The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  Her father almost fainted with relief, and Sofia was obliged to set an arm about his shoulders to support his heavy weight as she guided him about one turn.

  “I have been in such turmoil since you disappeared,” he told her wretchedly. “If Sir Kayne had not been so good as to send word of what had become of you, I surely would have perished from the fear I suffered o’er your absence. Sofia,” he said more urgently, grasping one of her hands and squeezing tightly, “you must get out of this place and find the way to wed Sir Kayne. He is the heir to such power and wealth as I never would have dreamed of for you—aye, even despite all your beauty. Sir Griel has nothing to him. You will be the lady of Vellaux! Only think of that, and set your mind to it.”

  “I am not at Maltane of my own choice, Father,” she told him angrily. “I am a prisoner here, else I’d certainly have returned to Ahlgren Manor many days past. Now—” she gave him a slight, gentle shake to make him attend her “—please, Father, tell me what is in the missive you just gave me. Is it from Kayne?”

  He groaned and shook his head. “I do not know, Sofia—I swear that to you. Please, I pray you, do you press me. Sir Hugh gave it me as we came, and bade me give it to you. It’s for Sir Griel to discover and see, that’s all I know of it.”

  “Ah,” Sofia said, “then ’tis a deep game we are playing.” She glanced at Sir Griel as they made another turn, but he was raptly attending whatever Sir Hugh was saying. “Then I will make certain that he happens upon it later, and fight for it well. And I shall tell him, when he asks, that Sir Hugh sneaked it to me earlier, when he kissed my hand. He would ride to Ahlgren Manor and kill you if he thought you’d dared such a thing, but he’ll not be able to touch Sir Hugh once he’s safely back in his encampment. What else did Sir Hugh say? Was there any message from Kayne?”

  “Nay, nothing,” Sir Malcolm said miserably. “There was only a riddle of sorts—Kayne gave it to me last night, when he dragged me from my slumbers in the midst of the night.”

  Sofia brought him to a halt, turning to face him.

  “Kayne came to you last night?” she whispered furiously. “What did he say, Father? You must tell me every word!”

  “I was half-asleep, Sofia,” he said pleadingly, “and full weary from all my worrying over you. I was to tell you something about a man named John sneaking into the castle in disguise—but God save me if I can remember a word of it!”

  Sofia straightened and blinked. John…it could be none other than Kayne’s dear friend, Lord John. She looked at Sir Griel once more, this time to find him ignoring Sir Hugh and watching her intently.

  “That only means,” Sofia said slowly, speaking to her father but holding Sir Griel’s steady gaze, “that a man named John will be among the first to make the attack, when it comes. That is all, Father. Nothing else.”

  “But there was more,” her father insisted. “There’s a boy who’s to come, as well, to hide among the common castle folk and seek you out when the attack comes….”

  “Hush!” she said urgently, yet looking at Sir Griel, who had stood. “Speak of it no more, unless you want us both to die!”

  Sir Griel began to walk toward them, first slowly, then with a more rapid stride, his face clearing of the dull contentment that Sir Hugh had set upon him and filling with increasing awareness.

  Sofia lurched forward, tossing her arms about her father and hugging him tightly.

  “Weep!” she whispered fiercely into his ear. “Weep to make him think you’re full overset!”

  Amazingly enough, her father began to weep, almost as if he’d been waiting for permission. He bawled like a baby, loudly and with great emotion, so that by the time Sir Griel had reached them Sofia had busied herself with calming her wretched parent.

  “Please don’t worry, Father!” she pleaded aloud, lovingly stroking his back. “I’m certain all will soon be well.”

  “What are you speaking of?” Sir Griel demanded. “What has he been saying to you, and you to him?”

  “Naught, I vow,” Sofia told him, still soothing her father. “My father is but overset at my imprisonment, that is all. I have told him that I am well and completely unharmed. Is that not so, Father? You can see that Sir Griel has treated me with only kindness and respect. Come, let us return to the others and rest.”

