The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Kayne is anxious to be at Vellaux, is he not?” Sofia asked, yawning. She lifted her arms without help as Lady Katharine and her maid pulled a clean chemise over her head.

  “Aye, he is,” Lady Katharine admitted, “though ’tis very strange in him. Kayne has ever been the most patient of men. But he has been overset by what has occurred of late, mostlike, and can be pardoned.” Supporting Sofia, she guided her toward the bed. “You will travel in my finest carriage when you make your journey to Vellaux. The seats will be covered in pillows, and made the more comfortable for you.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Sofia said, as much with the relief of being able to lie down once more as in gratitude for her kindness. “Is it a long journey? Have you ever been to Vellaux? I fear it must be very grand.”

  “Aye, that it is,” Lady Katharine told her, removing one pillow so that Sofia might lie more comfortably. “But this I know only from what I have heard. I have not had the honor of visiting at Vellaux myself. But it is said to be a great and noble estate. And it is but fifty miles from Lomas, so that we will not be too far separated once Kayne has ascended to the title. But you must not think on such matters now, for ’tis always vexing to a woman to be considering the many troubles regarding a change of dwelling, even to so grand a place as Vellaux. You must have no fears, however, Sofia, for Kayne is fully able to keep you safe from both Sir Griel and his noble father—though from what I have heard of Lord Renfrow, he is a very different man from Sir Griel. And you will have Senet and Aric and John and all their men escorting you as well. Now,” Lady Katharine said gently, making the bedcovers secure, “you must rest, and think only of regaining all your strength. As for Vellaux, you will be there sooner than you expect, I vow.”

  The words, Sofia thought two weeks later as she leaned out of Lord and Lady Lomas’s fine carriage to gaze at the grand, looming Castle Vellaux, were prophetic. She almost couldn’t believe she was truly there, and with her father’s full blessing. Before leaving Havencourt she’d had a missive from him, assuring her that all was well at Wirth and Ahlgren Manor and that she wasn’t missed or needed in the least. He’d gone to such great lengths to tell her to stay away from Wirth that she could only wonder at how greatly Sir Griel must have frightened him. She knew too well that her father couldn’t manage Ahlgren Manor without her help; he must fear for her very life to tell her in as many words to stay far, far away. It was the first time that Sofia could ever remember him putting her care and comfort ahead of his own, and she was deeply moved by this first expression of fatherly devotion. And a little afraid, as well, not only for her own safety, but for her father’s. She knew how easily Sir Griel could torment and terrify him.

  “Do you not find it pleasing, Mistress Sofia?” Sir Gwillym, who had been riding beside the carriage and conversing with her the last mile, asked. His own gaze, which he turned to the massive walled castle before them, was filled with admiration. “I confess I had not expected Vellaux to be so large an estate. Such a castle! I would have been in dread to attack any like fortress in France.”

  It was truly an imposing place, and the estate was clearly a wealthy one. She had heard a little of Lord Renfrow in passing, and knew that he was a great and very respected lord. She was rather daunted by the idea of so much power and wealth—most especially of being married to it. Kayne had once told her that he was a commoner, and therefore could never hope to make an alliance with her, the daughter of a landed knight, and she had not appreciated how he had felt. But now ’twas all turned about. She was in no way a suitable bride for the man Kayne was about to become—a nobleman, rich and powerful, who could have any highborn bride he desired.

  But she was determined to give Kayne no reason for dismay upon meeting his father, nor to grieve the father upon knowing his heir’s future bride. Now that she had regained so much of her strength and most of the bruises had faded from her features, Sofia felt a great deal of her former confidence returning. Save in one matter—her coming marriage to Kayne.

  Somehow, they had become betrothed without her knowing it. Kayne hadn’t even gone to the trouble of speaking to her about any manner of alliance. He had simply begun to refer to the coming event as if it had been long settled. They were to be wed and afterward she would be forever safe. Over and over, he said it, but never spoke of love or desire or any other feeling.

  He had rarely smiled since the day they had left Wirth, following Sir Griel’s attack. He had not wanted to speak to her in any lengthy matter, or to discuss anything that did not pertain to either her regained health or his plans for dealing with Sir Griel. Indeed, he did not seem to want to be in anyone’s company for any longer than he need be. He was not himself at all.

