The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Forgive me,” Domnal said, moving about the small dais on which the holy elements were kept, “forgive me.” He kept moving and talking, rushing about to fulfill the duties of an altar boy, while Sofia stared in amazement. No one else seemed to realize that the clothes the boy wore didn’t fit him at all. No one realized that his hair was untrimmed and his face filthy—as surely no altar boy’s would be.

  Domnal kept moving, his back turned to them now and hands busy rearranging religious objects which Sofia was certain he knew nothing about. He had just picked up a large, spiky candlestick and walked it to the other side of the dais when Sir Griel roared, “No more foolishness! Make your vows, Sofia! Now!”

  Sofia felt every gaze save Domnal’s held upon her; her own gaze was held fast on him. He moved so swiftly that she didn’t understand what he’d done until it was nearly over. Picking up the candlestick once more he swung about and, without a moment’s hesitation, stabbed Sir Griel directly in the stomach with it. Giving a grunt of pain, her captor fell backward toward the ground. In the same fluid movement, Domnal dropped the candlestick and bent to pull Sofia up from where she knelt.

  She stumbled to the dais with the roar of angry voices rising up from Sir Griel’s men loud in her ears. The next moment two things happened at precisely the same time. The priest fainted dead away, slithering to a heap upon the dais, and Domnal reached up, snatched the torch from its place on the wall, and doused it in the baptismal, throwing the chapel into darkness and utter confusion.

  “Come!” Domnal shouted, the long, lean fingers of one hand clasped tightly about her wrist. “This way!”

  They ran not to the velvet curtains, which Sofia heard some of Sir Griel’s men clattering toward with the intent of barring their way, but in the opposite direction, farther up the dais. The rest of Sir Griel’s men—though some surely must have gone to aid their fallen master—were fast finding their way up to the altar, throwing aside everything that got in their way.

  Domnal came to an abrupt halt, slapping his hand along one wall with such force that Sofia heard it clearly. At last, uttering a sound of triumph, he found what he was looking for, and pushed wide a door that Sofia had not earlier seen there. Pulling her through into yet more darkness, he quickly slammed the door shut once more and threw the bolt that was on their side—and just in time, for the next second one of Sir Griel’s men pushed at the heavy wooden portal with such violence that it shook.

  “They’ll be through soon,” Domnal stated. “Hurry.”

  He took her hand and pulled Sofia along.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “It leads to the priest’s private quarters. But Griel’s men will realize that soon and hurry around the other way to meet us through the main door. We must be quick.”

  “Has Kayne come into the castle?”

  “I’ve had no time to discover it, if he has,” the boy replied. “I’ve been too busy trying to get you away from Griel to do anything else. I’ve no doubt my own master, Sir Aric, is here. He’s ever the first in a battle.” He spoke with obvious pride.

  “Did you kill Sir Griel?”

  He uttered an unholy laugh. “Nay, but I wish I had. ’Twould have been far better for us. Look. The priest’s quarters.”

  There was a door ajar at the end of the short tunnel, and light spilled in through the darkness. Behind them, Sofia heard a heavy, single thump at the door of the chapel, and the sound of wood cracking. Voices were shouting in every direction, but she could not tell whether they were friend or foe.

  They came to the open door and she could see Domnal’s grimy face at last, intent and determined, a finger set to his lips, warning her to be quiet as he peered slowly around the opening to see if it was safe to enter. A tug at her hand pulled her along and into the bright glow of what she thought, at a cursory glance, must be a study. Huddled near the room’s main door were several of the castle servants, including her own two maids, who gave a momentary start of gladness at seeing her safe, only to fall immediately into fear once more.

  “Where is Sir Griel?” one of them asked Domnal. “You swore to keep us safe!”

