The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  His expression became savage. “It will seem very strange if I were to stand trial for attacking the woman who later became my wife—and willingly so. And once you write your missive to the king, telling him that all is well, naught will come of your lover’s claims. If you do not readily agree to do as I ask, Sofia, then I will find the way to make you do so.”

  He moved toward her threateningly, but Sofia stood her ground and met him eye to eye.

  “If you harm me, Griel Wallace, Kayne will see you drawn and quartered.”

  The words seemed to shock him in a stunning way. He fell back and stared at her as if horrified, his mouth moving wordlessly. His face had gone utterly white, and he looked suddenly old and feeble. When he at last began to speak, his voice shook badly.

  “You…you will be my wife. It is the only way. A few days is all I need to convince you.”

  He’d stumbled to the door and shouted for his men to let him out, and Sofia had been left alone once more in darkness, for they had taken the torches with them.

  That had been five days ago. Sir Griel had come once each afternoon to pursue the matter, each day far more desperate than the last. He’d tried to starve her into submission first, but after three days had given way and decided that she should have a small measure of sustenance, lest she begin to sicken. It was this same consideration that had led to the fire during the nights and candles during the days. He had not touched her once in all those days, and had even been careful not to get very near to her. He’d even attempted, when she had continually given him her refusal, to control his temper, though at this he had been somewhat less successful. He usually departed the chamber in a rage, leaving Sofia with her ears aching from his loud and furious shouting.

  Sighing aloud from where she sat on her straw pallet, Sofia cast her gaze slowly about the grim chamber, so dimly lit by the day’s lone sputtering candle. She was full weary with having naught to do or anything to occupy her mind, apart from her predicament. How long would her imprisonment continue before Sir Griel gave way? Kayne and his friends and their army must have been surrounding Maltane for at least three full days now and, even if they could not get inside, they would surely not go away. Maltane was well stocked, but winter was coming fast, and a long siege would strain supplies of both food and coal. Water would not be a problem, for she was certain Maltane had several clean wells within its walls, but fighting men who were hungry and cold would soon begin to lose their desire to hold out against an enemy that was enjoying far greater comforts.

  She prayed it would not come to so lengthy a siege. Five days living in this dark, foul chamber had been bad; she didn’t know if she could bear being locked away in it for perhaps four, or mayhap even five, months. If Castle Maltane held out any longer than that, it would be a miracle. She knew the truth of this, and was confident that both Kayne and Sir Griel did, as well.

  She wondered what Kayne was thinking now, how he was, and whether he regretted, as she did, that they had left their last conversation unfinished. There was so much more that she had meant to tell him, to reassure him of her love. She had meant what she’d said, that she would go wherever he wished and do whatever was necessary for him to find peace. Now that Sir Griel had taken matters out of their hands, she very much feared that it would be a long while before Kayne knew rest.

  He would be terribly grieved over the death of Gwillym, Sofia knew, just as she was. And if it had not been for her, Gwillym would yet be alive. Indeed, if not for her, none of these men would be here, ready to fight and even kill on her behalf. Though she was not so foolish as to entirely take the blame upon herself—Sir Griel was far more at fault, and would justly pay for his sins.

  A jangling of keys alerted Sofia that someone was coming, and she turned to watch as the heavy wooden door swung open on its rusted hinges. Torchlight temporarily blinded her, and Sofia knew at once that it was Sir Griel who had come. He alone was preceded by servants bearing light upon his visits.

  He strode into the room and stopped in the midst, looking down at Sofia as she sat upon her pallet.

  “How does the day find you, mistress?”

  Sofia spread her hands out, indicating her surroundings. “I am still here, as you see.”

  She was a terrible sight, she knew. She’d not been allowed to bathe or even wash her face since coming to Maltane, and, having been raced across many miles of muddy roads by Sir Griel’s men, had arrived at the castle in a filthy state. Her leggings and soft boots and the skirt of her surcoat were yet caked with dirt, and her fingers were crusty with streaks of dusty, dried mud. Her hair, unbound, was not only filthy, but crawling with whatever tiny, creeping creatures inhabited the straw pallet. But she didn’t particularly care whether Sir Griel found her fully repulsive; indeed, she hoped he did.

