by Eliza Knight
A fiery heat fluttered in Eva’s chest. She couldn’t decide whether to escape or to fall to the ground in a trembling heap. She’d never felt it before, this fervent, contradicting itch in her heart. Her hands started to tremble, and she had the intense urge to run. But where could she go?
When had her life turned to this? How had she not seen it coming?
Curses were on the tip of her tongue, demands that he never touch her again. But if he were willing to hit her with her father present, and now knew her father would not call the guards or tear up the contract, what worse thing would he do next?
Her mind raced as she waited to see.
She calculated the number of steps it would take to get to the door. How many seconds it would take for her to reach the stairs, the bailey, and what she could say to convince the stable master to give her a horse then demand the gates be opened without argument. How long would it take to ride to her sister’s? Two weeks, at least.
But the odds were not in her favor. As soon as she reached the door, Belfinch’s vile hands would no doubt grasp her and tug her back. Then he’d likely beat her within an inch of her life and her father would just watch.
Mayhap the priest would see the red on her face, the slowly manifesting bruise, the swelling of the corner of her lip, and call off the wedding. Or maybe he would look the other way. She had to figure out how to get out of this. To escape. To help her father, else he be dragged to an early grave by the greedy bastard. Or by his rebelling peasants.
“Let’s go.” Belfinch didn’t even wait for her. He turned his back and headed to the door, so confident that she would follow.
When her feet made no move to step forward, her father manifested beside her and took her by the elbow, tugging.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, true anguish in his voice, but how could she take him seriously?
Anger now boiled inside her. Whatever hold Belfinch had, it couldn’t be worse than giving away his own daughter.
How could she truly believe his anguish when he was for all intents and purposes leading her like a lamb to slaughter?
“Save me, Papa.”
“It is done.” His response lacked emotion, as though he’d already long ago resigned himself to this.
“Nothing is ever only one way. Please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. She dug her heels into the floorboards, refusing to move.
Belfinch returned suddenly, perhaps having taken note of their whispered words, and gripped her other elbow, his fingers pinching into her soft skin.
Instantly, her father let go.
A startled cry sounded from somewhere, like a wounded animal, and at the growl of her betrothed, Eva realized the noise had come from her.
All the saints above, someone rescue me.
But there was no one.
Her sister was far away and unaware of what was happening. For certes, if Jacqueline had a clue, she would have raised an army on her own to come and save Eva.
Belfinch dragged her down the stairs, his steps long as he skipped them two at a time. Without the use of one arm, Eva fumbled with her skirts to keep them out from under her feet, afraid if she told him she was having trouble, he would simply toss her the rest of the way down.
At the bottom of the steps, a priest in long black robes waited, as though he’d been summoned even before she had. But it wasn’t their usual priest. Belfinch must have brought this man with him.
Which meant the priest would not help her. He wouldn’t care about the ache in her cheek or whether she consented to this marriage at all. The man would do as he was told, likely fearing for his life.
A shudder took hold of her, and she hugged her middle, trying to tug free of Belfinch’s grasp.
Eva looked around the great hall desperately, taking in the stunned expressions of the servants and the warriors that stood on the perimeter. Would one of them step forward? Would one of them question this farce? At some point in her short life, she’d helped every one of them. Given them food, coin, sewed their shirts, made a tincture for an illness, or comforted a wife when her husband went to battle. She had given them the very best of her.
But no one stepped forward.
One by one, they looked away.
Eva’s heart broke then, shattering into a million tiny pieces. This was really happening; they would simply let her go, and there was no way for her to be saved. Holding back tears, she stared each of them in the eye as she passed, silently lancing them with her pain.
I have to save myself. Somehow.
“Take us to the chapel,” Belfinch ordered her father.
With stooped shoulders and a slow, shaky gait, her father led them out of the great hall and into the bailey of their castle, the distant mountains looming up in the afternoon gloominess.
Overhead, the clouds covered the sun, making what should have been a bright day very dull indeed. Gloomy. As though Mother Nature knew exactly what was happening and somehow wished to warn the world of the impending doom.
“Wait,” Eva said, stalling. “I am not dressed for a wedding. At least let me put on my best gown.”
“What you wear doesn’t matter,” Belfinch said dismissively, yanking her along. “It is the deed itself.”
If they were talking about anything other than a wedding she didn’t want to happen, Eva might have thought his words wise.
“But every woman dreams of wearing a beautiful gown on her wedding day.”
“Not my wife.”
Eva bit her lip against the retort, still feeling the sting in her cheek. His wife wouldn’t have an opinion or dreams.
“At least allow me to get my mother’s necklace.”
At this, Belfinch paused, and she could see the gleam of greed in his eyes. “Necklace?”
“Aye, she gave it to me before she… passed away. It is made of pearls and gemstones in the most brilliant colors.” She was exaggerating, but it didn’t matter, she just wanted to get away from him, lock herself in her room if she could, anything to put this wedding off.
“All right. I shall allow it.”
He turned them back around, steering them toward the castle again. Once inside, he started to lead her up the stairs.
“I can go myself.”
