The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “That is so much the better,” Sir Alexander said with one of his rare smiles. “He will add the extra confusion that is needed for John and the boy to slip away unnoticed and hide themselves. And if he is allowed a private word with his daughter, he may be able to alert her to Domnal’s presence, that she may look for the lad when he comes to make her safe on that day when we make our attack.”

  “If she knows, she might unwittingly betray the boy,” Sir Aric said, frowning deeply.

  “Nay, she will not,” Kayne told him at once. “She is not so foolish. ’Tis a good plan, and I will ride to Ahlgren Manor at once to speak with Sir Malcolm.”

  “And I will go with you,” Senet said with finality, draining his goblet and setting it aside.

  “There is no need,” Kayne told him. “The storm is fierce. I would not have you in it.”

  Senet made a scoffing sound. “Do you think me a child, then? I have never shied from any storm, nor will I from this pitiful one.”

  “I will go, as well,” Aric said, but Kayne shook his head.

  “Nay. Stay and ready the lad, for the morrow will ask much of him. John, you will need time with Domnal to make your plans.”

  “Aye,” John said with a single nod. Then he smiled and added, “’Tis a poor excuse for keeping out of the rain, i’faith, but one I will use. The time will be well spent, Kayne, never fear.”

  For the first time since coming to Maltane, Kayne’s spirits had risen to hopefulness.

  “I fear naught,” he told them, looking from one man to the other. “The plan is in all truth a good one, my lord,” he said to Sir Alexander, “and I have no means to thank you properly, though you have said you want none, nor any of you.” His gaze took in the men surrounding him, and Domnal as well. “But my thanks you have, with full heart.”

  “Only thank us once Mistress Sofia is safely out of Maltane,” Sir Justin said, his expression somber. “We must act quickly and pray that Sir Griel is not too hard-pressed. One mistake on our part, and I fear that Mistress Sofia will pay dearly for it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sofia slept so deeply in the soft feather bed that she did not rise until well past noon on the day following her dinner with Sir Griel and their visit to the wall. Rain poured throughout the night, and thunder and lightning filled the sky, sending Sofia dreams of another night, very similar but far more wonderful, when she and Kayne had shared a bed together.

  When she at last woke and pulled back one of the bed curtains, it was to find the two serving maids moving quietly about the room, one of them setting out a new surcoat and underclothes for her to wear, and the other stoking the fire with great care. The tapestry covering the window had been pulled back to reveal a sky that was partly blue, partly gray, with a little sunlight shining through to brighten the day. It was very much the same as a morning at Ahlgren Manor might have been, and, thinking of that, Sofia wondered if her father would truly come to visit her.

  The moment the serving maids realized she was awake they turned all their attention to getting Sofia out of bed and dressed, with her hair combed and braided down her back. Then one of them left and returned a quarter of an hour later with two additional servants and a large tray bearing a great quantity of various foods for Sofia to break her fast with.

  “You must hurry and eat your fill, mistress,” one of the maids said as she poured Sofia a mug of hot, spicy-smelling cider, “for your father and several other men are to come soon, and Sir Griel desires that you be present to greet them.”

  “Several other men?” Sofia asked. “My father’s men?”

  “Nay, mistress, men come under the flag of truce to speak terms with Sir Griel.”

  Sofia’s heart lurched painfully. “Do you know who it is?” Could it possibly be Kayne and his friends? Would Sir Griel allow them to come into Maltane?

  The maid busily buttered a slice of sweet almond bread as she replied, “I overheard someone say that ’twas a great lord come to see the master. An earl, though I do not know for certain. ’Twould be strange, indeed, if ’twere true.” She set the bread upon Sofia’s plate with care, then smiled up at her. “There’s never been so fine or noble a man as an earl come to Maltane before. We none of us knew you could claim acquaintance with the nobility, mistress, and ’tis certain the master did not know, either.” She leaned forward and said, with great confidentiality, “Sir Griel has been overset since last night, when a messenger returned from the camp of those arrayed against us. He did not even seek his slumbers, but has remained awake and most unhappy.”