  “Aye,” he said, “you are still here, and as stubborn and willful as when last I saw you. But I have come to make a measure of amends. Come, Sofia.”

  He held out a hand to her. Sofia stared at it, and didn’t budge an inch.

  Sir Griel gave a sound of exasperation. “Stubborn woman! I mean you no harm. Come, and I will take you to a proper chamber where maids await to tend you.”

  Slowly, Sofia rose from the pallet, gazing at him warily.

  “Why? For what purpose?”

  “Only for the purpose of your comfort. Do you not wish to leave this place?”

  “I would leave Maltane altogether.”

  “That is not possible, but since your stay will be of great length, why should you not pass it in greater comfort? Sofia,” he said, sounding very weary, “please, do not make me angered. I am pulled very tight now, and cannot answer for what I will do if you press me. Now…come.”

  Sofia considered his words, and considered, too, that she could scarce do worse than this chamber he’d already imprisoned her in. Lifting her head, she moved toward the open door, saying, as Sir Griel tried to take her elbow, “Do not touch me.”

  He made a low, growling noise, but dropped his hand and moved aside to let her pass.

  From the depths of the castle they climbed upward, into a lighted passageway, and farther upward still, until they reached a stairwell lit by the sun itself. Bright daylight confused and blinded Sofia, and gave her dark-accustomed eyes such unexpected pain that she had no time to prepare herself for it. She turned into the nearest wall and set both hands against her face.

  Sir Griel was instantly beside her, but she shrugged him aside.

  “Will you not even let me guide you?” he said, exploding with impatient wrath. “Will you spite yourself only for the hatred you bear me, Sofia?”

  “Whenever you touch me,” she said, breathing harshly, “I think of that day in the forest. If you have forgotten what you did to me there, I have not, and never will.” Tears filled her eyes, though from necessity rather than sorrow, and the fluid seemed to pour over her cheeks like waterfalls. She blinked rapidly, and wiped the moisture away. “I am better now,” she said, much of the pain soothed away. “Lead on.”

  They continued their upward climb, moving slowly, as Sofia had to feel her way for much of the journey, until reaching a large winding hallway with many doors. One of these was already opened, and it was through this that Sir Griel led Sofia.

  It was a beautiful chamber—as lovely as her prison had been awful. Large and airy, with a window in one wall allowing sunlight to pour forth and beautiful tapestries lining the remaining walls. Rich carpets covered the floor, and beautiful furniture filled the room, including a large and comfortable-looking bed, curtained with fine blue silk. A long hearth blazed with fire, filling the room with gentle warmth, and near this a wooden tub was set, only just now being filled by two serving maids with buckets of hot, steaming water.

  “I hope you will not find it amiss in me to provide you with garments to wear during your stay. I had already ordered certain clothes to be made for you when we became betrothed—”

  “We are not betrothed,” Sofia said firmly, though
without heat. She was staring fixedly at the tub and could scarce think of anything else save how lovely it would be to sink into it.

  Sir Griel cleared his throat. “When I thought to become betrothed to you,” he amended. “The clothes were to be wedding gifts, but you have greater need of them now. I have asked the maids to lay them out for you, here. Do you see?”

  He pointed to an elegantly crafted clothing chest. Sofia managed to turn her gaze from the tub to look. Her eyes widened at what she saw. Several surcoats, all very beautiful and made of the finest cloth, had been carefully laid out, one slightly atop the other, on the closed lid of the chest.

  “There are undergarments as well, everything in plenty,” Sir Griel assured her. “And now, mistress, I will leave you to the ministrations of the maids. Once you have dressed, I will send a servant to escort you to the great hall, where we will partake of the evening meal.”