Belfinch let out a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t trust you’ll come back.”
He wasn’t a stupid man, that was for sure.
“I swear I will,” she lied, her voice not even shaking, even though she was one giant wave inside.
Belfinch narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I will kill your father.”
Eva gaped at him but nodded anyway, because he was allowing her a few moments alone. As she climbed the stairs, she let the tears stream down her face. Because she wasn’t going to lock herself in her room. Even if her father had betrayed her, she couldn’t let him be killed.
Once in her room, she hurried to her wardrobe and unlocked the special chest her parents had given her as a young child to hide her most sacred treasures. Inside was her mother’s necklace, the only thing she’d brought with her from her clan. It was indeed made of pearls, fine iridescent pearls that took on pink and purple hues in the right light. The clasp was gold, and there was a large sapphire in the center of the necklace. Scattered throughout the pearl strand were several other light-blue beryl stones. Not as glamorous as she’d made it out to the greedy monster, but it meant the world to her. Clutching the necklace, Eva raced from the room. She’d need help with the clasp to put it on, and there was not enough time to struggle with it herself. Taking the stairs with her skirts clutched up, and without someone dragging her, was a lot easier this time around.
But once she made it to the bailey, tension filled the air, and the men looked to be on edge. Eva stopped short, the pearls digging into her palm she gripped them so tightly.
“What is it?” she asked, looking toward her father, whose pallor had turned gray.
She’d only been gone a few minutes, what could have possibly happened
?
“Get in the chapel,” Belfinch ordered.
But he made no attempt to go with her. Instead, the priest took her arm and hurried her inside with several servants. Once inside, they barred the door.
Eva yanked free of the priest’s hold. “What is happening?”
The priest stared gloomily toward a stained glass window of the Virgin Mary. “Riders were seen. They fear an attack.”
Chapter Two
What is the bastard up to?
Magnus “Strath” Sutherland, the Laird of Dornoch and Earl of Strathnavor, sat on his horse in the woods just beyond the perimeter of Northwyck Castle. He’d been sent south on a mission by his King, Robert the Bruce. One, to determine if the daughter of Lord Northwyck was dead as had been claimed, and also to stop a certain vile Sassenach lord from his continued raids at the border, who may or may not be holding her captive. That man was in the castle before him.
A plan to ambush Belfinch and his men on the road had been thwarted when the whoreson disappeared. Unfamiliar with the land this far past the English border, Strath and his men had found their quarry on the moors riding at a clipped pace toward this castle. This turnabout would work in their favor it seemed, since he could now take care of both of his king’s requests at once.
The keep was only about four stories high, if he had to guess, and the wall was about half that. There was a thin moat around the perimeter, and a village to the west. Smoke filtered out of a few chimneys in the village, but it was only late afternoon, so most of the peasants would likely be in the fields working. Smoke came from several chimneys in the castle keep.
From the intelligence Strath had been able to gather, this was the home of another man, the Earl of Northwyck. None of Belfinch’s men had waited outside, which meant the Earl of Northwyck was used to the men coming here, or he’d been forced. But Strath was betting on him being an ally. If that were the case, which seemed likely, it would behoove him and his men to remove all the threats.
This was war, after all. And if he let them go, they’d only continue the border raids he’d been sent to stop. Strath wasn’t about to disappoint his king. As to why the king cared about a lass, that was a question he’d have to leave unanswered, for his liege had not offered the information.
“What did ye find?” he asked when Tomaidh, his finest scout and best mate, returned.
“Two entrances that I could make out. The main gate has a wide drawbridge over the moat, still lowered from when Belfinch’s men went inside, and a postern gate that looks to be accessible only by a narrow drawbridge, but it was not lowered. The walls are guarded by a dozen men, more concentrated on the front gate with only a few at the postern. And I think one spotted me.”
“Damn.” Strath, as any warlord about to lay siege, much preferred the element of surprise.
“I was careful, but when I mounted my horse by the woods, I think my sword hilt caught the sun just when there was a break in the clouds. I heard a horn blown in the distance, which I’m guessing was the warning. I didn’t come straight here. I rode in the opposite direction and circled back through the woods in case they sent anyone out to follow me.”
“Ye did good.”
“I’m sorry, laird.”
“Dinna fash over it, Tomaidh. We’ll wait then. If they spotted ye, they’ll likely be preparing for an unwanted guest. With enough time, they will think spotting ye was nothing more than someone riding through. They will let their guard down.” Probably not all the way, but enough so he could still attack with success.
And he would succeed.
There was only one thing he hated more than a butchering bastard, and that was a Sassenach butchering bastard.
Lord Belfinch’s nasty deeds were known well across the Scottish borders.
Just this morning, prior to Strath’s arrival, they’d passed an annihilated Scottish town. Strath and his men had stopped to see if they could help anyone, but they’d arrived too late. The bastard had killed everyone and burned it to the ground, leaving his signature as a way to scare the Scots—a finch with a bell tied around its neck and its foot tethered to a stake.
A tremor of rage shuddered through Strath. He wanted to stake the bastard himself.
