The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  Sitting cross-legged on a carpet in one far corner, silent and sullen, sat one of Aric’s lads, an empty plate in his lap. He stared at the gathering of men with little expression, but his eyes burned with a fervency that Kayne well remembered from his own youth. Impoverished boys, bastard-born and scorned by both Crown and Church, had difficulty quenching the inner fires of anger and resentment, even when fortunate enough to find a benefactor so kind as Kayne had once had in Sir Justin, and as this boy had in Aric. But that same fervency, when applied to any task, served one well. This boy appeared ready at any moment to leap to his feet and do his master’s bidding, to serve, to labor, to fight, even to die. It had been exactly the same with Kayne.

  Rain furiously pounded overhead, filling the tent with its mottled sound, but the roof held fast and strong. Sir Alexander certainly didn’t appear to be worried in the least of getting wet during the long night, despite the strength of the storm. But Kayne did not doubt that, even if the tent should collapse, dozens of Sir Alexander’s servants would at once cover their master with their own bodies in order to shield him from every single raindrop. That was the manner of nobleman he was.

  Kayne found it difficult to speak his thanks to such a man, though his gratitude knew no bounds. He was yet bewildered as to why both Sir Alexander and Sir Hugh should have come all this way, at much discomfort and cost to themselves and their armies, when they owed him naught. Perhaps it had been for John’s sake, because he was now a member of the Baldwin family, or perhaps for Sir Justin’s, because he had ever looked upon the lads whom he’d fostered as his own sons. But it could not have been for Kayne’s.

  He had met Sir Alexander and Sir Hugh several times when he was fostered at Talwar, when they had come to visit their youngest brother and his wife, and had ever been amazed at the vast differences between the two men.

  Sir Alexander was the eldest, the revered leader of the powerful Baldwin clan, a handsome man now well past his fiftieth year but yet strong in body, mind and will. His manner and speech were elegant, solemn and aristocratic, always formidable and intelligent. His brother, Sir Hugh, was completely opposite. Bigger, taller and more muscular than his eldest brother, he appeared, outwardly, to be a common fighting man, rather than the earl of a vast and rich estate. Sir Hugh, though well past his fortieth year, was full handsome and agreeably charming, ever grinning and jesting, as sinful, lazy and pleasure seeking as any lusty tavern keeper might be. He’d become an earl only through his fortunate marriage to a wealthy heiress, Lady Rosaleen of Siere. He’d not wanted to become so great a nobleman—indeed, like Kayne, he’d not even desired the knighthood, though he had at last taken it on—but he had wanted Lady Rosaleen, enough to suffer anything to have her as his wife.

  They had been married now for nearly twenty years, and Sir Hugh had gained almost as much fame at being an earl as he had done while being a soldier. In that regard, he was one of the bravest men that Kayne had ever had the honor of knowing. Sir Hugh Baldwin’s famed exploits in France had been lauded in England long before Kayne and his friends had crossed the Channel to fight on French soil. Tales of his bravery were yet told among soldiering men, and he was held a great hero of England by one and all.

  Sir Justin, the youngest brother of these two very different men, was a mixture of both. Being thus, Kayne could not but be thankful that Sir Justin was the one to whom he had been fostered, for a kinder, gentler, more steady man he could never have hoped to find elsewhere. Strange as it was, among the brothers, Sir Justin was the most muscular and powerful, his arms and shoulders mightily strengthened by years of partaking in smithing, the love of which he had passed to each of his lads, and most especially to Kayne.

  “Now, we will have a right understanding of the matter,” Sir Alexander announced once the meal had been cleared away and the wine goblets refilled. As if in agreement with Sir Alexander’s steely tone, a loud clap of thunder suddenly broke overhead, rumbling slowly away in the space of several moments. Noisy rain continued to pour, and one of the servants hurried to more securely tie the pavilion’s entry flaps in an effort to keep the cold, rising wind at bay. The sides of the elegant, striped tent fluttered and snapped regardless, while several small, warm fires set in independent grates at intervals along the length of the tent provided a warmth and comfort that belied the storm.

