The opposing team groaned as Rubina's quoit landed over the post, joining three others that had already encircled it. Rubina blinked in surprise. She had not known her own arm was as strong as that. Her team cheered excitedly and the others formed up behind the French girl who now looked resolute with determination.
She cast and the courtyard resounded with a clang of metal on metal as she, too, hit the post. Rubina bit her lip.
“Now from two paces further back,” Melodia called firmly. Rubina nodded, drawing a deep breath. She could see two knights who had come out with interest to watch the match and she noticed the Frenchwoman give them a sidelong glance, fanning herself lightly. She realized there was more than friendly rivalry between the two factions of ladies, here: Melodia wanted to impress. She swallowed hard.
“I'll move back,” Jessamine said from behind her shoulder. Rubina nodded and stepped back two paces, then drew back her arm.
The quoit flew. It missed the post, bounced in the cobbled yard and set off down the slope toward the gate. One of the knights stood hesitantly to go after it, but Rubina was already running.
It's better to break the tension awhile.
Being the lead thrower in this game was demanding. Not because of the complexity – it was a straightforward goal and the rules were simple – but the emotional pressure. Jessamine was Rubina's best friend beside Marguerite. Yet, much as she wanted her team to win, Rubina couldn't help but root for the French girl who was so eager to impress her heart's interest.
I just don't know what to do.
She wasn't thinking about the dangers, and so when the quoit ran out of the gate and rolled a little down the path toward the woods, she simply ran after it. It hit the bottom of the slope and stopped.
Rubina ran lightly down the path and bent to pick it up. Which was when the arrow whirred out of the woods and pinned her cloak to the grassy slope.
“Help!” she screamed aloud.
She tried to remove the arrow, but it was pinioned fast. She heard running feet and something, forceful and hard, struck her on the back of the head and the world was silent.
The steady rise and fall was what first seeped through to Rubina's mind. She first thought of a boat – like the barge she had been on once down the Forth, with her mother at her side. However the sounds were wrong. No water, no rowers, no slap of oars. She breathed in, and smelled leather and horses and, distantly, perspiration.
Not a boat, then.
Her head was aching. She was tired. So tired. Where was she?
Memory was elusive, slipping out of her grasp. Castles, quoits, and forest. She drew in a shaky breath, remembering fear. She opened her eyes.
Darkness filled her vision. It resolved, as she blinked hard, into coarse wool fabric, dyed rich brown. She was leaning against it and could smell the lanolin and feel the itchy warmth of it against her face. She sat up, moaning.
Words. A stream of them that meant nothing to Rubina poured over her. She opened her mouth to scream as a face came into focus. Long, gaunt and dark-haired, straggle-bearded and hard-eyed, the face was frightening.
The man reached over and covered her mouth with his hand, stifling her scream. She tried to fight him but he laughed and slapped her, and she heard him say something and then she was silent.
Cheek stinging, too scared to move, Rubina looked around and tried to make sense of what was happening to her. She was on horseback – the sway and rise of motion was that of a horse, walking slowly. She could smell horses and hear hoof beats. Whoever was sitting before her, riding the horse, was surrounded by perhaps five men. She could see one – the cruel one who'd hit her.
They were in the woods. The shade was dappled and they passed through patches of light and shade. She could smell leaf mold and see it, when she opened her eyes, there, far below the hoofs of her horse.
Her mind fed her memories, slowly. Her friends. The woods. Capture.
She had been captured.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The hostility, the danger, the inability to communicate. These men are English!
That was why she hadn't understood them. She had been expecting Scots, and her mind was unprepared for the rapid assault of an alien tongue. She closed her eyes, trying to recall some words of English that she knew – as the daughter of a duke, she had learned it as a child, in case she should ever be called on to marry as part of a treaty or agreement.
“Where am I?” she said, enunciating each word carefully, rusty from long years of dormancy.
The man sitting in front of her jerked upright in surprise.