  Setting one arm about her father’s shoulders, Sofia guided him back toward where Sir Hugh and the others waited and watched. She passed Sir Griel without looking at him, but could feel his gaze hard upon her. She prayed that he would let the matter—and his suspicions—pass for now. If he had the least idea that her father had been telling her information—or knew that he had been the one to give her the note—he would surely do whatever he must to discover what that information was. Sofia did not care so much for herself, but could her father be kept safe from such a man? Sir Griel might find the way to send men to Ahlgren Manor to ferret out what had been said, and she knew full well that even torture might be used to encourage her father to disclose the truth. Why had Kayne ever trusted her father with such a message? He knew how cowardly a man he was.

  Sir Hugh and his many knights stood as they approached.

  “We have stayed too long,” Sir Hugh said, the rolled missive from his brother held in one hand. “Sir Malcolm, you are not well, I perceive, and the visit has distressed you, as it surely would any man who saw his daughter held prisoner. Sir Griel—” he handed that man the missive “—if you will be so good as to read this now, we will speak terms and then I will leave Maltane in peace.”

  As Sir Griel broke the seal upon the document and unrolled it, Sir Hugh approached Sofia, taking her hand in his again and smiling down at her with a warmth and charm that made him even more handsome than ever.

  “I have a message for you, mistress, from your betrothed husband. Sir Kayne wished me to tell you that he is sorry for having been so great a fool when last you spoke to each other, that he concedes the argument to you and that he will gratefully accept the generous offer you made.” Sir Hugh gave a laugh and added, “I pray you understand what it means, mistress, for it makes no sense to me.”

  “Oh, aye, my lord,” Sofia said, filled with gladness, her smile trembling, “I understand full well. Thank you. Please, will you tell Kayne, when next you see him, that I will gladly keep my word to him. Most gladly.”

  “Fortunate man,” Sir Hugh said, a lazy, seductive admiration glowing in his eyes. “If I were not so happily married to the most wonderful woman who ever graced God’s earth, I believe I would steal you away from him.”

  Bending, he kissed her hand. Then he turned to Sir Griel, whose face had grown red as he finished the missive Sir Alexander had sent.

  “He but repeats the foul threats he made in the missive he sent me earlier!” Sir Griel said furiously. “This insult is too grave to bear! You see for yourself that Mistress Sofia has been untouched and unharmed.”

  “Aye, and that is how she had best remain,” Sir Hugh said, moving to stand before Sir Griel, over whom, being so much taller, he towered. “I should tell you that my brother is a man of small patience and great influence. If you should continue on in this fruitless cause, I can in no way promise that he will not have you chained to four steeds and torn apart before you’ve yet perished from being drawn.” He gave a shudder. “For my part, I think it a terrible way to die. Mistress Sofia is beautiful, but no woman is worth that measure of torment.”

  “I will not give way until I am promised that I will be left in peace,” Sir Griel insisted angrily, tossing the document to the ground. “I will not go to London to face trial for a crime that is in no way my fault! Mistress Sofia is my betrothed wife,” he stated, “and a man may do as he pleases—whatever he pleases—to his wife without fear of reprisal.”

  “Mistress Sofia is not your wife,” Sir Hugh countered gravely, his former genial manner completely gone, as if it had never existed, “but a gently born maiden who is betrothed to another. The man who is to be her husband has every r
ight to kill you himself for the insult you visited upon her.”

  “Mistress Sofia will be my wife!” Sir Griel shouted furiously. “Mine! Just as she was ever meant to be. Kayne the Unknown is the one who has done the stealing!”

  Sir Hugh leaned closer and spoke very softly.

  “You have the missive written to you by my brother, and I confirm every word of it. If you do not release Mistress Sofia, Maltane will be taken, and you and your people will be lost. I believe you will die whatever the outcome, but your only chance for mercy is to give way now and allow my brother and me to take you to London. If you plead your case well enough, the king may grant you your life.”

  “There is a far better way to make certain of that,” Sir Griel told him. “Mistress Sofia will become my wife, and then even the king himself cannot gainsay what I have done—if any man could rightly gainsay what a man will do when driven to it by a woman. She is the one at fault—not me!”

