Lady Gwyneth's Hope (Ladies of Ardena Book 4)

by Rachel Skatvold

  After another meager breakfast, the six captors took turns pacing by the shore, scanning the horizon for something. As the sun rose higher in the sky, they became more anxious and argued amongst themselves.

  Soon, Gwyn noticed a shape growing in the distance. As it traveled closer, she realized it was a large merchant vessel. Because of its size, it couldn’t travel far into the inlet. Instead, they dropped anchor and lowered a small rowboat into the water.

  She prayed for a miracle while scanning the hills and forest behind them. There was no rescue in sight. Gwyn hugged her friend close for comfort. “Whatever happens, at least we’re together.” Isla nodded, trembling against her.

  While the men journeyed closer to the edge of the inlet, Gwyn heard a snapping twig behind them. She turned and sucked in a ragged breath, seeing a ginger-haired young man kneeling behind them.

  “Do not be afraid. I’m here to help,” he whispered while drawing a knife from his boot and working to cut the ropes tied around their wrists.

  “Slade?” Isla whispered with a trembling smile.

  “Aye, Milady. ‘Tis I.”

  It only took Slade a few moments to free them. Then they dashed up the craggy hills toward the cover of some brush a few yards away. They hadn’t traveled very far before hearing shouting behind them.

  Slade grabbed Isla’s hand and pulled her with him while Gwyn ran close behind. As the voices grew closer, all three of them hid behind a line of thick brush.

  “I’ll create a diversion,” Slade whispered. “Run southeast and don’t look back. There is a village there and you’ll be safe.”

  “No, I’m not going without you,” Isla whimpered and Gwyn’s heart dropped, observing how she clung to Slade. They were young, but there was no denying the bloom of first love.

  He kissed her cheek and wiped away her tears. “You must. Farewell, Isla.”

  Before Isla had a chance to stop him, Slade leapt from their hiding place and ran north with his sword drawn, releasing a loud battle cry.

  “Isla, we must make haste!” Gwyn whispered and pulled her friend up. They ran the way Slade had told them, tripping over rocks and dips in the path. Isla lagged behind, weak from grief, forcing her to half drag her friend along.

  It was a valiant effort, but they were soon spotted. As four men caught up to them, Gwyn pushed Isla ahead, trying to keep her out of harm’s way. Feeling them directly behind her, she lifted the hem of her skirts higher to navigate, but tripped over a large stone anyway, falling on the hard, rocky ground. She felt her ankle twist. Upon trying to move it, fiery red pain shot through her. Then Gwyneth knew they weren’t going to make it.

  Isla ran back to help her, but the men caught them both. They carried them back to the camp and bound their wrists again. By then, they were both too weak to make any attempt at fighting back.

  Isla sobbed while eying the bushes behind them, but the other two men didn’t return for several minutes. When they did, they were both laughing and one of their swords were tinged red with blood. Isla burst into fresh tears as Gwyn huddled close, wishing she could hug her grieving friend.

  Within a few minutes, the rowboat arrived and they were helped inside. Gwyn watched the water rippling as they rowed away from the shore. For a brief moment, she contemplated jumping over the side with Isla, but it was no use. Her friend was already traumatized by Slade’s death, they were chilled to the bone and their wrists were tied together. Not to mention her swollen, throbbing ankle. They’d never make it to the shore and even if they did, it wouldn’t take much effort for the men to catch them again.

  Once reaching the anchored ship, they both had to climb a rope ladder to reach the deck. It proved difficult with their hands bound and her persisting ankle pain, but men reached from the top to help them over.

  Gwyn collapsed onto the wooden deck, shivering and huddling close to Isla when she heard footsteps approach. A pair of large boots appeared in front of her.

  “What were you fools thinking? I asked you to bring Princess Gwyneth here. Not her maid, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Milord,” one of the men said. “We had no choice. She was with the princess when we found her. We couldn’t leave her behind to tell the others what had happened.”

