Kate knew she was in MacLeary’s hands once again. She dared not make a sound. She shivered and pulled her knees up to her chin, curling into a tiny ball against the wall. But another moan escaped her. She rocked slightly, back and forth, and her muscles coiled. If she could pull herself into a small enough ball and kept silent, they wouldn’t see her, they wouldn’t hurt her again. It was so cold, so terribly cold. Her dress was soaked and covered with slime. Kate squeezed her eyes shut as tears leaked down her face.
“Micah, you promised,” she whispered and choked on a sob. “You promised you would not allow MacLeary to hurt me again.”
And how do you know I will keep my promises, his voice answered, mocking her.
Horror seethed within her, tearing at her sanity. The walls of her prison drew closer, even though it was too dark to see them, Kate knew they sealed her in as completely as a tomb. She would die in this black pit. Kate’s awareness pulled inward, hazing the awful reality around her. As a turtle drew into its shell, her mind retreated into itself. Coherent thought faded.
The only thing real was her terror.
***
Micah ground his teeth in impotent fury as the afternoon shadows lengthened…of the second day. Aside from the anger and frustration, the fear he had lost Kate forever plagued him. Micah’s party, thanks to Hubert, had found the trail of the merchants and followed it all night and into the next day. On top of everything, exhaustion now clouded his thinking.
“Micah,” John said, pulling his horse to walk beside the destrier. “I know you are worried, but there is a good possibility one of the other search parties found Kate. She’s probably at Appleby warming herself by the fire.”
Micah shook his head. “She’s still out here, John.”
John sighed. “We need to stop and rest at the very least. The men are fatigued; they may overlook a vital clue. You need to rest as well.”
“I will not rest,” Micah growled, pain and fury surging in his heart. “I will not stop until I find her, even if it takes the rest of my days.”
“My lord,” Hubert called. He dismounted and crouched, peering intently at a track.
Micah’s lips quirked, if Hubert got any closer, he would have his nose in the dirt like a hunting dog. “What is it?”
“One of the wagons separated from the group. The rest headed straight north to Crackenthorpe, this wagon went northwest to Bewley Castle.”
Micah scowled. “Bewley Castle is relatively new. If memory serves, Bewley’s daughter inherited and she moved away with her new husband. The castle is not garrisoned.”
Hubert nodded. “The village near it developed from those who helped build the keep. Most have left, but a few remain.”
“Methinks the village might be a good place to hide a kidnapped heiress while waiting for MacLeary.”
Hubert’s lips lifted. “Methinks you have read my mind.”
Micah almost chuckled. Hubert’s easy manner helped take the edge off. Hubert mounted his horse and Micah led the party northwest.
***
Micah and his men rode into a decrepit village with most of the buildings burned or falling down. The narrow street through the center tracked muddy and rutted. A handful of people loitered in front of a shabby tavern, gawking at the arrival of the baron and his knights.
Micah’s gaze swept over the villagers, most as tattered as the buildings around him. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a cloak far finer in weave than the threadbare garments of the villagers. A burly man, unshaven, glared at Micah, then bolted down the street.
Micah recognized the cloth merchant instantly. And his flight only announced his guilt in Micah’s mind. With a strangled curse, he kicked his horse after the merchant.
The man tried to dart into the forest that surrounded the village but Micah’s war horse bore down on him. Before he could reach the safety of the trees, Micah flung himself from his saddle and drove the man to the ground.
The merchant managed to shove Micah off, and lurched to his feet. But Micah, a primitive fury pounding through his veins, leaped up and charged. He never thought to draw his weapon, his only desire was to tear the man apart with his bare hands.
The merchant drew a long dagger and slashed at Micah. Micah dodged the cut and slammed his fist into the man’s gut. The merchant staggered, trying to suck air into his lungs. Micah saw a splash of dried blood on his tunic, and knew instantly, Kate had scored nicely with her dagger.