  A look of pure disgust crossed Sir Hugh’s handsome features.

  “Only a craven coward would say such a thing,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I told Alexander I did not wish to come, but he bade me charm and please you and strive to speak to you with all reason. Well, that is done, and ’tis clear you have no desire to reason. Now I am free to speak as I wish.” He brought his face very near to Sir Griel’s, and spoke with such menace that it made Sofia tremble. “If you should force yourself upon Mistress Sofia in any manner—even to make her accompany you to the altar, which she clearly does not wish to do—I vow by God above that I will chain you to the horses myself, limb by limb, and give the signal to send them running to tear you apart. But only after you’ve been drawn to the full, and your innards pulled out of your living body and burned with hot coals while you lie both awake and aware, knowing every moment of that torment. Think on that in the coming days and nights, knave, and believe that it will happen—if you should survive the assault that will fall upon the castle.”

  Sir Griel was pale and sweating again, and Sofia feared the moment when Sir Hugh and her father and all the men with them would depart, leaving her alone to face his wrath.

  “She is well and unharmed,” Sir Griel said, shaking visibly now, “’tis clear that naught had been done to her, and she will attest to it herself. Ask her,” he urged, waving a hand at Sofia, who stood with one arm yet about her quavering father. “Ask her. She will tell you.”

  “Do you think me a fool, or that I should ever subject Mistress Sofia to such an unpleasant farce?” Sir Hugh asked. “No captive will gainsay his captor in that same man’s presence, for fear of reprisal. But hear me well, Sir Griel. Take every care with Mistress Sofia, for she will indeed be asked of her treatment when once she has been taken safely out of here. Treat her as if she were my daughter, and the daughter of Sir Alexander Baldwin, and of Sir Justin Baldwin. You cannot begin to know what agonies would befall you for daring to touch the child of any of them. Before we had done with you and you had drawn your last breath, you would plead to be drawn and quartered, instead. On this, Sir Griel,” he said threateningly, “I make my solemn vow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sir Griel was near the end of his tether now. Sofia was truly afraid of him. He’d sent her to her chamber under escort immediately upon Sir Hugh’s departure, and she had waited there, alone, for the space of three hours before he finally came.

  He entered the chamber alone, breathing harshly, holding a green-and-gold tunic in one hand. Sofia, who had been sitting in a chair near the fire when he came in, stood at once and began to move away as he strode forcefully toward her.

  “Deceiver!” he shouted, thrusting the expensive garment before her eyes, crushed in his fist. “Do you see what that is, Sofia?”

  Dumb, Sofia shook her head.

  “Do you not?” he demanded. “But three hours past Maltane was writhing with green and gold! Green and gold! Sir Hugh’s men!”

  Lord John, Sofia thought with dismay, praying that her face gave away none of what she felt. He must have come with the servants, dressed as one of them, and hidden himself away somewhere in the castle. He would have removed the tunic, but been unable to destroy it, and somehow Sir Griel or one of his minions had happened upon it. And now Lord John’s life was in danger, for he was trapped, as she was, behind Maltane’s walls. Sir Griel would have no mercy for him at all, should he be discovered.

  “I—I did not…”

  She did not know what to say. She thought of the note that her father had given her, which she had laid so carefully upon a nearby table in order that Sir Griel might “accidentally” discover it. That, at least, she had planned out—but what could she answer to Sir Griel’s fury? He clearly thought she had played a part in bringing a spy into Maltane.

  “Did you not, Sofia?” he said, his face dark with rage as he stepped closer, wringing the tunic in his fist. “Will you stand there and tell me you knew nothing of it!”

  She glanced at the note, edging nearer to the table.

  “Mayhap I did,” she said, her breath coming faster, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “But we are enemies, and I would be a fool not to lend aid to those who would rescue me.”

  “Who is he?” Sir Griel demanded, closing the distance between them. “Where is he?”

  Sofia cried out as he grabbed her by the arm, bringing her retreat to a stop.

  “I do not know!” she told him, which only made him shake her violently. Sofia set her teeth against the pain and shouted, “Sir Hugh warned you!”