  Domnal, still holding Sofia’s hand, replied very matter-of-factly, “This is not the place. He is fast on our heels, and many of his men. When they come, send them after us and speak the truth to save your lives, else come with us now and take your chances, as we shall do. Once you are out of the castle, find any man wearing the blue and gold of Havencourt and declare that by Domnal’s word you have thrown yourself upon the mercy of my master, Sir Aric of Havencourt. You will be taken safely out.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he moved across the chamber toward another door, dragging Sofia after him, and for the first time she took note of just how tall he was—some inches taller than she was, in fact—and how long his legs were. She stumbled in her chemise, striving to keep pace with his greater strides.

  He seemed to know the castle as if he’d lived there all his life. The first door led them to another short hallway, into an elegant bedchamber, and a similar door led to a private praying chamber. Here there was a small, but very beautiful, stained glass window which came nearly down to the floor, depicting Christ upon the cross.

  “Stand by the wall and cover your face with your hands,” Domnal commanded, releasing at last the grasp he’d held on Sofia. She did as he bade, then watched as he calmly bent to take up a heavy wooden chair from the floor and throw it mightily into the window, covering his head with one arm as the glass shattered into thousands of pieces about them.

  Sunlight, which had only just begun to fill the inner bailey, streamed into the small chamber. The absent glass revealed an herb garden outside, and several men in armor already fighting there, trampling the innocent plants. They all stopped but briefly to take note of the strange happening, but seemed not to care at all that Domnal, standing so near the now missing window, stared back at them, and shortly returned to their fights. With a candlestick, Domnal knocked out the few remaining shards that clung to the window frame, and then motioned for Sofia to come forward.

  “Hurry.” He helped her to make the short leap from the room out into the garden. She wore only soft slippers, but miraculously didn’t cut herself even as she landed in the soft mixture of glass and mud below. Domnal leapt after her. As he gained his balance, he took her elbow in one hand and nodded back at the window.

  “Look.”

  She did, and saw the servants who’d been hidden in the chamber leaping out behind them.

  “Find the blue and gold of Havencourt!” Domnal shouted in reminder, even as he pulled Sofia toward a nearby outer stairway. The servants ran toward the garden gate, one by one as they gained their feet, right into the midst of battle and what seemed to Sofia a sea of fighting men. Struggling against Domnal’s insistent grip, she sought to see Kayne’s blond head among them—though they were all helmeted, and she knew it to be a useless attempt.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with aggravation as they began to climb the stairs. “I want to find Kayne!”

  “Sir Griel’s men have orders to kill you, should they see that you’ve escaped, and we’re fortunate that these in the priest’s garden have been kept so busy, else they’d have surely made the attempt by now.” He pulled her upward, hardly waiting for her to gather up the skirt of her chemise to keep from tripping upon it. “There will be some fighting on the roof, but ’twill be far safer than in the castle or baileys. I know of a place where we can hide ’til the fighting is done. Hurry!”

  The place to hide turned out to be a low wall that ran just behind the stairs as they emptied out onto the roof, providing a small space between that wall and the parapet that ran the length of the castle’s rooftop. For fifteen minutes or more, Domnal pressed Sofia into this small area, placing himself on the outside to protect her. They crouched together, listening to the fighting as it took place all around them, and even watching it, a time or two, as soldiers ran by and engaged in battle mere feet
away from them. Anyone who looked behind the stairwell, however, only saw Domnal crouched there. He made certain of that, much to Sofia’s discomfort. But as the fighting began to dim, he allowed her to peek over the parapet and view the activity that was taking place in the bailey below.

  Sofia had never seen such a sight. Everything was trampled in the bailey, utterly ruined. It was a mass of mud and blood and many bodies lying about. Sofia didn’t know how many were dead, or if any could be saved. She looked at them and felt a hot, searing guilt. How could she ever be forgiven for causing so many to be harmed, even to die, for her sake?

  “The main fighting is done now,” Domnal told her as they both peered over the ledge. “I must go to find my master. Stay here and keep your head down.”

  Sofia grabbed his sleeve. “I want to go with you!” she said fiercely. “Kayne will be looking for me.”

  Domnal’s expression gave nothing away as he pried her fingers loose. “I’ll send him to you,” he said, “but until Griel is captured, you must not show your face.”