  “My lord,” Kayne said, standing and smoothing his hands over his damp tunic, wishing that his clothes were perfectly dry and his hair in better order, “before you speak, I beg that you will allow me to render my thanks for all that you and Sir Hugh and Sir Justin have done. I am not well-known to you, save for Sir Justin, and my betrothed wife is entirely a stranger. I had no hope that any of you should ever—”

  “Kayne,” Sir Justin interrupted kindly, smiling at him, “there is no need.”

  Sir Hugh laughed and said, in amused tones, “God save us, boy, sit down and don’t trouble yourself. We are all as close to family as could ever be.”

  Sir Alexander looked down his long, noble, aquiline nose at Kayne with a haughty offense that made him sit in his chair again like an ill-behaved child who’d been roundly corrected.

  “Justin holds you dearly as a son,” he said, “and John, who is now our own brother, as dearly as a brother. If we did not come, we would have no claim to honor, and therefore you will not be allowed to shame us with words of thanks.”

  Kayne opened his mouth to say “Aye, my lord,” but was silenced by the stern expression Sir Alexander directed at him.

  “Now, we will determine what is best to be done,” Sir Alexander repeated. “I will send a missive to Maltane come the morn, demanding a meeting with Sir Griel.”

  “He will never agree to see you,” Sir Hugh told him. “Not after the threats you sent.”

  “No, he will not,” Sir Alexander agreed with a sage nod. “But, having been frightened by the demand, he will agree to see you, brother.”

  “Me?” Sir Hugh’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “I don’t want to speak to the man, or even set sight on him, by the Rood. Why should I be the one to go? Send Justin in there with a good sword to threaten the knave into obedience.”

  “That,” said Sir Alexander “is the reason why. Justin would deal with the scoundrel with the sharp end of a blade, which would only get both him and Mistress Sofia killed the moment any of Griel’s soldiers realized what had happened. But you, Hugh, have the devil’s own tongue.”

  “Worse,” Sir Justin put in, smiling, “you could charm the devil into doing your very bidding. Sir Griel should be but a simple matter by comparison.”

  Sir Hugh looked rather pleased at these wayward compliments, which were, as Kayne knew full well, perfectly true.

  “I suppose that’s so,” Sir Hugh admitted, casually inspecting the fingernails of one hand, “but I gather there is more to your plan than this, my dear brother. My speaking to Sir Griel, whether I charm him senseless or not, will get us precisely nowhere in regaining Mistress Sofia.”

  “Nay, it will not,” Sir Alexander agreed. “But that is not what I want you to do. I have already spoken with John and Aric about this, and, having gained their full agreement, will now disclose the rest to you all.”

  “To John?” Kayne murmured, looking from him to Aric. “And to Aric?” He began to feel a sense of unease.

  Sir Alexander ignored him, and continued.

  “John will accompany you, Hugh, dressed as a servant. Griel has never set sight on him before and will have no recognition of him. You will devise a way to send him away once you are safe inside the castle—mayhap on some errand that none of Sir Griel’s servants can fulfill—and then you will keep Griel occupied with some of your mindless chatter while John does what he can to discover the castle’s weaknesses. You will have other servants to attend you, so that if he must stay behind to complete this task, he will do so.”

  Kayne stood once more, all manner of humility gone.

  “My lord, Sir Alexander, I must respectfully disagree. If
any is to go, it must be me. Sofia is my bride, and ’tis not acceptable that John should risk his life in such a manner for her sake.”

  Sir Justin would have spoken again, but his eldest brother set out a hand and made him be silent.

  “You would allow him to perish on the field of battle for her sake,” he said. “You would allow all of us to do so.”

  Kayne flushed at the words, at what they implied. “Nay, my lord,” he said, “’tis not the same. In battle, with his army about him, a man has a chance to defend and protect himself. But if Sir Griel should discover John within his walls, a spy, you know that he will kill him without moment.”

  “And yet,” John said, “I will go, Kayne.”