“Hey, lads! She talks!”
Exclamations, mutters. A chuckle. Then, “Don't tell Castlereagh.”
She felt her blood cool. Why should they not tell Castlereagh, whoever he was? A thought hit her. What had they said in front of her?
They might have abducted her thinking she was some lass unable to speak their language, but, now that they knew she could understand their speech, what would they do to her?
“Please,” she entreated. “Let me go.”
“What's she saying, Bert?” someone yelled. “Can't understand her.”
“Hey, lass?” the bearded man said, pulling her hair so that he could see into her eyes. “Shut your mouth, hey? If Osmond knows you understand, he'll kill you.”
Rubina looked into that haggard, sharp face. He had no reason to be being kind to her – he looked as if he had little concept of kindness whatsoever. Why was he trying to preserve her? She sighed and nodded, deciding just to go along with him.
He let out a sigh. His eyes flattened from bleak interest to lust. She felt her stomach tighten painfully and looked away, rank terror flooding her veins. She was here with five of them. They could kill her and no one would ever know. She was helpless.
He laughed.
Better to risk death and try to escape.
She let her eyes slip from his gaze. He chuckled again, unpleasant and ironic and rode on.
“Come on, lads! Let's get moving. You know Castlereagh doesn't sit long.”
“Aye! Got a fire under his backside, so he has.”
“Hush,” one of the men hissed. “You know how he is if you insult him.”
“Yes. Let's go.”
They increased the pace and rode on, heading into deeper woodlands. Rubina could tell from the pattern of shadow and the coolness of the woods, the scent of loam sharper in the air as the day cooled slowly, that it was evening. How long had she been unconscious? How long had she been missing?
Long enough for someone to be looking?
She had to risk it.
Waiting until the pace was infinitesimally slower, she wrenched her weight sideways, letting go of the grip she had on the man in front's cloak. She loosened her grasp on the saddle and fell sideways, twisting, heading for the bracken and the leaves and the forest floor.
“Hey!”
“Halt!”
“Stop! She's gone!”
She hit the leaf-mold with a thud, coughed and spat out the loam-tasting mud. She sat up. Her leg was aching and her right foot numbed from how it had been hanging down the horse's side, foot heavy and insensate from poor circulation. She stood and ran.
“Stop her!”
She was about to disappear into the trees when someone grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back toward the horses. Her heart sank.
The man chuckled. “She's a fighter, eh?”
“We should let her go. We've lost enough time.”
Rubina made herself look at them. Saw how disappointed they all looked at the dark-haired man's suggestion and felt her stomach turn. She knew what they had intended when they captured her.
Have I thwarted their intent by speaking English?
She had to hope.
“Please, let me go?” she said. “I promise, I'll say nothing of your presence here.”
Silence. Then one of the men on the edge of the rough-cast circle about her frowned intensely.
“Hey, F
red. What's she saying?”
“Dunno. Whack her again, will you, Rodney? Stop her jabbering at us in foreign.”
“It ain't foreign, Jake, you dolt. It's English. Don't you see? She can speak English.”
“Oh.”
They all looked at each other.
“Damn,” a tall man at her side said expressively. “Well, that puts a different edge on things, don't it? Eh, fellows?”
“No, it don't,” the bearded man, whose name seemed to be Albert, said fiercely. “We'll do as we should always have done. Take her to the boss.”
They all grumbled eloquently.
“Why should he get all the spoils, eh?”
“C'mon, Bert, be a fellow. Let's have her. He won't know.”
Her skin crawled and her hands clenched into fists. She looked about for a way to escape. This was a nightmare.
“She speaks,” Albert contradicted. “She can tell him. C'mon.”
They all grumbled, but she could see them nodding at each other. Her breath came out in a long sigh.
“Please? Where are you taking me?” she appealed to the tall, dark-haired man who'd stopped them from harming her – at least for the moment. He gave her that slit-eyed glare that had lust at its heart. She shivered again and looked at the ground below.