  He disappeared down the stairs, still wearing the altar boy’s robes and looking ridiculous.

  Sofia sat back into the dark safety of their hiding place and closed her eyes. Soon, it would all be over. She would be with Kayne again, and safe from Sir Griel forever.

  There was still a great deal of noise and activity below, but the sounds were far different than those of the fighting that had earlier taken place. Now there were shouts striving to bring the men back under some measure of command, to organize and confine whatever prisoners had been taken, to carry the wounded back to the camp, to capture horses that were running loose and tie them up. Among the shouts, Sofia thought she heard Kayne, and pushed back up to her knees to peer over the parapet once more.

  Silently, she searched the large courtyard below, filled with men, women and activity, but saw no sign of Kayne.

  Where could he be? Domnal had been gone for far longer than she’d have thought necessary. Something must be wrong. The idea had Sofia rising to her feet and turning—just in time to keep from being grabbed by the hand that Sir Griel had put out toward her.

  With a shriek both of fear and surprise, Sofia dodged away, scraping her back along the low parapet wall. She dashed headlong, managing to evade Sir Griel’s clumsy attempts to catch her. At last, standing in the midst of the roof, he gave way and fell still.

  Sofia put a goodly distance between them before turning, her back against the opposite parapet wall now, and stared at him.

  He looked half-dead already, swaying upon his feet, the slender knife yet clutched in the same hand that it had been held in an hour before. The early-morning sun revealed the exhaustion upon his dark face, in his dark eyes. His tunic, in the place where Domnal had struck him with the candlestick, was matted with blood. His breathing was an audible thing, gasping and clearly labored.

  “I’ve come,” he said, struggling as if the words were hard to speak, “to throw myself from the rooftop. All is lost.”

  Sofia watched him closely, ready to run away again if he came too near. She prayed Kayne would come soon.

  “I’ve never,” he said, panting as he spoke, “favored death by fire or the blade.” He took one unsteady step toward her, striving to maintain his balance. “But I will have the death of my own choosing. Come, Sofia.” He held a trembling hand out to her. “You will go with me. My bride. My wife. In life and death. Come.”

  Slowly, she shook her head and moved farther away along the length of the wall. There were no stairs in this direction, but she dared not go forward and bring herself closer to Griel. He appeared to be very weak, but there was strength in him yet.

  The knife in his hand began to swing back and forth again, as it had done in the chapel, and his lips twisted upward into a sickening grin.

  “Come, now,” he said, moving toward her, swaying from side to side like a drunken man. “Come, Sofia.” He began to laugh as he neared her, utterly maddened.

  Sofia kept moving backward, stumbling, holding her gaze on Sir Griel and not seeing where she went. He laughed the louder and began to move more quickly, saying, over and again, “Come! Come, Sofia!”

  “Sofia! Stop!”

  Domnal’s fierce cry arrested Sofia’s retreat. She spun about to find herself only two steps from the roof’s ledge, in an open space where there was no half wall to stop her from tumbling over. Now there was nowhere to run.

  She whirled about to find Sir Griel still coming toward her, laughing and swinging the knife. Behind him a blur of figures were shouting and running, Domnal ahead of them all. The boy leapt at Griel, bringing him down to the rooftop, rolling over and over as the burly man struggled to be free. Sofia stared in horror as Griel came to the top and lifted his hand, holding the knife high. It was her own scream she heard as the shining blade was brought down into Domnal’s arm, which the boy had flung up to ward off the killing blow.

  Sir Senet’s hard fingers closed over Sofia’s shoulder, pulling her back from the danger of the ledge with a shout of words that she couldn’t decipher, and at the same moment Sir Aric plucked Sir Griel off Domnal and physically tossed him through the air. He landed heavily on the rooftop, several feet away. While Sir Aric knelt to tend Domnal, Lord John unsheathed his sword and approached Sir Griel with the clear intention of killing him.