  An earl? Sofia thought with confusion. Surely the girl was mistaken. She could make no claim to such an acquaintance, unless Kayne’s father, Lord Renfrow, had written to the king for aid. But if Sir Griel was upset at the idea of such a man coming to see him, then Sofia knew that she must be more especially on her guard. It would not do to make him angered before such a guest.

  She broke her fast as quickly as she could, though she was far too nervous to feel hunger. Just as she was finished, two of Sir Griel’s knights, dressed in their master’s colors, black and red, arrived to escort her belowstairs.

  Sir Griel was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs in the great hall. He, too, was dressed in the castle colors, most certainly the finest and most expensive clothes she’d ever seen him in.

  He was sweating and very pale. He took one of Sofia’s hands in both of his as she came to the bottom step and squeezed so tightly that she could not help but make a sound of distress. He softened his grip at once, but she was yet repelled by how wet and slippery his flesh was, and longed to pull away from him completely. By a great force of will, however, she did not, and listened to him intently as he began to speak.

  “Sofia, your father has come to visit with you, just as I promised you that he should, but with him are a number of men from those who stand against us. You must make them know that all is well, and that you have been treated kindly.”

  Sofia looked at him with a measure of disbelief. Had he forgotten the foul chamber she’d been imprisoned in for five days, at his command? Or that he had tried to starve her into submission? She suddenly realized why he had undergone a change in heart regarding her treatment at Maltane. It was not because he cared for her comfort, but because he so greatly feared the charges that she might lay against him in the face of someone powerful enough to retaliate.

  “Who has come with my father?” she asked.

  Sir Griel’s features hardened, and his black eyes filled with anger.

  “’Tis no concern of yours, for they’ve come against me, and not for your sake alone. But you must send them away well-pleased, and give them no reason for concern. Look,” he said, stepping back and gazing at her from head to toe, giving a curt nod, “you are dressed in fine clothing, clean and gently cared for. ’Tis plain that you have suffered no abuse at my hands. ’Twould be clear to any and all who saw you. There can be no complaint, and you must give them none.” He pulled one of his hands away and, in a swift movement, drew a long, sharp dagger from its sheath at his belt. He held it up into the air, near her face. “Do you see this, Sofia?”

  Saying nothing, she nodded. The dagger was brought nearer, until her eyes nearly crossed from looking at it. The blade was very thin and needlelike.

  “I will keep you beside me while they are here,” he vowed, “and if you should make one word of complaint—only one, Sofia—I swear before God that I will slit your throat before the assembled. And afterward I will make certain to kill your father, if I can but reach him before I am stopped. I will assuredly make every attempt to do so.”

  “Then you will die for it,” she told him as calmly as she could.

  He made a scoffing sound and slid the dagger back home again. “That is what I am trying to avoid,” he told her. Taking her arm in a steely grip, he began to lead her farther into the hall. His men clattered along behind them, and Sofia saw dozens of other servants in their finest clothes lining the hall itself, awaitin
g the arrival of their visitors.

  “Today,” Sir Griel went on as they strode forward, “you must act as my lady—as the lady of Maltane, which you will soon be, in truth. You must make them all know that you are not displeased to be here, and that ’tis a great foolishness for them to set their armies against me. Understand me well, Sofia. I will die before letting them take me to London to stand trial for an act that is, by all rights, your fault rather than mine. And if I die, you will surely go before me, and your lover as well, as I have already promised you.”

  “I will not act a lie for your sake,” Sofia told him, holding her chin high. “But I will not distress my father, or shame him before another. If you do not desire that I speak to any other man who comes to wait on you, then keep him from me. ’Tis as simple as that. But if you do not release me and allow me to walk without aid,” she threatened, “I will let you kill me now. I cannot bear your touch, as I have told you time and again. How much more must I do so before you begin to believe me?”

  Sir Griel released a taut breath and brought them to a stop. He removed the grip he held on her and touched his dagger once more. “Be very sure of yourself, Sofia,” he warned, “for I mean what I say.”

  “As do I,” she returned.

  “Then we understand each other. Come,” he said, and motioned for her to walk ahead of him, “let us meet them together, and see what comes of the day.”