The merchant straightened and brandished his weapon again. Micah kicked the dagger from his hand. He drove his fist into the man’s jaw, lifting the merchant from his feet and tossing him back like a doll. With a roar, Micah charged and seized him by the throat, slamming his back against a tree.
“Where is she?” he snarled.
The merchant gasped for air, his eyes wide with terror, and clawed at Micah’s hands.
“Where is Lady Kate of Appleby?” Micah’s grip tightened.
“Micah stop!” John bellowed and seized his arm. “We need him alive.”
But Micah’s fury fogged his reason. He would destroy the sod for this. He would rip his heart out for hurting Kate. “Where is my lady?”
“Baron,” Hubert said softly.
Micah gulped a deep breath and forced down the rage clouding his vision. Somehow, he managed to pry his hands from the merchant’s throat and gripped his tunic. “What have you done with Lady Kate?”
The merchant stared at Micah, his face turning gray. He struggled to school his terrified expression into one of aloof calm. “I only performed my duties. The lady sent Laird MacLeary a letter begging him to save her from you before you cut the bastard seed from her belly.”
Horror tangled into a frightening knot and clouded Micah’s vision. His body quivered with fury. The merchant had just stated Micah’s worst fears – that Kate had indeed lied. She had offered herself in marriage to Micah in order not to be sent to a convent. This gave her time to escape to Scotland. Kate may have hated MacLeary, but alliance with him was better than a convent or death.
Micah’s soul screamed in denial, just as loudly as his fears raged. For the first time in two years, Micah had actually listened to the voice of his heart. He had witnessed first hand Kate’s terror, but most of all, he had seen the strength of her spirit. He forced himself to think logically, his gaze falling on the merchant’s poorly bandaged wound and remembering the bloody dagger. Micah then examined the merchant’s face. While the man tried to maintain his confidence, the knowledge of his own lies shadowed his expression.
“If you are Kate’s savior,” Micah said in a voice even he did not recognize, “why did she try to cut out your tripes?”
The merchant’s pallid features lost even more color.
Micah’s rage grew. “You are lying. You laid hands on my betrothed. God as my witness, I will finish the job my lady started and hang you by your own entrails.”
“I…I pray forgiveness, my lord. I had a duty—”
“Cease your infernal lies! Where is my lady?”
The man’s shoulder’s slumped. “I cannot tell ye. My…employer…will kill me.”
Micah snarled a curse, knowing the ruse was over. “So will I.”
The man blubbered like a baby. “He will curse me, ‘tis the work of the devil I tell ye.”
Micah fought to control his rage and think clearly. “What have you done with her?”
“I swear to ye,” the merchant gasped. “He will curse me. None dare speak his name in the village.”
“Why?” John intervened.
Micah realized his friend’s patience was far eternal to his own.
“He is a huntsman…bargained with the devil, he did. He curses those who don’t obey. All fear his evil power.”
“Power?” Micah scoffed, he had no time for superstitious fears. “Why did you agree to take his gold then? Would that not put your own soul in danger?”
“I dared not refuse him, m’lord. Adam Miller died two days ago beca
use he would not kidnap the lady. Dropped dead in the street, his body jerking as if possessed, a bloody froth on his lips. No reason I ken, he was a healthy man.”
“There is always a reason for death.”
The merchant blanched. “Aye, Baron, ‘tis the huntsman’s curse, I tell ye. I had no choice. The huntsman would curse me.”
Micah shoved the merchant to Hubert and pulled John aside. “Do you think this huntsman a MacLeary man?”
“Probably. He could very easily prey on the people’s fears.”
“Baron,” Hubert said, twisting the merchant’s arm into a secure hold. “If I may?”
“Aye?”
“If the merchant tells us where to find the lady we can send him to the abbey. This huntsman’s curse will not touch him there.”
Micah clenched his fists. Although he did not believe in a curse, the merchant obviously did. If they sent the man under guard to the abbey, the abbot would see that justice was met. But Micah longed to exercise his own justice. Nevertheless, he slowly nodded. “Very well, if we find Kate, alive and unharmed, the merchant may go to the abbey.”