  “John! Wait!” Sir Senet was dragging Sofia across the rooftop, toward the stairs. “I’ll not have Mistress Sofia see it.” He took her to the first step, saying, “Kayne is searching for you below. Go and find him.”

  “But,” Sofia said, and sobbed, suddenly realizing that she was weeping, “Domnal…”

  “He’s not dead, by God,” Sir Senet told her with impatience. “And he’s not going to die. Aric will see to that.” He was covered with blood and sweat and grime, and looked as if he’d be just as glad to throw her down the stairs as let her go on her own. “Go to Kayne,” he told her, making it a command, “and if you love him keep him below. He means to kill Griel himself. Do you understand me?”

  Trembling, Sofia nodded.

  “Then go,” he said in a voice that allowed no disobedience.

  Sofia took note, and turned about, fleeing down the stairwell.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kayne had known fear before, and panic and terror and every kind of overwhelming and unpleasant emotion. But he had never before felt what he was feeling now, standing in the midst of the great hall at Maltane, unable to find either Sofia or Sir Griel.

  He’d chosen his best men to scour the castle, searching every chamber, every closet, every nook where a body might hide. He’d questioned servants and as many of Sir Griel’s vanquished knights as could still reasonably speak, but each of them knew either too little or nothing at all. He’d been taken to the filthy pit that Sofia had been held prisoner in for five days, and the fine chamber where Griel had decided to put her in following the arrival of Sir Alexander and his army, but these gave no clue as to where she might be.

  Now he stood in the hall, filled with dread, unable to stop visions of Sir Griel committing murder, and waiting for Senet, John and Aric to report what they and their men had found following their search of the outer castle, the walls and rooftops. Somehow he managed to continue on as the captain of his men, more from force of habit than anything else. He shouted out commands regarding the care of those who were too wounded to be sent back to the camp, and directed those servants who had remained to set up pallets along one wall and fetch water and linen cloths.

  Physicians from the camp would be coming soon, hopefully before many more died. Almost all of the wounded were Sir Griel’s men. Very few from the assembled armies who’d come for Sofia had been harmed, and fewer killed. For that, Kayne was very thankful. God had indeed been merciful in the taking of the castle, in more ways than Kayne could number.

  But where was Sofia? Why was there no sign of her?

  “My lord?”

  He turned to see two of his men leading a m
an in white robes toward him—a priest, pale and shaking and unsteady on his feet.

  “What is it?”

  “My lord, this is Father Harold. We found him in the chapel, fainted amidst a great disarray. He says that Sir Griel sought to force Mistress Sofia to wed with him early this morn, even as the attack on the castle took place.”

  Kayne thought of the missive Sir Alexander had received from Sir Griel the night before, written in Sofia’s own hand and stating that she had willingly agreed to become Sir Griel’s wife. Sir Alexander had let Kayne and the others read it before he had ripped it to small pieces and thrown it into the fire. His only statement had been that Sir Griel would pay dearly for forcing a lady to write such disgusting lies, and that he hoped Griel believed the false note that had been left for him. If he did, he would be making wedding preparations rather than preparations for war, and that was exactly what Sir Alexander desired.

  Kayne reached out to grasp the older man’s shoulder, for he looked as if he might faint again, asking, “What happened to Mistress Sofia? Where did Sir Griel take her?”

  The priest shook his head. “A boy,” he said in a trembling voice. “An altar boy…I never saw him before, for he is not one of the lads who helps me. I never saw him…I swear it before God…”

  “A boy?” Kayne shook him lightly. “Dark-haired? He came to Mistress Sofia’s aid?”

  The priest’s eyes grew wide with remembrance. “He struck Sir Griel down and put the torch out…in the baptismal.” He looked at Kayne with horror. “God’s mercy. The baptismal. How could he have done such a thing? I saw it there with my own eyes just now. It’s a sacrilege.”

  “You, stay with him,” Kayne instructed one of the soldiers. “Give him some wine and find a comfortable place for him to lie down. You—” he nodded to the other man “—take me to the chapel where you found him.”