  He released her immediately, and glared at her with pure hatred, his chest heaving with each breath he drew.

  “Vile bitch! I wish that I had killed you when I had the chance. God knows how I wish it.”

  Sofia began to inch toward the table once more, saying, “I did not know until Sir Hugh had nearly gone that he’d left a spy behind. Surely you did not expect me to tell you such a thing.”

  “How did he tell you?” Sir Griel asked angrily, throwing the tunic across the room as if it were what he wished to do to Sofia, instead. “The sly bastard—to coddle and cosset me and make me think him a friend. But he had no time with you alone, no chance to speak to you—what is that you have, Sofia? What is it?”

  She’d nearly thought he’d miss altogether the manner in which she set one hand behind her back and swept the note up. Now, feigning terror, she leapt away and ran for the fire—not too quickly, for he was not so quick to react as she’d expected. When he caught her she did not fight very hard, for he would strike her if she gave him too much trouble, and she had no wish to feel his fist upon her again.

  He tumbled her to the ground, took her fisted hand in his, and forced her fingers open.

  Taking the note, he stood, staring at it.

  “My God!” he murmured. “My God! He gave you this when he took your hand—as I was reading the missive from his God-cursed brother. He knew how distracted I should be. Treacherous, deceiving swine!”

  Sofia was relieved that he had made the assumption she’d desired. She could never have swayed him from the truth if he’d realized her father had been the one to give her the note.

  She watched as he unfolded the tiny bit of parchment and read what she had already read beforehand.

  “There is a man at Maltane now. Watch for him. Three days from now, the time will come. Be ready.”

  Sir Griel’s face drained of color as he lowered the note.

  “In three days, they will attack. Three days.”

  Sofia watched him in silence. He looked hunted, terrified. He was trapped and knew it, with no way of escape. She prayed that Kayne and the others had not played the game with too fine an edge. Sir Griel’s eyes were beginning to possess a look of wildness and madness.

  “I meant to give you time to make your choice, Sofia, but now it has been taken away from you. From both of us. But I told you once, did I not, that you would be my wife before you reached the age of twenty?”

  It took Sofia a moment to
realize what he meant, and to her dismay, she realized that she had forgotten—or that events had made her forget—that she would attain the age of twenty in but a week’s time.

  “We will be wed on the morrow,” he stated, then thought on the matter a moment before revising the decision. “Nay, it cannot be tomorrow, but must be the day after. The priest will need time to write out the necessary documents, and you will need time to write those missives which will be sent to both Sir Alexander and the king, saying that you have agreed of your own accord to be my wife. Once they have them, they will not be able to attack Maltane. They will have to go away and leave me in peace.”

  Sofia shook her head. “I have told you that I will not wed you. I’ll write no missives.”

  He looked weary, suddenly, and absent of emotion. Sofia knew that his mind had at last fixed upon an unwavering course.

  “You will write them,” he said calmly, “or you will die.”

  He meant it this time. Utterly and completely. Sofia had no doubt that he would do as he said. Afterward, he would most likely end his own life, as well, to keep from being taken during the attack on Maltane.

  “You have the night to think upon it,” he told her. “Guards will be set at your door without ceasing, and none will enter that have not been given permission. This man who has come to spy upon us will not be able to speak to you or save you, Sofia, and you would do well not to hope in that direction. I will have his head thrown over the wall only moments after he is discovered.”

  He spoke so quietly now, so steadily. It was as if he had accepted that his death was near, and nothing else mattered or had value, certainly not Sofia’s life or the life of a spy.

  “I bid you good eve,” he said, making her a slight, formal bow, as if they were not enemies pitted against each other in so fatal a manner.

  He left the chamber, and Sofia heard the bolt at the door being slid shut. On the floor, crumpled near the fire, lay the tunic of gold and green, forgotten and of no import now that Sir Griel had made his decision. Sofia prayed that whoever it had belonged to would find a way to keep safe. Sir Gwillym had already lost his life because of her; she could not bear for another to do so.