The merchant thought for a long moment then sighed in defeat. “She has not been harmed, m’lord, other than a bump on the head. I will take ye to her.”
Hubert pushed the man to John who bound his hands. Micah forced himself to walk to his horse, still wanting to rip the man apart, but praying they would find Kate.
Hubert fell in stride. “A word with you, Sir.”
“Aye?”
“You are aware that I know this land well and was in the area when MacLeary seized Appleby. The laird did not have a huntsman.”
Micah scowled. “The merchant is terrified. While he lied about Kate, I do not think he is lying about the huntsman.”
“Aye and this superstitious fear bothers me all the more. MacLeary may have gained a new ally. If the huntsman is preying on the ignorance of the villagers then we will have to be careful.”
“I agree. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
Hubert flashed him a bright grin. “I always do.”
Micah chuckled and gathered his horse’s reins.
The search party returned to the road. The merchant lead them down a track nearly invisible from overgrown weeds.
The skies darkened with evening twilight and Micah’s men lit torches. Micah lead his horse with John and Hubert, following the merchant. His men, still mounted, ranged around them, alert against attack. They arrived on the site of what appeared to be an old barn, with only a few charred timbers remaining, also being reclaimed by the forest.
The merchant guided them to the side and pointed to the ground. Micah’s eyes widened in horror when he saw the covered well.
“Dear God in heaven,” he whispered and charged forward. The flat, wooden cover had an improvised bolt. Micah cracked it and tossed the lid aside. “Kate?” he bellowed. His heart lurched when he heard nothing. Micah glared at the merchant, fighting the urge to kill him on the spot. “How did you get her down there?”
The man pointed to a rope. “She was unconscious so I lowered her down with that.”
Micah’s heart slammed against his ribs. If there was any water left in the well, Kate might be dead. He grabbed the rope and instructed a few burly soldiers to take up one end, then prepared to lower himself down.
“My lord,” Hubert said softly. “Might I suggest first removing your armor?”
Micah snarled a curse but Hubert was right. He quickly took off his armor while Hubert dug a small lantern out of his pack and lit the candle. He tied it to another rope and slowly lowered it into the well. Micah arched an eyebrow, thank God Hubert had a brain in his head – which was more than Micah could say for himself at the moment.
Finally, Micah had his armor off and carefully repelled down the well. The lantern moved lower, pace ahead of him, and cast a tiny golden light in the midst of the blackness. Micah could not yet see the bottom. He called Kate’s name repeatedly but received no response. That terrified him even more.
Several feet deeper, Micah caught sight of a form huddled against the wall. “Kate?”
She didn’t acknowledge him. Knees hugged to her chin, she trembled like a leaf battered in a storm.
Micah jumped the rest of the way, landing with a small splash of muck. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her into his embrace. “Chérie?”
Her body shook violently but she didn’t respond.
“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered and looked at her. “Chérie, I am here, you are safe now.”
Her eyes were blank and unseeing, she stared straight ahead.
What was wrong? Micah caressed her cheek, pushing a wisp of her dirty hair back. Then he saw the bloody crack on her skull and his rage burned again. He wanted to scream his fury but feared scaring her. “My sweet, can you hear me?”
For the first time, her eyes flicked to him, but they did not seem to focus. “M–Micah?”
His heart soared. “Aye, my sweet, I am going to get you out of here.”
Kate’s arms wrapped around his neck and she clung to him with a strength born of sheer terror.
Micah closed his eyes, whispering a prayer of thanks, and buried his face in her hair. Saints forgive him, he had come so close to losing her. Micah released her enough to tie the rope to his waist, then latched on to her again. “Hold on to me, chérie, and don’t let go.” Micah shouted to his men to hoist them up. With back–breaking strength, they did so.
At the top, Micah tried to hand Kate to John but she refused to release him. John grabbed her around the waist and pulled gently but Kate suddenly turned into a tiny wildcat.