  She knew that he did not sleep well, for she’d overheard Lady Katharine speaking to him just outside her chamber one day, informing him that she would mix a sleeping draught for him to drink that night. He had politely declined, and then had gone away, daring in his ill humor to depart Lady Katharine’s presence without taking formal leave of her. This was certainly not the Kayne she had known in Wirth, who had ever been unfailingly polite and well-spoken to everyone he met.

  She could not help but worry and wonder whether she was not the one to blame for this unhappy change in his manner. He was so taut and frowning each moment of the day, as if whatever misery that had befallen him was so great that he found no relief from it either waking or sleeping, and she could not begin to know how to help him. She prayed that coming to Vellaux would work some magic. Perhaps he was merely unnerved at the thought of seeing his ailing father again, and of taking up the knighthood once more. She prayed that it was so. Every other answer she came up with was most unpleasant.

  “Aye, ’tis very grand, indeed, Sir Gwillym,” Sofia said. “How many towers do you count?”

  “Six, and those are but what I can see from this view. There may be six more, or several dozen, for so great a dwelling. But, look, here are the gates being opened to us.”

  Vellaux was unlike Wirth, where the village butted almost up against the manor house, with but little spare land between them. The castle at Vellaux was set upon a hill, overlooking the walled village that circled it below. Several acres of terraced, planted fields lay between the village and the castle, and set in the midst of them, almost equally distant between village and castle, was a low-walled collection of buildings that comprised what Sofia thought must be a monastery.

  It was all beautifully laid out, and Sofia did not believe that she had ever seen any estate more well-favored in its situation.

  “Gwillym!”

  It was Kayne, speaking in the harsh, impatient tone that had defined him for the past many days. Both Gwillym and Sofia cringed and turned to look at him sitting atop Tristan nearby. He looked as grimly irate as he sounded.

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “Do you mean to spend the day dallying, or are you going to lead that column through the castle gates? If you do not feel able, I will name another to do so.”

  Gwillym glanced at Sofia to share a knowing look, then sighed and replied to Kayne, most obediently, “Forgive me, my lord. I am on my way now.” He spurred his steed forward to move to the front of the column.

  Sofia gave Kayne a reproving look, but he merely looked at her evenly and asked, “Are you well?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave a curt nod. “We will soon have you comfortable within Castle Vellaux.” Then he, too, rode away.

  Lord Renfrow met them in the inner bailey, and Sofia was astonished at the sight of him. He was Kayne’s double, though older and far more frail. His hair was just as blond, his face just as handsome and proud. He was tall, like Kayne, and yet broad in his shoulders, despite his obvious illness. Dressed in a stately manner worthy of greeting a king, he stood at the bottom of the castle steps, supported on either side by two servants. He looked most unsteady to Sofia, but when Kayne dismounted, Lord Renfrow pushed free of their aid and walked to meet his son face-to-face, his arm outstretc
hed to clasp Kayne’s.

  Kayne was stiff as his father set his arms about his shoulders, but after a moment he returned the embrace, clumsily, but very gently, patting his father’s back. Sofia, watching them from the carriage’s open window, smiled against the tears that came to her eyes. For a few short moments, until he stepped out of the embrace, Kayne was himself again.

  The door to the carriage was opened by Lord John Baldwin, who had formerly been called John Ipris. He had recently been adopted into the powerful Baldwin clan, and thereafter made lord of his own estate, Capwell. He was quiet, handsome, and surely one of the most chivalrous men Sofia had ever met. Giving her a reassuring smile, he held out both hands to aid her in stepping down, supporting her almost completely while letting her take her time, for she could yet move but slowly. She was full glad to be quit of the carriage, comfortable as Lady Katharine had made it, and relieved to be out in the crisp autumn afternoon. She paused to draw in a deep, refreshing breath of sweet, fresh air. It was a beautiful day, cool and breezy, and filled with the delightful smells of both the season’s change and the busy harvest. In the many ripe fields that they had passed on their journey, they had seen hundreds of laborers hard at work, reaping each bountiful crop in their yearly race with the coming winter.

