden air washed over Rhiannon at the bottom of the stairs where a short hallway led to two doors. She peered in the first doorway, extending the candle ahead of her. The weak flame pierced the darkness for only a few yards before her.

  Rhiannon stepped farther into the room. The scent she had first thought was mold shifted to that of pungent wood mixed with something else she couldn't identify. She took another step into the darkness only to reveal stacks of wooden barrels in neat rows across the room.

  Suddenly, the door slammed behind her. An instant later, she heard the screech of metal as a bolt slid into place, barring the door. A soft laugh followed, then nothing.

  A shiver went through Rhiannon, and she braced herself against the impulse to pound on the door. Who would let her out? None of those women would help her. She frowned into the darkness. She'd experienced this kind of torment before from her brothers. The trick, she'd learned, was not to play the game. They wanted a reaction, some response that would confirm their suspicions of who they thought she was.

  The candle flickered as she stared into the darkness. She had to find a way out without help and without fuss. But how?

  She clutched the candleholder tightly, watching the flame sputter. Again she held her arm fully extended before her, searching her surroundings. She was in some kind of cellar room filled with wooden barrels. Now that she'd become accustomed to the overwhelming scent, the air in the room smelled pungent with just a hint of spice.

  Rhiannon ignored the barrels, and blocked out the scent, concentrating on the darkness. No, not complete darkness. She could see a dim glimmer of light in the distance. Another door on the opposite side of the room?

  Only one way to find out. She strode forward, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness outside of the ring of light cast by the candle. As she wound her way between the rows of barrels, the small line of light grew bigger, brighter, until she could see torchlight coming from beneath the bottom of a door.

  A few steps more, and her fingers closed around the door latch. One pull and the heavy door opened easily into yet another corridor. The temperature on this side of the castle was colder, most likely closer to the outside wall of the keep. The door at the end of the hallway proved her assumption as she stepped out into the softly lit night air. The door to the courtyard had enabled her to escape the trap. No sooner had the thought formed, than a dark shape appeared before her.

  "What were you doing in that storeroom?" Camden Lockhart stared down from atop his horse with his usual look of displeasure.

  Rhiannon couldn't tell him the truth. He would never believe his people capable of such deviousness. She also couldn't lie because that's what everyone expected her to do. Lie, cheat, steal, murder. She was capable of none of those things, yet damned by them all. "I couldn't sleep," she said, truthfully enough.

  He dismounted and as he did, something in his gaze shifted, softened. Torchlightflickered over his dark hair and his light blue eyes, making the startling contrast even more pronounced. "You should not be out of the keep at night. Alone," he said emphasizing the last word.

  She was always alone. But what did that matter to him? "Thank you, milord, for your concern." She ducked her head, shielding herself from his appraisal, and set out for the castle's entrance.

  She heard him behind her, but kept walking until a hand on her arm stalled her. "Why were you out here?" he asked, his gaze intently on her face.

  "You might say I was given no choice." She gave him a cool smile and continued toward the door that would take her back into the keep.

  He fell in step beside her. She suddenly wished she did not feel so dwarfed by his presence. The man exuded confidence and power with his every step, a fact that made her knees unsteady. She grasped the door latch that would take her back inside his lair.

  What did he want from her now?

  Chapter Six

  Rhiannon Ruthven's face paled in the golden light cast by her candle and guilt radiated from her. And yet Camden sensed all was not as it seemed. What wasn't she telling him?

  "Why did Mother Agnes send you here?" He fell into step beside her as she scurried for the keep. "I sent a messenger to her at the abbey to verify your claims."

  She gazed at him in surprise. "Are you always so suspicious?"

  "I will know the truth — from you or from her." He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Why are you here?"

  She grasped the door latch of the keep, her fingers remaining there without opening the door. A raw vulnerability appeared on her face where there had been none before. He hardened himself against her attempt to manipulate his emotions.

