Then, she wiped the damp hair from her forehead, lifted her skirt and her basket, and headed west.
Rob’s first thought, when he returned that night and discovered her gone, was that he’d been a blind fool and had no business being head of the Brunsons.
The guard had last seen her mid-morning. Hours ago. But he had become used to her coming and going to the stream and had thought nothing of it.
But Wat? Wat should have missed her.
‘Why didn’t you tell someone, Wat?’ He wanted to shake the boy.
‘Always go home.’
He sighed. That’s what she had told the boy, trying to keep him safe. At least that poor fool had had the sense to listen.
‘She ran away,’ Wat said, tear tracks on his cheeks. ‘She doesn’t love me any more.’
Rob knelt in the dirt, feeling too big and too awkward and too much like adding his tears to Wat’s. ‘It’s not you, lad.’ He patted the boy’s shoulder. Faint comfort, but all he knew. ‘I’ll find her. I’ll bring her back.’
Yet which of them was the bigger fool? Rob had been foolish enough to trust her more than he ought because he had let her turn his head. Last night’s kisses had no more meaning than any woman’s. She kissed him in order to get what she wanted.
No other reason. No other feeling. A woman could wield a kiss with the same skill a man could shoot an arrow from his latch.
Had he really thought a Storwick would stay?
He rose and looked behind him. Today, he had ridden to John and Cate’s end of the valley to admire their rising tower and they had returned with him to stock up on oats and ale. As they gathered to plan next steps, he felt a moment’s gratitude they were at his side.
‘We’ll need Belde,’ he said, as the three of them went back to saddle the horses again. Cate’s great hound would be able to track the woman as if she had left a trail of stars. Rob could find his way through these hills in the dark as if he had the sight, but who could guess which way a frantic woman alone might run? Without the dog, he might waste hours.
Cate and Johnnie exchanged glances. ‘If she went home,’ his brother said, ‘she’ll near be there by now.’
It was barely five miles to the border. She’d be well over it and nearly to Bewcastle by now. But something might have happened to her. She could be hurt, alone, with dark falling …
He swung into the saddle.
‘Do you mean to ride into Storwick lands? I’ll not let Cate go with you.’
‘Then let me have the dog. I’ll go alone.’
‘You know little of tracking with the dog,’ Cate said.
‘I know all I need to.’ He held out his hand.
Johnnie looked at Cate. The beast was hers. As would be the decision.
She sighed. ‘She’s a woman, for all that she’s a Storwick.’ Tying the dog’s lead, she handed the strap to Rob. ‘What do you have that’s hers?’
He drew out the kerchief, stuffed into his bag, with no explanation of why it was there, grateful that Cate and John held their tongues, if not their glances. Given a whiff, the dog strained at the leash and led him out of the gate and to the stream.
South. Home, then.
But first the dog went straight to the river bank where they had relaxed when the weir was complete. The water sounded different today. He peered closer, and in the light of gloaming, he could see only the bubbling ripples.
No dam of sticks.
No fish trap.
Only a few broken twigs bobbing on the foam.
Johnnie, slower to mount, now joined him. Grateful as he was to have his brother at his side, he could not even raise his head to look at him. Not until he had strangled his feelings.
She destroyed it. The thing they had built together.
But the dog was tugging on the leash and trying to turn him downstream. Why? This stretch of Liddel Water was as narrow as any further west. A good place to cross if you were going south to the hills.
Johnnie reached for the leash and Rob released it. ‘Pause, Belde.’ Only Cate could control the beast, but he paced, waiting for John to say ‘fetch’ again. ‘What’s in that direction?’
And suddenly, it was clear where she had gone. And why.
‘Her father,’ Rob said.
‘Is she daft enough to head to Carwell Castle?’
Daft enough? ‘Aye.’ Any woman who walked right across the border and into enemy land would not hesitate to strike out for the castle on the coast, even if she knew nothing of how to get there.
‘That will take her straight into the Debatable Lands.’
Where even the Border Laws did not apply.
He should let her go. Because she was Storwick. Because she had fooled him. Because his life had been nothing but trouble since she arrived.
But he turned Felloun to the west and held out his hand to take Belde’s leash.
‘Then that’s where we’ll go.’
Because she was a foolish woman alone and because he had promised Wat he would bring her back.
And because he could not let her go.
How long? Stella thought, as the sun drifted lower and the outlines of the hills became stark against the sky. How long until he discovers me gone?
At first, she had run along the bank of the stream, but once she was beyond sight of the tower, staggering, she sank to her knees and took the time to catch her breath.
Just a little further and she’d be clear of the hills. Just a little further and the land would flatten and the stream she was following would become the border. Just a little further and she could wade across the water and be on Storwick land.
But that was not her plan.
If her cousins cared not enough to offer for her, she cared not enough to return home.
It was her father she wanted to see now.
She stood and let her eyes follow the stream as far as she could see. Somewhere near Canonbie, it would join with the River Esk. Beyond there, the river would skirt the Debatable Lands and, eventually, reach the sea. If she followed it that far, then she could turn north and parallel the coast. Carwell’s Castle would be there, somewhere. A two-day ride, if she had judged correctly. But to walk, when she was uncertain of the path?
