The Angel of Blythe Hall

by Darci Hannah

  “Jamie Stewart!” said Sir Archibald Douglas, the fifth Earl of Angus, “I ha’ loved ye like a son, and never knew a better mind for thae cards, but I will nae stand being—”

  “You’re drunk!” cried Sir George.

  I turned around, knowing he had mistaken me for another, and pulling the hood from my head, looked into the eyes of one of the most powerful men in Scotland—a man who had fallen from grace in recent years, a man who had once been the royal guardian of James Stewart but had lost influence to the Humes.

  “Jesus God!” The words tumbled from his lips as if pulled unwillingly from within his ruddy, horror-stricken face. “Isabeau Blythe?” he uttered. It was then that I noticed that two other men stood behind him, two men I had never before seen—and who looked suspiciously like Englishmen. Although my mind was sluggish with exhaustion, it began churning, spewing a jumble of contrary thoughts and impossible conclusions. Nothing made any sense at all—nothing but for one small fact. The Earl of Angus, from his own admission, knew that the king was not in Linlithgow where he was supposed to be. He knew the king would be coming to Kilwylie. Suddenly I was visited by an odd clarity of thought and the urge to put on a convincing performance. My life, I believed, depended on it.

  “Dear Lord Angus,” I began, “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not one of your card-playing, dice-gaming friends, but I am soon to be your niece, for the king has finally decided on my behalf, and I am to marry Lord Kilwylie.” I smiled at the man still holding me tightly, and I believed it was convincing. “Isn’t that just grand!”

  “Och!” exclaimed the old earl. “Ye gave me a fright, lass! I thought the ghost of an auld chiel had come tae haunt me at last. ’Tis a rare dark night, and the stink from the bog of Kilwylie is said tae pickle the mind—or, perhaps ’tis the unholy gut-rot that passes for whisky around here? I forget which. Likely both. But come now, gi’ your uncle a hug.”

  The earl was a big, powerful man, just like his nephew. And like his nephew, he had a frame that was muscled and hardened under sword and shield, and endless campaigns on the heather. Therefore, when his arms came around me for a hug, I had no misunderstanding about the power he had at his command. He could, should he wish, crush me like a bedbug. I stepped away and made my excuse. “I would love to stay and catch up with you, and hear all the news of your family, but your nephew is a most anxious suitor, and in his zeal to bring me here, I’m afraid I have been pushed beyond my mortal limits.” I smiled at Sir George and patted his hand, the one that still held me. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall retire and leave you and your friends to your cards.” The looks, the veiled secrecy that passed between all four men were not lost on me, although I did my utmost to feign ignorance. But something terribly chilling was to have taken place in Kilwylie Castle this night, of that I was sure. The presence of the two English agents—for that’s what I believed them to be—in conjunction with the name James Stewart, only pointed to one thing: without a king on the throne of Scotland, and with money placed in the right hands, Henry of England would rule.

  And then I thought of Julius and his hatred of Kilwylie. His appearance in the Borders suddenly made sense. It was his own greed that had driven his brazen attack and abduction of James (and Marion). That it prevented Kilwylie and Angus from reaping a huge reward only sweetened the deal. And it showed the brilliance of the English king, a man who had defeated Richard III, finally putting an end to the bloody conflict between Lancastrian and Yorkist. This Tudor king knew how to overthrow a nation, just as he knew how to pull the strings on the Scotsmen who were his puppets. Angus and Kilwylie were two of his puppets and likely offered English estates and a huge stake in the new government. Julius was simply offered revenge, and perhaps Blythe Hall.

  I was now in the middle of a nightmare.

  I was alone and defenseless, trapped in a tower and surrounded by a stinking bog while the king’s enemies circled like sharks in a blood frenzy. I had known what Julius was; his involvement came as no surprise. But I had wanted to believe in the goodness and virtue of Sir George. He had the implicit trust of the king; he was the man I was betrothed to. And I wanted to laugh at the foolishness of letting myself fall for him—nearly becoming his willing lover. I had been right to suspect that I was only a pawn in a deadly game. Correction: Marion and I were the pawns, and we had been used to lure the king to the Borders in a gross attempt to exploit his weakness. And now he was gone, and Scotland was at the mercy of two madmen. God help us all.