  "Do you want to know why I'm here? Because I'm desperate. I have nowhere to go. I gave myself to the abbey, but the abbess refused me, saying my calling was elsewhere."

  He frowned at her unexpected confession. "You shouldn't tell me you're desperate," he said softly. At this moment, she was completely in his power. As he took in her lush body, his blood stirred at the thought of what that could mean.

  "You wanted me to be direct." She studied him. I have nothing else to lose."

  "Oh, I can think of at least one thing." His gaze rested at the point where her shawl covered her breasts.

  She lifted her chin, eyes blazing. "And will you take that from me, milord?"

  He pictured it — stripping her bare and plunging into her hot wetness. His shaft started to harden. It would be his ultimate revenge. As suddenly as the thought came, it left him cold. She was a Ruthven, but she was also under his protection. "You have nothing to offer that I would want."

  Yet he wasn't quite convinced of the truth in his own words as his hand met hers on the latch. He moved past her, their bodies connecting in a flash of shared heat as he opened the door and strode into the keep.

  Rhiannon took a deep breath to collect herself after Lord Lockhart went inside. At the sight of his broad, muscled back, she couldn't help thinking of his suggestive comments. She was completely at the man's mercy. Yet what on earth had possessed her to admit it? After another calming breath, she went back into the castle. Although she carefully avoided looking at Lord Lockhart, she could feel his gaze tracking her across the room and up the stairs.

  Inside her bedchamber, Rhiannon wilted against the wooden panels of the door. Her knees were unsteady and her heart raced. She had seen the lustful thoughts behind his eyes. She might be young and inexperienced, but that was one look she had not imagined.

  She'd seen similar looks on the faces of her father's friends when they had come to visit and she'd played the role of hostess in her mother's absence. It was one of the few times she'd been allowed around other men. But these men did not want friendly conversation. Nay, their leering looks and not-so-discreet pinches had said it all.

  Rhiannon shuddered at the memory. Thankfully, her father had disappeared from her life before he could use her for his own financial gain.

  But Camden Lockhart … she pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to stall the fluttering that had started there. He was no aged, leering philanderer. He was a handsome, virile man.

  With a groan of disgust, Rhiannon pushed away from the door. She wasn't experienced enough to handle a man like Camden Lockhart. He would chew her up and spit her out before she even knew what had happened.

  With a sigh, she went to the door connecting Violet's room to her own. Violet tossed and turned on the bed, writhing as if in some sort of pain. Rhiannon hurried to Violet's side just as the little girl bolted upright in bed. A scream pierced the stillness of the night.

  "Don't let him get me. Mummy, don't let him take me away," she sobbed with her eyes still tightly shut.

  A nightmare.

  Rhiannon sat on the bed, and her hands hovered above Violet's head. What should she do? How should she comfort her?

  Violet's s
obs continued. "Mummy, make him go away."

  Rhiannon slowly brought her hand down to stroke the little girl's hair. "It's all right, Violet. No one will harm you while I'm here," she said softly.

  The little girl pressed her body against Rhiannon's. Her sobs stopped, but waves of trembling wracked her body.

  "Shh," Rhiannon cooed, continuing to stroke Violet's head until the girl's shaking had ceased and soft breathing came from her lips. She'd fallen back asleep.

  Rhiannon slowly lowered the girl to the bed and once again tucked the coverlet tightly about her small body. A sense of satisfaction mixed with joy came over her at her ability to help. Perhaps the abbess had been right to send her here with Violet. As the girl slept, Rhiannon slipped off the bed, still too restless. She would care for Violet, and she'd find some way to make the child a new gown that would not remind her of the horrors she'd faced over the last several days. Violet needed a fresh beginning, and a new gown was a simple way to start her healing process.

  From her adventure earlier in the dark storeroom, she knew she'd get no assistance from anyone else in the castle. One locked doorway and a few harsh names could not sway her resolve. She'd have to be more creative. She scanned the room. She'd find a way to make a gown out of something.