  Sofia opened her mouth to tell him that she’d not eat with him as if she were an honored guest, but stopped herself. Perhaps it would do her well to learn something of the castle. She might even find some weakness, some way of escape, that might prove helpful.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, letting herself stare at the tub again. One of the maids had unstopped a vial of perfume and was pouring a small measure into the steaming water. Almost at once, the smell of lilac filled the air. “I am most hungry.”

  “I will await your presence with great anticipation, mistress,” he told her. “My cook has been instructed to prepare the finest meal possible, and we will enjoy my best wines.”

  Sofia did look at him then, wary and bewildered.

  “I will not give myself to you for a bath and decent food,” she told him. “If that is what you believe, you may take me back to my former chamber. Now.”

  He held up his hands, his expression all innocence. “I expect nothing from you, Sofia, save to bear me company. And mayhap I will even take you, afterward, to the walls, to see your lover’s army. You would like that, would you not?”

  “Aye,” Sofia said so quickly that she feared she gave too much away.

  Sir Griel merely bowed. “Then it shall be done. Enjoy your bath, mistress, and we will speak more once we have eaten.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was going to rain again.

  Kayne pulled his gaze from the massive walls of Maltane only long enough to look up at the ever darkening sky, which filled moment by moment with the oncoming storm. Then he looked back up at Maltane, the high, sheer, insurmountable walls lined along their tops with hundreds of well-armed soldiers. Occasionally one of them let fly an arrow in Kayne’s direction, as more of a taunt or dare than any real attempt at striking him, for he stood too far away, and they always fell short. Kayne had no doubt, however, that any man who dared to move within their range would be shot at not merely by one or two archers, but that a hundred or more arrows would be let fly.

  Though he longed to mount an attack—to do anything to get Sofia out of Maltane—Kayne knew the rashness and uselessness of such an act. He had confronted enough such castles to know that he must wait for the right moment, the right number of forces and kinds of weaponry, and the right information. But they had done nothing in the past five days since Kayne and his comrades had arrived with their assembled armies save sit and wait, and he had come to the end of his tether. He was full ready to scale the castle walls by himself the very moment darkness fell and take his chances.

  It maddened him to think of what Sofia must be suffering at Sir Griel’s hands. She must wonder, too, why he had not yet come to save her, when surely she knew that they were there, waiting outside the castle walls. God above, how it grieved him to think of her hoping and praying and looking for him to come every moment. Did she think he had abandoned her? Could she possibly believe such a thing?

  He thought continually of the last words they’d had together, of how her sweet declaration had so nearly unmanned him. She had said that she would go anywhere, accept any condition, only for his happiness. If he had not already known that he loved her, he would have been overwhelmed by the almost painful sensation that had taken possession of his heart. And, more, he had realized, with sudden clarity, that he would do the very same for her—and must.

  How selfish and foolish he had been to worry over his own pitiable reactions to what he’d gone through in France. Many had suffered. Even now Sofia was suffering God alone knew what miseries. How cowardly he was compared to her, compared to so many. But he would coddle himself no more, nor hide away, as he had striven to do at Wirth. Now, he would live, openly and without fear, and take every responsibility that had come his way with full acceptance. And he would do it with Sofia by his side, please God…if he could but get her safely away from Griel.

  They had communicated with Maltane in the past five days through messengers running back and forth beneath a white flag of truce. Kayne had sent the first message, demanding Sofia’s immediate release; Sir Griel had replied that he would not do so. Kayne responded that Maltane was now under siege, and would continue to be so until Sofia was released, completely unmolested and unharmed. Sir Griel had assured him that Sofia was as yet untouched, but would only continue to be so if Kayne and his friends removed their armies—at once. Kayne had sent back a message inviting Sir Griel to take himself off to hell, offering to personally lend his aid in sending him on the journey. He had included a great deal more, in detail, about what he would do to the man, and how he would suffer if Sofia was harmed in any way. A full day had passed before Sir Griel gave his reply, far more amenable now, still insisting that Sofia would not be released unless he, Sir Griel, had some assurance of safety from the threats that he had received from Sir Alexander Baldwin, the lord of Gyer. This had confused Kayne—for what did Sir Alexander Baldwin have to do with any of this? John had finally given an explanation.