She screeched in terror and battled John with all her might.
“Good God,” Micah roared. “John, don’t drop her.”
Hubert managed to grab her arm. “Lady,” he barked. “You are safe.”
For an instant Kate hesitated. Her falter gained John and Hubert the advantage to haul her over the edge. Micah quickly followed and cut the rope away with his dagger. Kate started to struggle again, fighting in blind fear.
“Chérie,” Micah soothed as his arms went around her.
She abruptly sagged against him, her breathing ragged. Micah held her tightly, thanking God that he had found her. “‘Tis all right, chérie,” he whispered, his lips brushing her cheek. Kate clung to him and Micah closed his eyes. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me for failing you.”
John handed Micah a cloak which he wrapped around her. He then carefully lifted Kate into his arms. He had found her alive but what had she suffered? “I am taking you home,” Micah said.
***
Micah paced in front of the door to Kate’s room while Marjorie tended to her. Although fatigued, he had pushed the party hard back to Appleby. Micah did not know how close MacLeary had been to claiming his prize and had no desire to meet the laird on the trail with a weary band of soldiers. Plus, Kate had been close to freezing. When the sun set, a chill wind blew and Micah feared another storm was on the way. Kate did not deserve to endure any more misery.
Kate had not spoken at all on the ride home. She huddled in his arms shaking, her eyes wide with terror, but other than that, she had the liveliness of a child’s broken doll.
The door opened and Micah spun on his heel. Marjorie stepped out, her lips pressed into a grim line.
“How is she?” Micah asked.
“Cold, tired, and still terrified. It’s going to be a few days before we know for sure.”
Micah’s stomach clenched. He dragged his hand through his hair. “Know what?”
“My lord…” Marjorie’s voice faded.
“Marjorie, you’ve always spoke your mind, whether I wanted it or not. Tell me.”
Marjorie wrung her hands. “Kate has always been a vibrant girl, full of life and love, but now…after this past year…I fear she may have lost that.”
A chilling shiver of dread crawled down his spine. Micah pushed past the healer and walked into Kate’s room. She lay on th
e bed, covered in a mound of blankets, her head bandaged. But her eyes were open and staring. “Ma chérie?”
She did not move.
“I have heard this could happen,” Marjorie said from behind him.
Micah looked at the healer in confusion. “Of what do you speak?”
“Of those who have seen terrible horrors or been so frightened they lose their grip on their mind. They don’t move, they don’t speak, they don’t eat. They just sit there staring. Some healers think they are still in the midst of their terror, unable to realize they are safe.”
The blood drained from Micah’s face and his limbs started to tremble. “Sweet Jesu, nay,” he whispered and closed his eyes. This could not happen to Kate, not after all she had suffered. She was the most courageous woman he had ever met, she had to survive this.
It was his fault.
Pain knifed through Micah’s heart and he kneeled next to Kate’s bed. Gently, he took her hand in his and pulled her fingers to his lips. “Forgive me.”
Kate’s gaze flicked to him, then slid back to stare at the ceiling.
“You see,” Marjorie said with a whisper. “You are the only one she acknowledges. But that gives me hope.”
Micah looked up at her startled. “It does?”
Marjorie nodded. “My lord, the crack on her skull is a nasty one. It is possible Kate fights to come out of her stupor but the head wound is making it more difficult for her. As it heals, she might come around.”
Micah wondered if he dared to seize that fragile straw of hope. But it was the only one he had. His hand tightened on Kate’s and he brushed the hair back from her face with the other. “May I stay with her?”
Marjorie’s expression softened as she looked at him. “For a bit,” she said and pulled a chair next to the bed. “But remember, you need to rest as well.”
Micah nodded, numb with worry. If only he could have protected her from this. If only he had not failed her so terribly. Micah had given Kate his oath, then been unable to keep it. He sat in the chair, continuing to hold Kate’s hand.
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