  Sir Hugh Baldwin, the earl of Siere, came riding through the gates of Maltane Castle as if he were a royal prince, surrounded on all sides by knights wearing gleaming armor, each carrying upon his horse the fluttering standard of Siere. Servants, also on horses and clothed in their master’s colors, followed behind, and running after these were several serving boys of various ages and sizes, ready to take care of the horses when those who rode them dismounted. Sofia scanned the face and form of each man, looking for Kayne, but to no avail. She would have known him at once, even if he had been disguised, but he was not among the others.

  Riding directly beside Sir Hugh on a familiar steed was Sofia’s father, Sir Malcolm. Standing next to Sir Griel on the steps of Maltane Castle, she could see the uneasiness on her father’s pale face, while Sir Hugh, smiling broadly from side to side at all those in the inner bailey, looked as pleased as a foreign potentate amongst his worshipping minions. He made it all seem a grand, festive affair, which had nothing to do with a castle siege.

  The visitors—Sofia could scarce count them, there were so many knights and attendants—drew their horses to one side of the bailey and began to dismount. The serving boys who’d come with them ran up to take hold of each horse’s reins, and for several long moments all was a mass of confusion and noise. Sir Hugh, with her father yet at his side, was the first to emerge from the crowd of men and horses, and the confusion smoothly melted into order as his knights and servants followed behind him.

  The ground was yet wet and muddy, but Sir Hugh, handsome in both face and form, strode forward as if he were walking across a silk carpet. He was a tall, muscular man, with golden hair touched by faint streaks of gray that alone bespoke the fact that he was no longer a youth. In all other ways he seemed very young, especially in his smiling, jovial manner.

  “Ah, Sir Griel,” he said without preamble as he came to the stairs where they stood, not even waiting to be formally introduced. “Well met. I am Hugh Baldwin, sent to you by my brother, Sir Alexander Baldwin, the lord of Gyer. I believe you are already well-known by Sir Malcolm Ahlgren?” He swept a hand toward Sofia’s father, who had met Sofia’s gaze and held it. “And this, I can only believe,” he went on, stepping forward, and holding out a hand, “is Mistress Sofia Ahlgren, on whose behalf we have all come together in this happy place. Mistress,” he said grandly, taking her hand in his own and bowing over it, “your betrothed husband, Sir Kayne, spoke of your beauty, but he did not tell the half.” He kissed her hand, then straightened and smiled down at her in a lusty, appreciative manner that took Sofia by surprise. “But you will wish to greet your father,” he said, gently tugging her toward that man.

  Sofia was indeed glad to see her father, who looked so relieved at the sight of her that tears had filled his eyes. They embraced and she murmured that she was well, and the next moment Sir Hugh had taken charge again and suggested that they all go indoors, as he was in need of a glass of wine and hoped Sir Griel had a goodly supply.

  Sir Griel seemed to have become speechless and powerless in the face of Sir Hugh’s brilliant energy, and allowed himself to be guided into his own castle as if he were the one who had come from elsewhere. Behind them, the loud clattering of Sir Hugh’s many knights as they followed their master made a deafening noise.

  For the first hour Sir Griel was as stiff and guarded as he’d been earlier, but after several goblets of wine shared with his loud, cheerful guest he began to relax.

  The entire hall was ringing with the laughter spawned by Sir Hugh’s constant humorous remarks. Sofia, silent, sat in the place where her captor had put her, very aware that Sir Griel often had his eye on her, as did her father, sitting opposite her, who clearly desired to speak to her privately. Sir Hugh, having seated himself in the midst of one and all, neither addressed Sofia nor spoke to Sir Griel of her imprisonment. Indeed, he did nothing more than laugh and drink and tell merry tales, as if he were in a tavern, surrounded by his closest comrades. Only once did he depart from this behavior, when, after the first half hour had passed, he suddenly seemed to realize that he’d forgotten to bring from his saddlebags the missive that had been written out for Sir Griel by Sir Alexander.