Days.
She took the first step. Then days it would be.
Each step doubled her doubts. Stella Storwick, saved by God to do what? Not to save her father or to expose the Brunsons’ weakness so her family could defeat them. Not even to marry and bring peace.
No, Stella Storwick was not even fit to cook or clean or run a house and be an ordinary wife.
She cleared her throat against threatening tears. Not for leaving Black Rob Brunson, a man who earned every dark syllable of his name. It was only Wat she regretted leaving. A boy no one else seemed to want. A boy who might fall down a well and never be missed. Maybe to his life, she had made a difference. Or could have.
Too late now.
Her steps slowed. How far had she come? How far had she to go? And how long could she survive on two bannocks?
No more thought, no better plan than the last time. Foolish enough to think she could simply flee and God would provide.
No, not that foolish. She had not thought that at all. All she had thought of was to run and whether it was to reach her father or to flee Rob Brunson she wasn’t sure and did not want to be.
When she stepped on soft earth, her left ankle twisted and she dropped like a stone.
Only a misstep. Just stand and keep walking.
But when she put weight on it, she winced. She was striding no more. Not even walking. Just hobbling, and with each step, the ankle throbbed anew, worse each time.
Carwell Castle was not days away now. It was as far away as Heaven.
She sank to the ground again, grinding her teeth against the pain, and pummelled the dirt.
What are ye good for, lass?
Could she do nothing right? If God had saved her, He must regret it now.
She looked around
, trying to assess how far she had come and whether he would be able to find her. She had made good time in those early hours, and tried to, just in case they didn’t wait for Rob before they came after her. The land was flatter here, and the hills more distant. Fewer places to hide.
It would be dark soon.
And there would be no moon tonight.
Belde, given the scent of her, did not hesitate for miles. Stella was not, after all, hard to track, for she hugged the path of Liddel Water, and a woman on foot could go only so far.
The light faded. The dog’s nose was just as sharp, but the horses were less sure-footed. Some said the reivers could ride in full dark. Near true, and Rob’s eyes were better than most, but the horses were accustomed to the tracks through the hills, not the land by the river.
Belde strained at the leash now.
Near. She must be near.
He pulled Felloun to a stop.
‘Stella!’ he yelled, no longer caring what he sounded like, or who else might hear. Then, silent, he listened for an answer, but heard only wind and water.
Johnnie paused beside him. ‘Let the dog go. She’s close.’
He did, slid off the horse and followed deeper into the trees until the dog stopped, tail wagging, and poking his nose to sniff her all over in triumph.
Rob could see why she had not answered.
She was slumped against a tree, looking near lifeless, and shivering, though the night was not cold. ‘Stella?’
She turned her head, as if she could not face him, but when he picked her up in his arms, he felt a tear hit his hand.
So he bit back the harangue he had planned and carried her to the waiting horse. His fault. His weakness. He had indulged her, trusted her and this was the result. Once they were home, he would make sure she could never put herself in such danger again.
In his arms, Stella’s fear faded.
She had worked near this stream, waded in these very waters, for the past few weeks, but that had been in daylight. In the dark, the sound of water brought the familiar fear with it.
She curled against his chest, cherishing the rhythm of his heart and of the horse’s hooves. Just a few more miles, just a few short steps and she’d be back in her room in the tower. She’d be given a mug of ale and a fire would be built and she’d be tucked into her bed, her ankle wrapped, and she’d be safe again.
Out of the dark.
Tomorrow she would face Rob. He’d be angry …
She woke as she was lifted off the horse, transferred from one pair of arms to another and back, and carried inside. Rob’s voice rumbled in his chest, barking orders.
But it was not until she realised that they were not mounting stairs did she lift her head and open her eyes.
She was in a small, dark room. And she could hear the echo of water on stone.
‘No.’ She could barely choke out the one word.
Someone bustled around her, blankets materialised. Her ankle was wrapped. Food and drink were set within reach of her hand.
Someone brought a candle and set the holder on the floor and then she could see exactly where she was.
Fear stole the rest of her voice until all she could do was cling to him, eyes wide, her nails digging into his arm. If she did not let go, he would not leave without her.
He pried her fingers away and a guttural whimper escaped her throat. ‘Please.’
Was that pain in his eyes? No matter. The set of his jaw held no mercy. ‘This is the only room with a lock, so here you’ll stay.’
She waved her hand. ‘But I cannot even walk.’
‘You say. Do I believe you?’ He shook his head and rose. ‘Not again.’
He took a step towards the door and his foot knocked the cover of the well ajar. She closed her eyes, certain the next sound would be his scream and a splash as he plummeted to the bottom on the well.
Silence.
She opened her eyes.
Only a sliver, only an inch. She pushed herself away from it, but her back was already pressed against the stone.
She looked up. His back was to her. Another step and he would be gone. ‘Please.’