  “John!”

  Kayne shouted the single word so fiercely that Sofia nearly stumbled as she took another step. She and Lord John looked to where Kayne was striding furiously toward them.

  “By the Rood, man! What are you about, dragging her in such a manner from the carriage?”

  “Lord John was not—” Sofia began, but John had already stepped aside and given her over into Kayne’s care. “Pray forgive me, Mistress Sofia,” he said, “and you also, Kayne.” He bowed politely and walked away to tend his troops.

  “He did naught wrong,” she insisted as Kayne lifted her off the carriage steps and into his arms.

  “Come and meet Lord Renfrow,” he said, ignoring her comment and carrying her toward the castle. “He had my missive and has had the most comfortable chamber made ready for you.”

  With the greatest care, he set her upon her feet in front of his father, then with both hands steadied her as Sofia smiled at Lord Renfrow and made a careful bow. When she lifted her head, it was to find Lord Renfrow smiling back at her with shining eyes. How very much he looked like Kayne at this closer distance! Even his blue eyes were exactly like his son’s. Despite his illness, he was a most handsome man, and his expression was one of such kindness and gentleness that she immediately felt an affection for him.

  “My lord, I would make known to you Mistress Sofia Ahlgren, daughter of Sir Malcolm Ahlgren of Wirth. Sofia, this is Sir Ronan Sager, Lord Renfrow…my father.”

  “My lord,” Sofia greeted very formally.

  Lord Renfrow took her hand and smiled down at her. “Mistress Sofia, you are even more beautiful than my son’s missive described, though he did well in claiming that you are most rare and fine, for indeed you are. I cannot tell you how it gladdens my heart to know that you will soon become his good lady wife, and therefore also my daughter. You are welcome at Vellaux. But, come. I can see that you are full weary, and I know that you have but a few weeks past been grievously wounded.” He took Sofia’s hand and tucked it beneath his arm to guide her into the castle. “Kayne,” he said, “see to the settling of the men. I have had the outer bailey made in readiness for them and all your horses. When you have done, come to the great hall with your particular comrades and all your captains, and you will find food and wine waiting for you to refresh yourselves. I will see that Mistress Sofia is made comfortable.”

  Sofia wasn’t sure which one of them was helping the other as they made their way so slowly up the great castle stairs. Servants hovered on either side of them, but Lord Renfrow was clearly a man of great pride—also like his son—and gruffly refused their aid. She could feel, beneath the hand that she held on his arm, the effort it cost him to maintain his pose of strength and ability, but she continued to let him expend that effort and guide her until they had reached the castle doors. To do anything else, especially in front of so great an army of fighting men, would have humiliated him utterly.

  She looked back, once, before they walked into the castle, awed by the number of men who had ridden into the inner courtyard. Many more had stayed without, in the much larger outer bailey, but she could not yet help being impressed by how large an army Kayne and his friends had managed to bring together. She caught Kayne’s eye, saw how grim and concerned he was as he gazed at both herself and his father, and she smiled at him reassuringly. His frown lessened slightly, and their eyes met and held, his with silent entreaty, hers with understanding. She would not let his father exhaust himself for her sake; she would make certain that he was comfortable, even as she allowed him to do the same for her.

  The moment they had crossed the castle threshold and servants had closed the castle doors, both Sofia and Lord Renfrow grasped the strong arms of the servants beside them. They looked at each other, took in the other’s pale face and smiled.

  “We are a well-matched pair, are we not, my lord?” Sofia said. She clutched his hand more tightly, as if she felt far more unsteady than she was. Lord Renfrow’s brow furrowed with concern. “I am sorry to be so much trouble,” she went on, letting herself sound a bit weak, “but I think I must rest for a few minutes before attempting any greater number of stairs. Is there somewhere we might sit in the great hall? I confess, as well, that I am very eager to see it, for Kayne has told me how very beautiful it is.”

  “Of a certainty, daughter,” he replied at once, “but would you not rather be carried to your chamber? I wish I might have the honor of doing so, but as I cannot, one of the servants can readily perform the task.”