  Rhiannon thought of her own sparse belongings. The only dress she had was the one she wore. She could use her cape for fabric, but that would leave her without a source of warmth when they took their lessons outside.

  Still not defeated, she paced about the room as her mind inventoried the essentials she'd tossed into her one small bag. At one of the small beds, she paused to finger the fine dark blue silk of the bed drapes. And a length of ribbon came to mind — a lavender and blue tapestry ribbon her mother had given to her before her death. That ribbon would be the perfect accessory to a gown made from dark blue silk.

  A lightheartedness she hadn't experienced in ages crept over Rhiannon. She pulled the drapes from the frame of the bed. If she worked all night, she just might do it. And with any luck, sewing into the wee hours might help take her mind off a decidedly handsome lord with a curious light in his eyes.

  "Raise the portcullis and open the gates," guards at the gatehouse called out. The grinding of the metal chains filled the morning air as the fortified entrance opened, allowing those who had lived at Lockhart Castle entrance to their new home.

  Camden felt he'd had no choice but to leave his brother's castle empty while his efforts were divided between protecting his kin and the Crown. Lee Castle was closer to his enemy's border. To keep English forces from taking Glasgow or Edinburgh, it was best he be there to defend it. With its gateway cities strong, the rest of the country would be safe and he could make certain his brother's people would be safe.

  "We need to speak to each of them," Camden informed his men who had gathered at the gate to help him greet the staff of his brother's castle. "We must be certain only those known to us enter here."

  Orrin's gaze narrowed on him. "I can appreciate that you'd want to care for your brother's people, but why such caution?"

  Camden had not told any of them about the assassin he'd hired. Not even Orrin. He did not fully regret what he'd done. The image of James' disemboweled body would stay with him for all eternity. His revenge had been justified.

  "No questions. Just do it," he growled.

  "You heard the man." Orrin strode away.

  Camden scowled. Damn the Ruthvens for forcing this upon him. He'd had his hands full just trying to keep the English at bay. And where he might have a flare in matters of war, he had no skill for domestic concerns. He and Orrin had been back in Scotland for only three short years.

  As the new residents crossed the drawbridge into the bailey, his men went to work, sending his way anyone of a questionable nature.

  By midday they had welcomed over seventy-two of his dead brother's household, thirty-five of them warriors, trained and ready. They would be a welcome addition to his defenses. The remaining residents had skills of all sorts, ranging from cooks, weavers, scullery maids, a troubadour, a mason, ten huntsmen, two blacksmiths, a falconer, and two men, Hugh and Rhys, who had joined the castle's staff only the week before James' death. None of the other staff knew them well, but reported they were both hard workers, doing more than their fair share of the work.

  "What should we do with them, milord?" Orrin asked, coolly.

  "Let them pass. But we must be watchful."

  Orrin nodded, then turned away, his movements rigid.

  "Orrin," Camden called, falling in step beside his friend as he headed toward the keep. "You were right."

  "About what?" he asked, his expression puzzled.

  "About taking revenge against the Ruthvens. I hired an assassin to kill them all."

  Understanding settled into Orrin's dark eyes. "That explains your disappearance yester eve. I had wondered."

  "I tried to find him, to stop him. He killed the two remaining male Ruthvens," Camden said quietly.

  "You tried to stop him?"

  "Aye."

  "Because one of those Ruthvens is a female?"

  Camden nodded. "I have inadvertently placed Violet in terrible danger by hiring that assassin. No matter how many guards I surround her with, there is always a chance that she could be hurt if they come after Rhiannon."

  "You could always send the Ruthven girl away."

  "I can't do that," Camden said, stung.

  "Because?"

  "Two wrongs won't make this right," Camden said, bitterly.

  "Then what will?"

  Camden sighed. "I wish I knew."

  Orrin shrugged. "You've managed to bring Lady Violet here. The guards and I will be watchful. She is safe in this castle."