  While they were all still at Havencourt, John, unbeknownst to Kayne or the others, had written to their former master, Sir Justin Baldwin, and informed him of their plans to take an army to stand against Maltane. John, having been formally adopted into the Baldwin family, now had the right to request aid not only from Sir Justin, but from the entire, and very formidable, Baldwin clan. The head of this clan, Sir Alexander Baldwin, the lord of Gyer, was among the most feared and powerful men in all of England, as was his younger brother, Sir Hugh Baldwin, who was the earl of Siere.

  Sir Justin, upon receiving John’s letter, had at once sent missives to these two men, with the result that yesterday all three of them had arrived with their armies. Sir Justin’s army consisted, much like Aric’s, only of the boys he was presently fostering, but these were such skilled and eager youths that they were very welcome. The lord of Gyer, on the other hand, and the earl of Siere, possessed armies that dwarfed the combined forces that Senet and John had gathered together, with the result that there was now assembled against Maltane a massive organization of fighting men such as Kayne had never even seen in France.

  But there was more.

  Sir Alexander Baldwin, having received Sir Justin’s missive, had taken it upon himself to write a missive to Sir Griel, informing him not only that he and his brothers were coming to Maltane with their men to aid Kayne in his taking of the castle, but that if Mistress Sofia suffered so much as another moment of grief because of Sir Griel, then Alexander Baldwin would personally see him not merely executed, but drawn and quartered in the gates of White Tower. And Sir Alexander Baldwin, as was commonly known, never made false threats. It was Kayne’s only comfort now, praying that Sir Griel might be swayed enough by thoughts of such a dire fate befalling him to keep from setting a hand to Sofia.

  The sound of boots crunching their way up the gravelly hillside pulled Kayne out of his fixed thoughts.

  “Rain is on its way,” Senet muttered, coming to stand beside him. “God help us, that’s the last thing we need now.” He looked back at the hundreds of tents and several larger pavilions dotting the valley below. “The tents will have
a good soaking, and the men will grumble at the lack of fires.”

  “No more than we grumbled in France,” Kayne replied, staring at Maltane once more. “He said he would bring her out tonight. Why does it take so long? ’Twill be pouring rain soon, and only a dog would make a woman come out in that. If he has harmed her—”

  “The messenger he sent this afternoon saying that we might see Mistress Sofia on the wall swore he has not, and said that she is full well and being given every care. It will be another few minutes before he brings her out, and the rain will hold until then, most like. You must be patient, Kayne.”

  “Nay, I cannot!” Kayne retorted, glaring at his friend. “Five days I have been patient, standing outside these damned walls, waiting—ever waiting—but doing naught! You saw by your own eyes how Griel abused her once before—like an animal. Can you doubt that he will do far worse now that he holds her captive?”

  “Unless he is a great fool,” another voice, far more calm and reasonable, said from behind them, “he will bring Mistress Sofia no harm.”

  Kayne turned to see his former master, Sir Justin Baldwin, taking the last few steps up the hill upon which they stood, with John and Aric following him. They had all come to see whether Sir Griel would bring Sofia to the wall or not.

  “You know that my eldest brother, Alexander Baldwin, the lord of Gyer, sent a missive threatening to see Sir Griel not only dead, but drawn and quartered, if Mistress Sofia should make any complaint of abuse once she has been freed. ’Tis no false claim my brother makes. You have all met him, and know that he has the power to do as he says. What is more, Sir Griel knows it.”

  “Drawn and quartered,” Aric said, giving a shudder. “Even the bravest man would be mad not to rightly fear such a death.”

  “And yet Sir Griel must be carefully dealt with,” John said in his softly spoken, well-measured voice. “A man hard-pressed and without way of escape may take such matters into his own hands. If he believes that certain death awaits him, it may be that Sir Griel would rather choose his own preferred manner of dying.”