  “Oh, nay, I thank you, my lord.” She gave him a grateful, very feminine smile. “I will be better in a very short while, if I could only sit….”

  “Then come at once into the hall,” he commanded gently, nodding at the servant on Sofia’s side to help her. Lord Renfrow himself guided the group, ever holding and patting Sofia’s hand. “We will sit here, by the fire, in these very comfortable chairs, and wait for Kayne and his fellows to join us. Fetch wine,” he called to a young page standing near the fire. “At once.” The boy bowed low and then ran off full speed to fulfill his master’s bidding.

  The chair she was settled into, with the solicitous aid of the servants, was indeed very comfortable, and she saw that Lord Renfrow looked most pleased to sink into the one across from her. He was far more tired than she had thought. He must have been awaiting Kayne’s arrival for many hours.

  “The great room of Vellaux is very beautiful, my lord,” Sofia said, looking about her with interest. It was truly a magnificent chamber, worthy of so magnificent a castle. And it was surely the largest and grandest room she’d ever seen, with six hearths set at intervals along the length of each long wall, and an eating area set with tables and chairs enough for hundreds of people. At the very end of the hall, a regal marble dais rose from among the more common stones that comprised the hall floor. Upon the dais sat a large, thronelike chair—clearly Lord Renfrow’s chair of judgment, from which he received the people of Vellaux, heard their complaints, and made his determinations. She gazed at it for a long moment, but could not envision Kayne sitting there. At least, not as he was now, so tense and unhappy. “All of Castle Vellaux is beautiful. I vow that I have never seen anything to compare to it.”

  Lord Renfrow’s smile was filled with happiness.

  “I’m glad that you find it pleasing, Sofia. You will be mistress here one day, and it would mean a great deal to know that the new lady of Vellaux loves it as fondly as I have ever done. It will be harder for Kayne to care for it with any measure of affection, I think,” he said a little more sadly, “for I had no chance to teach him all that he must know. I was greatly relieved to know that he had chosen a proper born and gentle lady for his bride.”

  “But, my lord
,” Sofia said with quick distress, “I am by no means a noblewoman. Indeed, I am but a commoner compared to Kayne’s far more noble lineage.”

  “It is strange in our society,” he said gently, “to think that Kayne, in but a few days, will be changed from a bastard commoner to my legal heir, the future lord of Vellaux, and a great and powerful man. And he will be a knight of the realm again. But naught can change the manner in which he was raised. Oh, he is a fine warrior, I vow, but he has no knowledge of servants and vassals and crops and tradesmen—certainly he knows nothing of the many responsibilities that face him. But you were born to these things, and from what I have heard of your life at Ahlgren Manor, you know all that the lady of any estate, large or small, must know. For my part, Sofia, I think you must be the very answer to my prayers. You will know the way to keep my son from harm.”

  “I am not so certain of that, my lord,” Sofia told him honestly.

  He looked at her with warmth and wisdom.

  “I am, daughter. Quite certain.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The night was black with storm clouds, and bitingly cold. Rain would come soon. Kayne could already smell it, ominous in the damp night air. Uncaring, he spurred Tristan on, pushing the destrier full out along the length of the field they rode upon. When they had left the field he steered Tristan to the road and galloped headlong, heedlessly, recklessly, until they were both so spent that there was no choice save to come to a stop.

  He led the winded horse off the road and into a copse of twisting oaks, then, dismounting, let him free to wander and rest. Striving to catch his own breath, Kayne leaned against the nearest tree for several long minutes until his whirling senses had begun to calm. When he at last sat down in the cool, damp dirt at the base of the tree, the first bolt of lightning from the coming storm lanced across the sky, followed seconds later by a not too distant rumbling. He heard, rather than felt, the drops of rain as they began to fall on the tree leaves overhead, soft and delicate at first, but growing steadily heavier as the minutes passed. Tristan, unsettled by the lightning and the sound of thunder, moved restlessly back toward Kayne. Being a seasoned warhorse, he would not bolt or whinny with distress, even when the storm became wild, but he would yet be uneasy, partly because of the storm, and partly because of his master’s odd behavior. Kayne could hardly blame the creature. He was full uneasy with himself.