  Camden clapped Orrin on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. I am in your debt."

  Orrin smiled, his earlier stiffness gone. "That is true, and I am keeping tally of just how much."

  The tension in Camden's neck eased as they fell into an easy banter that had seen them through their youth. Camden opened the door and stepped into the foyer outside the great hall.

  "With me watching our two suspicious residents, whatever will you do to keep yourself occupied?" Orrin smiled.

  Camden's thoughts immediately darkened. "I best go see what our uninvited guest is up to."

  Orrin's teasing smile widened. "Truly? Is it that unpleasant?"

  Camden frowned, his mood only further darkened at Orrin's taunts. "I'll let you know."

  "Where are your ambitions, boy?" Mistress Berwick chided her son from her sickbed. She struggled to sit up, but a spasm of coughing sent her back down to the pillow.

  Bishop Berwick brought her a sip of water from the pitcher at her bedside. "Drink this, Mother. It will help." Only because he'd laced it with juice of the poppy.

  She drank from the cup, and with frail hands, handed it back to him. "We need to plan. We need to come up with a way to get the Charm Stone away from whoever has it now. It has to be with Camden Lockhart. Where else would that woman have sent her precious Stone?"

  The bishop set the cup on the bedside table with a smooth grace, despite the anger that seethed inside him. "You are sick, Mother. No planning today."

  She scowled at him. "I am not sick. God would never punish me that way. I am the mother of a great bishop, a holy man."

  The muscles of his neck clenched at her continued ranting. When would the tisane kick in? "Even holy men get sick, Mother."

  "Nay," she said in a less forceful tone as her eyelids, flicked closed once, then twice. "God would never strike me down," she mumbled.

  Soon she would slip into a blessed sleep and he wouldn't have to hear her lectures any longer. Did she not think he wanted to be the next Archbishop of Glasgow? Did she not see what he had done, the horrible things he had been forced to do, to show to her that, aye, he did have ambition after all?

  He wanted to make her proud. But even more, he wanted the power the office of the archbishop would give to
him. He deserved it.

  Finally the woman sighed. A moment later her soft snores filled the room. He frowned down at her sleeping body. When had that flush of pink spots appeared upon the flesh of her neck and chest? His frowned deepened. He should never have allowed her to journey to the Isle of Iona to see her sister with only a maid to support her. The maid had stayed behind when she'd suddenly fallen ill. Did his mother suffer the same illness now? Unlike his mother, he did believe God was capable of sending illness their way. A purification of sorts to keep them humble.

  They were vulnerable. Except if they had the Stone. The bishop felt a flush of warmth move through him. The Charm Stone could cure his mother as well as secure for him the very ambitions he sought.

  His excitement faded. He used the Ruthvens to crush James, but still one obstacle stood in his way. Camden Lockhart. Somehow he had to find a way to remove the man. Then he would take the mystical stone for himself and become a man of miracles. A holy man unlike any other the Church council had ever seen.

  He could have everything he'd always wanted — power and status. He twisted back to the bed. His mother's soft snores filled the silence. And his mother would finally have the son she had always wanted.

  If only he could get his hands on the Charm Stone.

  Camden searched the entire castle and grounds for Violet and Rhiannon. At first, he had been annoyed that they had managed to elude him. Now, nearly two hours later, the muscles of his stomach knotted with panic. Where were they? The only place he had not checked was the orchard, and beyond that the fields outside the castle walls.

  He nearly ran through the outer bailey to the orchard drawing more than a few curious stares as he went. He threw the gate open, ready to call out Violet's name when he saw the blanket on the ground. At the edge of the blanket lay two embroidery frames, one with stitching, the other blank. But still Violet and Rhiannon were nowhere in sight. Camden searched through the rows of dormant trees. The branches were showing signs of burgeoning into their spring growth. When he spotted two familiar shapes in the distance, Camden expelled a sigh of relief. They were safe after all his worry.