“Shut it, lass,” he said. “Less you say, the better. Specially to him.”
She nodded. She let the man take her shoulder and drag her back to the horses. To her surprise, he was not cruel as he bound her wrists and then lifted her up onto the saddle. He bound her to it.
“Don't try anything clever,” he muttered. “Or we'll kill you.”
Rubina closed her eyes. Let this end, she entreated. Please. Just let this end.
She had no idea where they were taking her or what Castlereagh would do with her. All she wanted right now was for this to end, for the nightmare to be over and to go back to the castle and safety and normality.
She felt the horse step sideways as Bert mounted in front of her. She held her breath and tried not to bump against him but, as they set off again, more slowly this time – good for avoiding him, bad for expending time – into the forests.
As the rise and fall of the horse's hoofs continued, Rubina was surprised to feel herself slowly slipping in and out of consciousness again. The forest was blue-dark now, the first birds chorus starting as the shade lengthened and the day stretched over toward evening. It was cold, she shivered, someone chuckled, and the pace slowed.
“Dammit! I can't see,” someone yelled. “Slow down.”
They headed, step by step, into the shadow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ON THE TRAIL
ON THE TRAIL
“So. You say she went out of this gate?”
“You didn't see exactly where she went, did you? Did you?”
Camden, hearing the harsh, angry voices directed at the sobbing lady, felt his blood heat.
“Stop!” he yelled. “Cannae ye see yer scaring her? Leave her be.”
Everyone – an illustrious everyone, including Lord Rufus and Lady Amabel – stared disbelievingly.
Camden cleared his throat. “Cannae ye see she's distressed? Ask gently, like.”
Lady Amabel nodded. “The knight is right. Leave her be.”
Camden let out a long sigh. “Thanks, milady.” He turned to the pale red-haired lady, who looked at him with greenish-brown eyes, pits of misery.
“Sir?”
“Easy, lass,” he sighed. “Just show me where she was before...” he trailed off. Before she was captured.
He was fairly sure he knew what had happened. How anyone had avoided witnessing it, he had no idea. It happened too fast.
The brigands must have come and gone out of the woodlands too quickly for anyone – even sentries – to notice. He let out a long, shuddering sigh. Nodded at the girl.
“Take me there.”
The lady – her name was something with a “J” letter that he couldn't recall now – nodded, swallowed and led him.
“Here,” she said, indicating a path that led out of the water gate. The ladies had been playing with hoops near the gate, she explained. Rubina had thrown, cast past the scoring-post and run out through the gate to catch the errant projectile.
“She was here,” she said.
Camden stopped and looked about. He was aware, vaguely, of a crowd of nobles behind him at the gates. He didn't look up. He was not looking to earn their favor. He was looking for her.
“Rubina?”
He let out a long, shuddering breath. It seemed he could feel her presence everywhere in the clearing. The woods started a javelin-cast from where she'd last been seen. He followed the trail a little, scouting among the trees. Nothing.
He sighed. What to look for?
Footprints. Hoof prints. Signs of concealed watchers.
It was getting dark, Camden reflected, annoyed, which made everything harder. Why hadn't he heard about this sooner? He cursed under his breath. A pox on the nobles, who'd tried to conceal her sudden disappearance. Why? To preserve her reputation? Theirs? To stop panic sweeping the place?
The last was most likely.
Feeling bitterly angry, Camden knelt in the grass.
“A torch,” he said insistently.
Someone produced one. He smelled the tarred scent of a pitch torch, heard the tearing noise a flame makes, and passed quickly through air. He held out his hand for the brand and held it aloft, scanning the clearing.
Nothing.
He sighed. What did he expect to find? Footprints? A sign?
“Sir?” a guardsman said slowly, “let me. As the head of the guardsmen, I insist that we...”