Belfinch was attacking Scottish towns for no other reason than he didn’t like that the Scots were fighting back. Prior to Robert the Bruce sending Strath on this mission, one of the towns Belfinch had attacked was ready for him. They’d fought back—and fiercely. In return, he’d burned their supplies and executed their livestock. There’d been no point to it other than to torment the surrounding people. After that, his attacks on border towns had picked up, though he’d not had the ballocks to attack Berwick-upon-Tweed, the border holding the Scots had just so recently regained.
Nay, Belfinch preferred to fight those he deemed inferior, like the true villain he was.
If only Strath had gotten here a day or two earlier, he might have been able to save those who were killed so recently. But he couldn’t blame himself. He’d left as soon as he’d received the command. If there was one thing he could make certain of, it was that Belfinch would not lay a hand on anyone else.
“Have the men rest,” Strath said. “I’ll keep watch for now.”
“Aye, laird. I will, too.”
Tomaidh issued the orders to their warriors. The men dismounted, ate dried venison and bannocks, and rested in silence for the signal from their laird.
Strath’s men were good at being silent. He’d taken them into the wild for weeks of training in the past. They were the Bruce’s silent brigade, and they’d earned themselves quite a reputation for being so in the Highlands. Strath took pride in his men and their skills, because he’d taught them himself. His father, the Earl of Sutherland, and for whom he was named—was one of the most well-respected warriors in all of Scotland. Magnus senior had taught his son everything he knew, and then some.
Tomaidh handed him an apple, and Strath nodded his thanks, dismounting to take watch on his feet and give his warhorse, Beast, a rest.
Strath should be the proudest man in all of Scotland, but after what had happened so recently in Sutherland, the weight of disappointment hung like iron shackles around his neck.
Regret had left a bitter sting in his gut that didn’t seem to dissipate with time. If only he’d seen what was coming, he might not have essentially led an enemy right to his father’s doorstep. The blow had been significant to Strath’s ego, and he wasn’t certain if he was more upset with the idea that his father would not look at him the same way again, or that he’d been completely betrayed by someone he’d trusted.
The woman he’d been handfasted to had tried to pass off the child in her womb as his. As a result, Strath had broken the handfast, delivering her to her father, Laird Guinn, along with the man she’d sinned with. Humiliated, her father had attacked—but instead of striking Strath’s castle at Dornoch, Laird Guinn had attacked Strath’s father in Sutherland. Luckily, the Guinn attack had not been successful, and the official marriage between Strath and Jean Guinn had never taken place. But that didn’t mean the damage to his ego and reputation had not taken a hit.
Och, but his da had tried to comfort him, had not openly claimed to be disappointed, but Strath couldn’t believe his father wasn’t. Sutherland lands and the clan had been in danger because Strath had been blind to the truth.
Trust was not something to be considered overrated.
To a warrior, trust was the difference between life and death. Trust between a man and a woman was the difference between knowing if her heart was his or not. Trust between clans was the comfort of your borders being safe, or having danger lurk right next door. Trust between father and son was the entirety of a man’s honor.
For Strath, his trust had been obliterated, and he’d not even seen it coming.
Soon after the incident, he’d helped one of his sisters, Bella, and her husband, Niall, in thwarting an enemy attack, but that did not prove to assuage his own guilt at being the
cause for his father’s holding being attacked.
So when the king had approached him about taking on this task, Strath had jumped at the chance to redeem himself in his father’s eyes, and his own.
As the sun settled around them, the lights from the castle and village twinkled in the distance. No one had either arrived or left the castle, which led Strath to believe they were letting their guard down after all, though they had raised their drawbridge with the setting sun.
Perhaps Belfinch and Northwyck were settling down for a mug of ale as they sat before the hearth and chatted about the heinous things they would do together.
Northwyck’s name had only been mentioned briefly by the Bruce, and though he’d not associated any of the raids with the man, he hadn’t said he wasn’t part of them. Northwyck could simply be the supplier for Belfinch’s army. Funds, weapons, food, horses. It all had to come from somewhere, because the Belfinch estate was impoverished, or at least that was what intelligence had uncovered.
And still, Strath wondered what that had to do with the lass? Her name was Lady Eva. What role did she play in all of this?
“Will we wait until midnight?” Tomaidh asked.
“Nay. I think now. That way we can ride back to Scotland under the cover of darkness.”
“Good.”
“Ready yourselves,” Strath said quietly to his men. “’Tis time.”
Without hesitation, they rose from their positions and mounted their horses. The men knew who they were looking for and what needed to be done.
When they were all ready, Strath gave the signal for them to move. They spread out, leaving spaces between them so as to not appear as an obscure cluster moving over the darkened moors. It was a trick of the eye he’d learned on many a raid. They moved slowly, so anyone who spotted them would wonder if their sight was playing tricks on them.
A gentle breeze blew across the heath, ruffling Strath’s shirt, plaid, and Beast’s mane. Crickets chirped, and in the distance, an owl hooted. The sky was ominous. Clouds covered the moon and stars, blanketing them in darkness.