  “I see,” their leader responded, in the same foreign accent as his men. “Well, she may be of use to Lady Gwyneth then. I suppose I’ll allow her to remain.”

  Gwyn nodded in agreement, longing to keep Isla safe. If they knew she was also a princess it could put her in additional danger.

  “Your treatment of the princess and her maid is unacceptable,” the man continued. “Just look at them shiver. They’re half frozen! Quick, servant boy, fetch some blankets and have the cook prepare some warm cider.”

  As the servant rushed away to do his bidding, Gwyn continued to stare at the man’s boots, dazed by the events of the past few days. He spoke with authority, revealing the stranger had to be the commander of the other men.

  The servant boy returned and warm blankets were draped over their shoulders.

  The commander knelt and reached for her hand. “Come, Princess Gwyneth. You and your maid shall stay in the captain’s quarters. There is a warm hearth and you will both be comfortable there. I apologize for the harsh treatment from my mindless crew.”

  Gwyn looked up for the first time to meet the man’s gaze. Her mind did not comprehend what her eyes saw at first. Then realization swept over her. She had been betrayed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Clues and Questions

  It took two days of hard traveling, before Tristan, Leland and their men arrived in Áthas. They inquired all over the village about the kidnapped princesses’ whereabouts, but to no avail. By the afternoon, Tristan was exhausted and began limping more noticeably on his healing leg.

  Leland approached him by the harbor. “I’m afraid they weren’t taken here, Cousin. I will take my men south of the harbor to search further down the coast.”

  “Aye.” Tristan nodded and started to turn away. “I’ll go gather my men and come along, too.”

  Leland grabbed his shoulders, preventing him from leaving. “No, you need rest. Stay here for the night and eat a good meal to keep up your strength. I’ll meet you back here by tomorrow evening.”

  Tristan scoffed in frustration. “You don’t need to protect me, Leland. I’ve been living on my own for a long time now and know my limits. I cannot rest until the princesses are found.”

  Leland’s authoritative gaze didn’t waver. “Please, listen. I need you to stay here in case someone comes forward with information. I’ve arranged for a reward of gold coins if anyone does. I’m only taking a few men with me so we can travel fast. Time is of the essence.”

  Tristan crossed his arms and turned back to the sea. “I hear what you are trying to say. I’ll slow you down.”

  “No, Cousin. I just believe we can work better on two fronts than one.”

  Tristan finally nodded—his irritation melting away. “Aye, you are wise, Cousin. I pray for safe travels until your return.”

  Leland thanked him before clapping his shoulder and turning to leave the village.

  Tristan paced the dock by the harbor, trying to remember anything that may have been suspicious the eve before the wedding. It was all so mysterious and strange. The thought of his sweet Gwyneth and cousin, Isla, captured by an unknown enemy, twisted his heart. Were they frightened or in danger? The agony squeezed tighter with every breath.

  “Ye look exhausted, Milord,” Murtagh said, approaching from behind and patting him on the back while he gazed at the rising tide. “It won’t help your betrothed or your cousin if ye be ignoring your own health.”

  He smiled at the older man. “Aye, you’re the second person who has told me I need rest today. I must be quite a sight to behold.” They shared a laugh before returning to the business at hand. “Have the men set up camp yet?”

  “Aye, Milord, but we’ve made better arrangements for you this evening. The
Earl and Countess of Áthas have offered their home. There be a filling dinner, soft bed and warm hearth awaiting ye.”

  “Thanks, Murtagh. I appreciate the thought, but like I told you before, I don’t want you or any of the other men treating me any differently simply because of the royal blood running through my veins. I’m still the same person you knew before.”

  “Aye.” Murtagh nodded, but his eyes narrowed. “But I implore ye to take advantage of the earl’s kindness this time. Ye will be needin’ a good night’s rest to have a sharp eye tomorrow as we be continuin’ our search. Also, the earl and his wife will be sorely disappointed if ye decline their offer.”