  I was not allowed to see where Seraphina was; Sir George would not abide that. I was told she had fallen ill on the ride and was now sleeping peacefully. It was best, he had said, that she not be disturbed. I was brought to a room on the floor above the Great Hall. It was a spacious chamber containing only a large bed, a chest, a chair near a glowing brazier, and a long, narrow window. The walls were bare, as was the floor. The smoldering peat did little for the chill in the air, and Sir George’s silence did little for the tension that had grown between us.

  I had been staring at the window—at the narrow strip of night sky that was visible—numb with foreboding, when I felt him come up behind me. I stilled at his touch, sensing his mood to be both dark and pensive. I held my breath, afraid to move, as he slowly pulled the cloak from my shoulders. Once the heavy weight fell away I wanted to turn but was stopped by the large hands holding my waist firmly. His silence was commanding. My heart fluttered away like the wings of a hummingbird, for I knew any plea or utterance I made would fall on deaf ears. The Lord of Kilwylie was testing me. If I knew what lay in his heart—what treachery and deceit he lived, what debauchery he was planning—I would not let him touch me. I knew! I knew and yet I had no choice but to let him touch me. Because James still lived, and as long as he lived there was still hope for Scotland, if not for me. And so I closed my eyes, attempting to stop the first tears of humiliation and self-loathing as he began untying the laces of my gown. I thought of Seraphina, and of Tam, and of how miserably I had failed everyone. Tam had never come, and I feared the worst for him. Even the vision of my angel had left me now.

  My gown came off, falling to the floor in velvety waves of blue, and with it the white feather. My eyes held the feather as it fluttered to my feet, but I made no move to touch it. I stood still, unwilling to step beyond the circle of cloth; I felt naked and vulnerable in my thin chemise. His breath, light yet sporadic, was a measure of his arousal. As he took hold of my shoulders, it came warm and urgent against my neck. And then, with exquisite gentleness, he lifted my chin and raked the stubble of his hot cheek against the tender skin of my neck. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of me, of my hair. His breath caught in his throat, and after a long pause he let it out, purposely slow. I felt him shudder. It was this, or perhaps the feel of warm air on my bare skin, that sent a wave of tingling throughout my body. My jeweled caul was his next conquest, and I felt him take the weight of my hair in his hands as it fell away. He stroked the fine strands with a gentleness that only served to make my heart pound harder, until he finally let it sift through his fingers like shimmering waves of golden wheat. I thought he was finished; I prayed he was finished, and took a deep breath to steel my nerves. But Lord Kilwylie was only beginning.

  His fingers moved to the nape of my neck, and under my hair. His touch was soothing, unnervingly so, and I could feel my resolve dissipate like warm breath in cold air. My mind and body became two separate entities then. I knew I should fight him, and yet my body understood how useless that would be. Lord Kilwylie was powerful and confident, and he knew how the night would end; it didn’t help my case any that a small moan escaped my lips. His fingers caressed my hair. His warm body pressed against mine. The heat of him was like a drug, and I found I could not resist this alluring comfort he offered. This gentleness of touch, this radiant heat, this dark and earthy scent that enveloped me, combined with the sheer physical presence of the man, worked as a powerful soporific. A pleasurable tingling hummed throughout my body, clo
uding my fear and apprehension while turning my overwrought limbs to jelly. Yet before I utterly crumpled against him, his fingers slowly began to close. Like the long crank of a carpenter’s vise, his grip on my hair became firm and painful, and with a sudden tug I was forced around to face him. Body and mind, heaving with indignation, became one again.

  With me pressed tightly to him, my head tilted painfully back to expose my neck, he breathed, “I marvel at your foresight in not mentioning James or Julius to my uncle. If he learned your brother was in Scotland, or what he has done to the king, he might be fool enough to go after him. He might be fool enough to use you as a hostage.” It was a warning, one driven home by deceptively gentle lips.

  “I wouldn’t make a good hostage,” I breathed, feeling both pain and pleasure as he trailed soft kisses along my neck. “Julius despises me.”