  “But we will let Kayne decide what is right,” Sir Alexander said in a tone that was both soft and frightening. “Do we charge the walls on the morrow at early light, sir, and let many die, as will surely be, or do we proceed with stealth, that few may die and many live? Most especially Mistress Sofia.”

  “We use stealth,” Kayne replied at once. “But I must be the one to go. Sir Griel will not know me if I am dressed in rags and covered with dirt.”

  Sir Hugh laughed at this and Sir Alexander looked very grave.

  “My good lad,” said Sir Hugh, “you jest. Sir Griel would see the size of you, and those shoulders, which have known the blacksmith’s tools, and he will know you at once.”

  “But more,” said Sir Alexander, “Mistress Sofia will know you, and that is where the greatest danger lies.”

  “She will also know John!” Kayne countered.

  “She does not love John,” Sir Justin said more gently, sitting forward and holding Kayne’s gaze. “Kayne, you must calm yourself and think without the love you bear this woman. John is the one to go. Did not your ten years in France with him teach you that he is by far the one most suited to such a task?”

  “Aye,” Senet put in, “it must be John. You know this is right, Kayne. You must accept it.”

  “God’s mercy,” Kayne muttered, rubbing one hand over his face in exasperation. He sat down in his chair once more. “If he dies because of me—”

  “I will not die,” John assured him, a touch of insult evident in his tone. “And assuredly not because of you, Kayne. You take too much upon yourself.”

  “Go then,” Kayne said, throwing his hands up with defeat. “I readily admit that I can think of no better plan.” Overhead, another rumble of thunder made the air shudder.

  “As this is so,” Sir Alexander said, “then bring forward the boy, Aric.”

  Kayne’s head snapped up with renewed surprise as Aric lifted one hand to beckon forward the boy who’d been sitting in the corner.

  “Domnal, come here.”

  The boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed, rose to his feet in a fluid, easy movement and moved forward. He was tall for a youth, and slender, and had the look of a beggar. His clothes were ragged and worn, and his hair, overlong and unkempt, tumbled past his shoulders and over his forehead. The boots on his feet had clearly seen a great deal of use. Taken all together, he looked like any ragged young urchin who might be found in any village, city—or castle.

  But Kayne knew better than to mistake the lad for a mere boy. He had been trained by Aric, and would be well skilled in the ways of fighting, and even of war.

  “Domnal will make one of the party that accompanies you inside Castle Maltane, Hugh,” Sir Alexander said. “He will find a way to separate himself from the group and hide himself, and he will remain at Maltane once you have departed. Some of Aric’s other lads will accompany you, as well, to make certain that the confusion is greater, and ’twill be far more difficult to see that one is missing.”

  “Nay, I like this even less than the thought of John remaining behind,” Kayne said, shaking his head. The boy’s eyes blazed at him, filled with daring and anger and bold, youthful confidence.

  “I’m not afraid,” he stated. “I can take care of myself.”

  “You will have to,” Sir Alexander said sternly, “for you will be required to keep watch over Mistress Sofia and make certain that she is fully safe, most especially when the attack is made. You must keep Sir Griel from using her as a shield to save his own life.”

  The boy nodded, strands of his dark hair falling forward over his eyes. “I’ll keep her safe,” he vowed. With a rapid, well-practiced movement he swiped the hair out of his face and gazed at them all, one by one. “By my life, I will.”

  “Domnal means what he says,” Aric stated proudly. “He’s one of my best lads, and knows how to defend himself.”

  A voice from outside the tent shouted loudly, seeking permission for a messenger to be allowed entrance, pulling their attention from the matter at hand. The two guards who stood inside the tent opened the flaps with weapons at the ready to see who stood outside in the pouring rain.

  “My lord,” one of them addressed Sir Alexander after a moment, “’tis a messenger from Maltane, come under the white flag, sent by Sir Griel to speak to you on an urgent matter.”

  Domnal immediately returned to his dark corner, staying well within the shadows, and John, moving at an equally rapid pace, rose and moved to the far side of the pavilion, where three of Sir Alexander’s servants surrounded and hid him.