  Tristan sighed in resignation. “Very well. I suppose I better not risk offending them. On one condition. My first mate is coming along.”

  “Oh, not I, Your Majesty. It wouldn’t be proper for the likes of me to…”

  “Nonsense, Murtagh,” Tristan interrupted. “You are my right-hand man and dearest friend. If you’re not welcome in the earl’s home, I’ll consider myself unwelcome as well.”

  Murtagh sputtered and then let out a hearty chuckle. “All right, ye convinced me. Now let’s be headin’ that way. I be half starved for a good meal.”

  Tristan clapped his shoulder, wearing a wide grin. “Me too. Lead the way.”

  After weaving through a maze of roads, they came to a large cottage on the outskirts of the village. The earl met them at the door when they knocked. “Welcome, Your Majesty. ‘Tis an honor to have you here.”

  “The honor is mine.” Tristan came inside the house with Murtagh close behind. Then they sat at the large table on the right side of the room. After sleeping on the trail for two days, it was nice to have a roof over his head with a warm hearth glowing nearby.

  When dinner was served by the earl’s wife, the conversations flowed easy and Tristan found himself relaxing. Even Murtagh seemed to be having a good time, after looking tense in the beginning.

  “So, I hope you don’t mind me asking,” the earl said after a while. “We only recently heard of your return. Where were you all these years, King Tristan?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, not sure how to explain, but in the end, he wasn’t even sure he knew himself. “Honestly, it’s been quite a journey, Milord. Many of those days, I was not the prince or king anyone would recognize. Nonetheless, God brought me back—back to where I belong.”

  The earl smiled. “Well, I’m glad He did. After hearing about your return, I was skeptical at first, but seeing how our princess trusts you, I know ‘tis true.”

  Tristan nodded. “Aye, Princess Gwyneth has been a blessing in my life—seeing my true self when I could not. Now she’s gone.”

  The earl gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll find her. I will help in your quest in any way I can.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  The man sat for a moment, rubbing his chin as if pondering something. “You know, I had a thought. Lord Carney of the isles may also be a helpful resource. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him personally, but have heard he knows the seas around this realm well. I wonder if he has left the mainland yet.”

  “Lord Carney?” Tristan hadn’t thought of him in several weeks—since Gwyneth made her choice. Could he be an unlikely ally?

  “Aye, although, be careful when asking about him. I’ve heard there was an imposter in the village. The man washed on shore, much the same way you did weeks ago, claiming to be him.”

  “Washed on shore, just like that? Interesting.” Something about the man’s words sparked curiosity in him. “Why do you think he would make such a claim?”

  “I’m uncertain. The physician in the village cared for him while he was unconscious and when he finally awoke, he started raving on and on about his kingdom being attacked and requesting an army be sent to help.”

  “Is he still here? If so, I would like to have a word with him.”

  The other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I believe so. I can take you to the physician’s house tomorrow to question him if you’d like.”

  Tristan nodded. “Aye, that would be helpful, my friend.”

  The trip down the southern coast proved long and exhausting for Leland and his men, yet they pressed on regardless of the weary ache in their bones. He knew there was only a small window to find his sister and Lady Gwyneth still in Daireann. It was likely the window had closed, but he was determined to not leave any stone unturned. All they needed was one good clue as to where the men were from or what direction they may have gone.

  They stopped at little villages along the way, but to his despair, not a soul had seen the princesses or evidence of their captors. The sun had almost dropped below the horizon when they arrived at a small inlet and decided to make camp for the night.

  The tents were almost set up when one of his men rushed over to him. “There’s an injured lad over in the brush. He said he saw the princesses taken.”

  Leland rushed to where his men were trying to help the boy. His heart dropped when he recognized the face of the young squire his sister had introduced him to earlier in the week. “Slade, what has happened to you?”

  The boy groaned in pain as someone bound the wound in his abdomen. “I…I saw the men take the princesses…while tending to the horses in the stable.” It was very early, at first light. There was no one else around to alert. I didn’t want to lose sight of them.” He stopped to grunt in pain.