He paused. And she released a breath. He would not be so cruel as to leave her here alone.
But instead of turning, he spoke over his shoulder. ‘I trusted you and you made me a fool. You’ll not charm your way out of this place, so it’s here you’ll stay.’
He shut the iron gate.
Chapter Twelve
Stella did not sleep that night.
Or, at least, she thought it was night. He had left the lit candle behind, but the flickering shadows terrified her as much as the darkness.
The gap where the well cover did not shield the opening yawned like a monster’s maw. The few moments she drifted into dreams, they were of a dragon, emerging from the shaft to clasp her ankle and drag her towards the well, closer, closer …
This time there would be no escape.
She told herself the well was safely covered. That a sturdy wooden barrier stood between her and the deep, dark shaft that ended in the cold of underground water. But that thought, repeated over and over, was only the weak voice of reason.
No match for the remembered scream. No comfort to the soul of the little girl who had fallen down a well shaft so long ago.
And all the assurance she had developed since, all the reassurance that God had saved her, rang hollow. Saved, perhaps, but in error. Only temporarily. The well would have her at last.
There is nothing special about you, Stella Storwick.
That was only the wish of a mother and father, of parents with only one child.
She pressed her back against the wall, as if by pressing hard enough, she would force the wall to hold her safe. Far enough from the well so that she could not touch it, even by accident. Finally, afraid to move, afraid she might trip or fall or somehow end up in that damp darkness again, she slumped down to the ground and curled into a ball, legs and feet tucked underneath her, just beyond reach of death.
Alone in the dark with nothing but doubts.
The creek of the iron yett as it swung open was part of her dream at first, sounding like the scrape of iron on stone as they had tried to reach her, frantically. A voice—was it her mother’s? Her mother had wept and prayed.
This voice did not. This was a voice she could not dream.
‘Rob Brunson, are you daft?’ The Warrior Woman’s voice.
A woman’s hands, small and gentle, settled around her shoulders.
‘I was thinking to be sure she didn’t escape again and bring the Storwicks across the border to murder us in our beds.’ Implacable words. Did she hear regret beneath them?
She opened her eyes to see Cate’s brown ones, feeling the woman take her measure. This was one who had no love for the Storwicks. For good reason.
Stella struggled to hide the night’s fear behind her pride. Too late. Cate had glimpsed it. And now, something else coloured her expression. Understanding.
She put a shoulder under Stella’s arm. ‘Stand. I will help you.’
She struggled to stand upright, keeping her eyes averted from the big round hole in the middle of the floor and from Rob Brunson. She had begged him, like the basest coward. How could she face him now?
Yet now, as daylight filtered into the room, fear eased its grip and she risked a glance, first, at the well.
The cover was ajar, yes, but no more than a finger’s width.
Then she lifted her eyes to meet Rob Brunson’s brown ones.
And the fact that his looked as sleepless as hers was small consolation.
Rob crossed the room in two strides and supported Stella’s other side. ‘Your ankle is not strong enough to stand on.’
But he could not meet her eyes as he said it. He had never seen Stella like this. No longer arrogant or prideful, but terrified, as if she had spent the night alone with spirits.
‘She’s frightened half to death,’ Cate growled, and Cate was a woman who kn
ew something of fear.
My God. What had he done? Only tried to protect her.
No. It was himself he had tried to protect by putting her out of his reach.
She took a step and staggered. Cate struggled to catch her weight.
Rob scooped her up again, holding her close to his chest and striding up the stairs, leaving Cate behind, eager to put Stella back in the room where he should have put her all along. Inside, he laid her carefully on the bed.
She immediately tried to rise, but he put his hands on her shoulders and held her down. Fight had returned to her eyes, but the fear remained.
‘You locked me down there. With … that.’
‘There’s something about it,’ he said, trying to pull the threads together. From the first, she had shivered against it, but he had not thought of that last night. He had only thought of locking her where she could not run. And where he could not reach her. ‘Something about that room.’
She turned her head and he saw tears again.
He pulled his hands away. ‘You should have told me.’ He knew nothing of women. Only of fighting. And of fighting his weakness for this one.
She sat up in the bed. ‘I tried.’
‘Am I to see into your mind, then?’ Pacing the room now, not wanting to leave her, but reluctant to come too close.
She bit her lip and cast down her eyes. ‘It is … hard to speak of.’ Then she raised her eyes and he saw again her pride and her privilege. ‘Particularly to a Brunson.’
‘Aye. That, I understand.’ As hard as it would be for him to say he was sorry. Doubt, weakness, that was to be shared with no one. Especially not with an enemy.
A small smile, then. Forgiveness? More than he deserved. Not a cruel man, he reminded himself, but careless, aye, which had been just as bad.
He sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand in his. ‘Tell me anyway.’
‘I can tell you only what I’ve been told.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I fell into a well. No one saw it happen and when someone finally missed me, they could not find me.’ She swallowed and he could see her breath, the short, shallow pants of fear again. ‘They could not find me for a long time.’
Taken by the Border Rebel Page 11