  Straightening in his chair, he swore in a loud, fulsome, and quite shocking manner, finally looking about at his servants, who had immediately jumped to the ready, and shouting, “Damned fools! Don’t you see I want that missive? Go on, the lot of you, and fetch it back to me at once! Hurry!”

  The servants, at least a dozen or more, all identically dressed in green-and-gold tunics with feathered, green velvet caps covering their heads, raced off as one, flying out of the great hall on soft-booted feet.

  Sir Hugh, much displeased by this oversight, turned back to Sir Griel and said, with all the confidentiality that friends might share, “Servants, bah! God save me if they’re not more trouble than they’re worth—and God alone knows what they cost to feed and clothe!”

  Sir Griel agreed with this wholeheartedly, and the two men toasted each other with their goblets, commiserating on the great misfortune they suffered in being responsible for so many vassals.

  Sofia, for her part, noticed that her father had grown even paler, and sat in his chair more stiffly. He repeatedly refused the wine that was offered to him—which was certainly unlike him—and looked as if he were utterly wretched.

  Several minutes later, the servants all returned, just as they had left, a surging crowd of gold and green. One of them strode triumphantly ahead of the others, a tightly rolled parchment in his hands, and, kneeling, offered it to his lord.

  Sir Hugh snatched it up and impatiently told the man to go away. When Sir Griel sat forward to receive this missive, which had been meant for him, Sir Hugh tucked it into the folds of his tunic and waved Sir Griel’s hands away.

  “Nay, let us have another draught of wine before we begin to speak of such unpleasant matters. I cannot think Mistress Sofia will mind. Here, Sir Malcolm, have you not yet had a moment to speak to your daughter in private, as my brother promised you? Go now and have a turn about the hall.”

  Both Sofia and her father froze, staring at each other before turning to look at Sir Griel. She could see by the indecision on his hairy face that he was not comfortable in allowing them such privacy, and opened his mouth with what she knew was a denial, but Sir Hugh blustered ahead before he could make a sound.

  “Go on, go on, go on,” Sir Hugh ordered with a measure of aggravation, waving at them with such fervency that they felt compelled to stand. “Don’t be so foolish,” he chided, still waving them away, as if they were naughty
children to delay so long. “Sir Griel and I will discuss nothing of import until you return, have no fear. Go and have your walk and we will speak of such dull things soon enough.” He turned to Sir Griel with a bark of sudden laughter, saying, “By the Rood! Do they think we need watching, as if we were infants?” The thought made him laugh the harder. “But, come,” he said invitingly, leaning forward to speak more directly to his host as their goblets were refilled, “tell me of the hunting here at Maltane. Do you use birds? I vow, you must come one day to try the birds at Siere, for you have never seen the like. Now, my own falcons—for I train them myself, and my sons along with me—are among the fiercest creatures you have ever…”

  Sofia, taking her father’s arm, had gratefully walked too far away to hear any more. Sir Hugh Baldwin might be a powerful nobleman, but he was the greatest fool she’d ever beheld! She longed for Kayne with all her heart, a man possessed of both sense and intelligence. Why in the name of all that was holy had the forces allied against Sir Griel sent this lackwit to speak for them? Why, he was ready to invite Sir Griel to visit at Siere and go hunting!

  Beneath her hand, she could feel how tense and nervous her father was.

  “Father,” she murmured as they moved toward one long wall—though not too close, for there were servants attending each fire, “you tremble. Please, calm yourself. There is no need to be so distressed.”

  She heard him gulp loudly, in the same moment as he glanced behind them to see what Sir Griel was doing.

  “I feel as if I’ve a hot coal burning its way through my flesh,” he told her as he began to fumble in a pocket within the cloak he yet wore. “God save me…Sofia, take this.”

  She felt a sharp poke in her arm, and looked down, seeing that he was pressing a tiny, folded bit of parchment against her.

  “Take it!” he whispered more urgently. “Quickly, before any see! And hide it well!”

  Sofia did as he said, taking the tiny parcel and putting it in the first spot she could think of—her bosom—for she had no other pockets. A glance at Sir Griel showed her that neither he nor anyone else had seen the exchange.