  As the messenger, dripping wet from the thorough soaking his ride had given him, with his helmet held in his hands, was allowed entrance, every man in the pavilion save Sir Alexander and Sir Hugh rose. Sir Griel’s soldier approached them and, bowing, said, “My lord has sent me with a message for you, Sir Alexander.”

  Sir Alexander tented his long, aristocratic fingers together and said, without expression, “Speak.”

  The man bowed again.

  “My lord desires to inform you that he has sent a missive to Mistress Sofia Ahlgren’s father, Sir Malcolm Ahlgren, inviting him to visit with his daughter at Maltane on the morrow. Sir Griel requests that Sir Malcolm be allowed to enter the castle beneath the white flag, my lord.”

  Kayne, hearing the words, stiffened. What purpose could Sir Griel have in sending for Sir Malcolm—for he would never do so merely because Sofia wished it, unless it suited his own purpose.

  “He will take Sir Malcolm captive, my lord,” Kayne said, ignoring the warning look Sir Justin set upon him. “This will strengthen his hand, and mayhap through her father he may force Sofia to wed him. If in this he succeeds, our cause will be lost.”

  “Sir Kayne speaks truly,” Sir Alexander said, though he, too, cast a stern glance in Kayne’s direction. “What proof can you give that this is not Sir Griel’s intention?”

  The man stared at Sir Alexander, fingering his helmet with nervous agitation.

  “My lord, I can give you none,” he said at last.

  Sir Alexander clearly appreciated the man’s honesty, and spoke to him more kindly.

  “Then we will suggest a manner of such proof, which you may relay to your master once you have returned to Maltane. It is my wish to speak to Sir Griel face-to-face, beneath the white flag, with every honorable intention that this portends. To this end, several of my men and I will accompany Sir Malcolm on the morrow into Maltane and meet with him there. While Sir Malcolm visits his daughter, Sir Griel and I will speak terms.”

  The man’s heavy brows lowered, and, struggling to conceal his dismay, he said, “But, my lord—”

  “Nay.” Sir Alexander held a staying hand into the air, silencing their visitor. “I realize full well that Sir Griel may not agree to receive me. You may tell him that I also would not receive a man who had threatened to have me drawn and quartered, most especially a man who means that threat, as I do.”

  A momentary silence, lending power to the statement, hung in the air, filled only by the never-ending rainfall. Then Sir Alexander continued on in the same pleasant tone.

  “If Sir Griel does not wish to welcome me into Castle Maltane, mayhap he will receive my good brother, Sir Hugh Baldwin, Earl of Siere. If he will do so, then we agree that Sir Malcolm
may journey to Castle Maltane beneath the white flag on the morrow. Be pleased to tell your master, howbeit, that my brother will not come alone, but will, as is the accepted manner, be accompanied by a full complement of attendants, including a dozen of our finest soldiers.”

  This was more than acceptable, and Sir Alexander’s reasonable offer of sending another in his place could only be viewed as generous. The man bowed yet once more.

  “I will deliver your message to Sir Griel, my lord, and with your permission return in but a few hours under the white flag to deliver his answer.”

  Sir Alexander nodded. “It is well, but do not come again tonight. Return in the morn, when at least the light of day will make your way more safe, even if the rain has not yet ceased. Apart from that, I am tired,” Sir Alexander added with what Kayne knew was feigned delicacy, “and will soon seek my bed. I will not receive you again this night even if you should brave the weather. Now, go.”

  With a curt nod, the messenger put his helmet back on his head, turned and left, striding back into the wet, noisy storm.

  “Now,” Sir Alexander said, standing at last and looking directly at Kayne, “are you closely acquainted with Sir Malcolm Ahlgren?”

  “Well enough,” he replied. “He is a cowardly man, but in no way evil. And he loves Sofia, even if he does not watch over or take care of her as he should.”

  “If you tell him that the matter is dire on the morrow, will he lend us his aid? Coward or no?”

  Kayne had to think on that for a moment, but at last replied, “For the sake of Sofia’s life…aye, he will. But I cannot say whether he will do us well or ill. He is, in truth, a timorous man.”