  “And yet he needs you,” he whispered near my ear. “He needs you to find his angel. You said so yourself. It is the other reason he has returned.”

  I grabbed his doublet, pulling on him as hard as he was pulling on me. “I don’t find angels! For anyone!” I let go. So did he.

  “You are frightened,” he said, his inflection one of mild satisfaction. “But what are you frightened of, I wonder?”

  “I am frightened of many things,” I replied honestly, attempting to stay calm, for although he had released his grip on my hair, I was still firmly in his embrace. “For instance, at the moment I’m frightened of what I’m feeling for you, and of how dangerous it is that we are left alone in this room together.” I attempted a smile and pulled away. Thankfully, he let me go. “I think that until our nuptials take place it would be best if you kept to your own room.”

  His eyes, veiled by darkness, held mine. And then, suddenly, he laughed. It was hearty laughter, not brought about by madness, yet still, it was slightly unnerving. “That is very good advice,” he said, “and I shall heed it, I promise. Yet I also promised that I would put you to bed, and I am not a man to break a promise.” He walked over to the large piece of furniture that dominated the room and pulled back the covers. I looked at him, marveling at the change—thankful he no longer talked of Julius or angels—and obeyed. I was so tired, so tired I could barely think, and I crawled between the fine linen sheets. The bed was cold and I was covered by a thick layer of soft quilts tucked high under my chin with all the care of a tender parent. I shivered slightly, reveling in the knowledge that I would soon be warm. He sat beside me and smoothed my long hair. “It’s been a long night for you, Isabeau. Yet for me it will be even longer. I must go now and placate my uncle and his friends, or I would be a most remiss host. I would far prefer to stay here with you.” He bent to kiss me. It was slightly reminiscent of that night in the dark corridor of the palace, only he was gentler. “I shall return before dawn and join you,” he said. “And I will make you understand once and for all that you have no reason to fear me.”

  “Join me?” I sat up, coming fully awake. “But you promised me you wouldn’t, not until—”

  “I promised no such thing,” he said, cutting me off. “I only promised to keep to my own room. It’s rather fortunate for me you are in it.” He smiled, triumphant and smug, and stood to go. “I always keep my promise, Isabeau, and I promise to return. I promise to finish what I started here. I promise to hunt Julius down and kill him. And I promise that whatever secrets you are hiding will become my own. Do not fight me, Isabeau, my little dove. This is one battle you cannot win.” He walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Yet it was the sound of the key turning the lock that chilled me to the bone. It made me understand the truth of what had happened. I may have fooled the Earl of Angus, but I had not fooled his nephew. And for my stupidity—for my stupidity in leaving Blythe Hall—I would suffer.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking, and my heart pounded with the thought of what I was to face when I did. The lock had been turned and Lord Kilwylie was about to enter. I tightened my grip on the fire poker hidden beneath the sheets. It had been all I could find in the stark room. It would take a good deal of strength to fell a man the size of Sir George; but what I lacked in strength I more than made up for in will. I would not be a prisoner if I could help it.

  He approached the bed. My muscles tensed, waiting for the right moment to strike. I waited until he came directly over me, and then I waited a breath more.

  “Isabeau. Isabeau, wake up.” The words hung in the air as I threw back the covers. I sat up, fire poker in hand. The man gave a high-pitched yelp, even though I didn’t touch him.

  “Tam!” came my muffled cry. It was impossible. I had been certain I would never see him again. “How are you here? How did you know where to find me?”

  “Easy. Lord Kilwylie’s men came for me—with swords. They wanted to make sure I would never find ye again.”

  My hand came over my mouth at the thought. “Oh, dear Lord! They attacked you? He told me he would find you and bring you here. I began to suspect the worst when he locked me in this room. How did you escape?”

  “I had help. The Mackenzie brothers may no’ be so handy in the kitchens or even diligent shepherds for all that, but they’re canny, and agile, and surprisingly accurate with a slingshot.” He smiled. “And then some riders came and chased Kilwylie’s men away.”

  “Riders? Who?”