“Whist,” Camden said, making everyone gasp with affront. He sighed bitterly. Why did everyone around here seem to hold protocol in higher esteem than life? “I'll look. You lot had your go.”
The guardsman looked as if he wanted to stab Camden – his eyes slit and his face went red. Camden ignored him. If he'd been on the wall, keeping an adequate lookout when this happened, someone would have some idea where she was.
Unless...he entertained doubt. Unless it was consensual all along. Mayhap she ran off to marry someone or other? Might be so.
He chuckled to himself. Jealousy! It was ridiculous.
“Sir?” the guard said stiffly. “I think it would be advisable to...”
“Just let me look,” Camden said softly. He raised the torch again. This time, to his surprise, he saw something glinting.
He slit his eyes and walked towards it. Like a sliver of mirrored glass, silvered and cold, it lay on the bank just before the woodland met the grassland. He walked over.
Bending down, he plucked it. It was cold. A token?
It was a coin. Camden felt his heart beat fiercely. He lifted it and squinted at it hard. Someone yelled.
“What you found?”
“Whist,” Camden whispered. Whoever it was went quiet. He held the piece of currency to his eye, studying it carefully.
It was a silver coin. It had writing on it, crudely molded when the coin was minted. He focused on the design. His blood went cold. It held the image of a short-haired man, wearing a crown. On the other side, he could see a design of a cross, each quarter that it cut into the circle decorated with a design of three rounds, almost a flower.
It was an English coin.
He felt his fist tense and he wanted, very badly, to drop it. To crush the image of that proud king off the back, grinding it under his heel. However, he couldn't do that. It was evidence. It was guidance.
“What is it?” someone shouted. He looked up into the baleful dark-eyed stare of Rubina's father and namesake, Lord Rufus. The man's face was a mask of agony. He, too, had been a knight and Camden felt sympathy.
“Sir?” he walked over. The group parted to let him through. Camden passed it over.
He was close enough to see the horror in the man's eyes, though it was quickly veiled. To see his lip tremble, then ten
se. The fear on his face hardened to implacable anger.
They looked at each other.
“We ride,” Lord Rufus said. “The whole troop! As many as we can muster. We storm the forest and we get her back.”
Camden tensed.
“No,” he said.
Lord Rufus, already turned, whipped round.
“How dare you?” he said quietly.
Camden blinked. He was intimidated, he had to admit. Rubina's father was vast-shouldered, his bulked-out form swathed in a bearskin cloak. The air around him cracked with anger. His brown eyes were flat with loathing.
Swallowing, he stood his ground. “Milord, forgive me,” he said respectfully. “But let me go ahead. It is wiser.”
He saw his lordship glare at him. He prepared words to counter him, and then frowned.
“You are right,” he nodded. “It's safer for her.”
Camden let out a long sigh. It was far less dangerous if he went ahead alone. For a start, if the men heard an army on their heels, they'd be most likely to kill Rubina and melt away into the forest, or take her with them to some inaccessible place behind enemy lines. In addition, if the entire garrison blazed off in pursuit, they might find themselves forcing the hand of the English king to war before they were adequately prepared.
I think it would be worth it, to save Rubina. However, the king would exile the duke, were he to cause war before we were adequately prepared.
The duke nodded. “I see sense,” he said. His voice wept, if he did not – tense and tight with hard-held tears. Camden bled for him.
“I'll go ahead,” he said. “Send a force of eight men behind me, an hour behind at least. This is a scouting party. I reckon about five.”
The duke nodded. His big head turned to the guardsman.
“Assemble eight of the house guard,” he said simply. “Follow this man's directive.”
“Very good, milord,” the guard said. He directed a sour look at Camden.
He isn't pleased he has to obey me. Camden let out an indifferent sigh. At this point, he didn't worry over making enemies. He had to save Rubina. Feuds could be settled later, as time granted.
Courage Of A Highlander_Lairds of Dunkeld Series Page 11