  Leland took the young man’s hand in his, trying to provide comfort. “It’s going to be all right. Please, try to be calm. Now, did you follow the men who took them here?”

  “Aye,” Slade answered, struggling to catch his breath. “There were half a dozen men. Some of them spoke in a dialect I haven’t heard before.”

  “Which direction did they take the princesses?”

  He pointed to the western sea. “A ship came. It looked like a merchant vessel. They took them both aboard and sailed away.” Slade’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I tried…I tried to rescue them.”

  “‘Tis all right. You have shown great courage to challenge six skilled swordsmen on your own. Stay strong for a little while longer. Some of my men will take you back to Beatha where you can be treated by a physician.”

  The young man gave him a pained smile. “Thank you, Milord. I am grateful.”

  Leland held Slade’s hand tighter, willing him to survive the long trip in his grave condition. “‘Tis I who should be thanking you, brave young squire. The information you have provided will help us locate the princesses.”

  The next morning, the earl led Tristan and Murtagh to a large home near the center of the village. After meeting with the gray-haired physician, he led them into a room with three cots set up. They were all empty except for one at the very end. A man with dark hair who appeared about five years older than him was sleeping until hearing their footsteps approaching.

  He leapt from his cot and backed into the corner of the room—his brown eyes wide with terror. “Please, don’t harm me. I have nothing left to steal. Nothing left!” The man dissolved into sobs, cowering.

  “Be calm,” the physician said while approaching the man and placing a gentle hand of reassurance on his shoulder. “You are safe. These men do not wish to harm you.” He frowned, turning to them. “He’s been this way for a fortnight. Whenever he awakens, he’s disoriented for a while before becoming alert. Once realizing he’s no longer in danger, he’ll begin talking normally…well in a sense. His delusions are still there, but he can communicate somewhat rationally.”

  Tristan nodded. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I would like to sit in here with him for a while. Perhaps if only one person is in the room, he will calm down sooner.” The physician agreed and left the room with Murtagh following close behind.

  After they were alone, he sat on the cot next to the patient. “Don’t be afraid. I do not wish to harm you.” When the man didn’t say anyt
hing, he continued. “My name is King Tristan of Órlaith. I thought you might be able to help me.”

  The man’s shoulder’s relaxed and he chuckled softly, but he remained in the same position. “Me, a lowly lord of the isles help a king? How?”

  “By telling me what happened to you, Lord Carney.”

  “You believe me? Every other soul in this village thinks I’ve gone completely mad.”

  Tristan didn’t want to lie, but he needed to gain the man’s trust. “I have no reason to doubt you yet,” he reassured. “I’d never accuse someone of lying without hearing their whole story.”

  The man nodded, staring at the floor. “Thank you for being willing to listen, Your Majesty.” After a few minutes, the man rose from the floor, taking a seat on the cot across from Tristan. When he looked up, his eyes were hollow and lifeless. “It was a still, foggy night when they came. I’d barely heard the alarm horn blast when the army infiltrated the fortress walls.”

  “Who’s army?”

  The man shook his head and grimaced, like the question tormented his soul. “I don’t know. Like I said…it was a foggy night.”

  “I’m sorry for interrupting. Please go on.”

  “I ordered all the women and children to barricade themselves in the lower levels, along with my betrothed, Lady Niamh. It was the last time I saw her alive.” The man covered his face for a moment and then continued. “I led the men into a battle charge in defense of the fortress, but was struck in the head during the fight. The next thing I remember, the enemy was all around me…celebrating their victory. They thought I was a corpse. Somehow, I escaped, but all I could find was a small rowboat. I thought…” he covered his face again and gulped hard. “I thought, if I could only get to the mainland, I could get help and save the survivors and my beloved Niamh…but my boat sank in a storm. The next thing I knew, I woke up here in this village. There have to be survivors. There just have to be. But no one would believe me. They said Lord Carney was already here.”