  “I don’t know. Just riders. Likely broken men. We didn’t stay tae chat. Come now,” he said, heading for the door. “In less than an hour’s time the crows will start crowin’, and the dogs will start barkin’, and the maids will start wakin’, and Sir George will come tae find ye. I want tae be well clear of here before he puts us tae the horn.”

  “Puts us to the horn?” I replied, pulling on my gown. I gestured for Tam to lace me up. “He wouldn’t. I’m no outlaw!”

  “But I am,” he said, finishing quickly. In one swift movement he grabbed my cloak off the floor and flung it around my shoulders. “And abducting the lord’s betrothed carries a heavy price.”

  We slipped out the door and locked it. Tam had borrowed the key from Sir George, who was passed out drunk in the Great Hall with his uncle and a good number of the Kilwylie men. They had been at the cards all night. He started down the corridor toward the stairs, but I went the other way, stating that we had to find Mme. Seraphina. Tam stopped. “There’s no time,” he said gently.

  I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to hear it. “No. We must. We cannot leave her here!”

  “Isabeau,” he said, his boyish face gaunt and serious under the pale light of the wall sconces. I could also see that he had gone through more than he had let on. His left cheek was red and swollen, his doublet torn, and his hose muddied beyond repair. And the black circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t slept in a long while. I knew how he felt. “I love the auld bird as much as ye do; she’s my granny’s dear friend. And if there were any way, I’d do all I could tae take her from here. But we need tae move fast. She’s already gone through this once. She would no’ want us tae put her through it again. She is your guardian, I understand that, and the closest thing ye have tae a mother. But I made her a promise once, and now I am keeping it.”

  Angry, heartbroken, tired, I gave a curt nod and slipped down the stairs behind him, reconciling myself to the fact that if we made it out of here alive, I would come back for her; because if we didn’t make it out of here, she’d have no chance at all. We skirted the Great Hall, where the drunken men slumbered, and took the servant’s entrance to the courtyard. Fog had settled in, and we waited until the sentry passed. We slinked along the wall, then ran behind a shed, where Jerome Mackenzie was waiting for us. I was relieved to see a rope ladder. I climbed over the wall and was helped on the other side by Brendon. When I saw that they had brought four horses with them, I was suddenly filled with gratefulness for these three young men. After suffering a great risk to their own lives they had ridden miles in the settling fog and darkness, over rolling hills and through da
unting forest, to come save me. Kilwylie Castle was a fortress built to withstand long sieges and heavy artillery attacks, and these boys had slipped right in. I knew many grown men who would never attempt such a thing.

  Once again I found myself back in the saddle. I stifled a moan. I was still tired and fretfully sore, and knew it was going to get much worse before it got any better. We rode silently into the fog; the only noise beyond the croaking of frogs and buzzing of insects was a slight sucking sound as the horses picked their way through the marsh surrounding the castle. Halfway through, Tam paused, took out Sir George’s heavy key ring, and threw it into the darkness. Somewhere far off I heard them land with a wet thud. I felt a strange elation then, for I was now free of Sir George’s grasp. I was going home, and if I could help it, he would never walk through the gates of Blythe Hall again.

  Then the first rooster of the morning began to crow.

  Chapter 13

  GABRIEL

  SIR GEORGE HAD NO NEED OF HIS HOUNDS; HE KNEW where we were headed. Dawn broke as we cleared the dense forest, and with the increasing warmth of the sun, the fog began to dissipate slowly. I had visions of men waking in a hall not far off, their drink-muddled heads beginning to clear as the castle came to life around them. It wouldn’t be long until the lord of the castle, finding his heavy ring of keys missing, discovered what had happened. He would be in a rage, for he was a proud man, and one with a terrible secret. He would strap on his armor, buckle his sword belt, then choose his fastest mount and come find me. Tam, being a clever groom, had exchanged three spent mounts for four very fine horses from one of the Kilwylie horse breeders. Fresh horses, the fog, and a small head start were our only advantages. In the vales between the rolling hills the fog still lay thick, like a heavy blanket, and for this I was glad. It swallowed our party and made me believe I was invisible. But we could not hide in the fog forever, just as I couldn’t ignore what was to come.