Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  “Even if they err?”

  He studied her. “You are a most uncommonly forthright guest.”

  “One might say that I am not a guest.”

  The priest shook his head with a frown. “’Tis not my place to know of it, or I would have been told.” He made to turn away, but Jacqueline called after him. ’Twas clear that he was not about to risk his own desires.

  “To how much would you turn a blind eye, if doing so ensured your access to this garden?”

  He paused, glancing back to survey her in a silence that stretched so long that she feared he would say naught more.

  “’Tis of great import to me to study these plants,” he said finally. “’Twas most difficult to convince those who hold sway here to let me come.”

  “Aye, I can imagine as much.”

  At her vehemence, he shrugged. “I would hesitate to suggest that I have not been made welcome here—”

  “Though you have not been.”

  He chuckled at a bluntness he clearly found unexpected. Jacqueline instinctively liked him, despite his caution. Perhaps ’twas a useful trait within these walls. He was not unlike Ceinn-beithe’s priest, who spoke carefully and seldom criticized his fellows.

  “I am Father Michael,” he said, returning to the gate, though still he did not open it for her.

  “I am Jacqueline.”

  “’Tis a delight to meet you, Jacqueline.” He inclined his head. “Perhaps we shall see each other again.” He walked into the garden, pausing to touch a leaf here and a bud there.

  Jacqueline gripped the iron once more and called after him. “Why is the garden gated?”

  “I understand it has always been thus.”

  “Why?”

  “’Twas said that the chieftain of Airdfinnan feared for the health of his sons.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “There is much that is toxic in a garden of medicinal herbs and evidently there once were bees here, for there is a skep. No doubt he did not wish his sons to frolic here unaccompanied, lest they taste something or trouble something they should not.” The priest smiled. “’Tis not an unfitting impulse for a father.”

  “Nay. ’Tis not.” Jacqueline took a deep breath, concluding that she had naught to lose by seeking this priest’s aid. Father Aloysius already knew that she favored Angus’s suit for

  Airdfinnan, and ’twas possible that this man did not fully agree with Father Aloysius.

  Sooner or later she would have to eat, and she wagered that whatever she had the chance to consume would be poisoned. She had not much time.

  This priest might be her sole chance to see Angus avenged and herself freed. Father Michael might well be deceiving her, but her situation could hardly be made worse.

  “Just as ’tis not an unfitting impulse for a father to bequeath his own holdings to his son.”

  Father Michael eyed her anew. “Of course ’tis not.”

  “Yet Airdfinnan is held by no blood of the chieftain Fergus MacGillivray, despite that man’s own desire.”

  “’Tis held in trust, for the return of his son Angus from crusade.” Father Michael shook his head. “Though I have heard that he is gone these fifteen years and it seems unlikely he will ever return.”

  “Especially if Father Aloysius would ensure his demise when he does.”

  “What is this?” The priest closed the distance between them with quick steps.

  “Angus MacGillivray is returned. He has been here and I have been in his company. But Father Aloysius commanded Angus be killed rather than surrender Airdfinnan.”

  “That cannot be so. ’Twould be a travesty of justice!” But Father Michael was not so convinced of even his own claim. His gaze roved over Jacqueline’s features, as he clearly sought some hint that she lied.

  “’Twould be wicked indeed, but ’tis no less than what he has done.” Jacqueline leaned closer. “I am here because I foolishly believed a priest would do what was right, though Angus warned me otherwise. Now I am imprisoned here, as a ‘guest,’ though perhaps I was only admitted at first in the hope that my presence would draw Angus to his death.”

  She shook her head, unable to halt her tears. “But Father Aloysius has dispatched sentries to see Angus dead, and I, as the only witness of this injustice, am undoubtedly intended to never leave this keep alive.” She held the gaze of the intent priest. “Is the study of your herbs worth leaving this wickedness unpunished?”

  They stared at each other, she willing him to believe, he clearly fighting his warring convictions.

  “’Tis a fable you tell, no more than that,” he said finally. He inclined his head then turned hastily away, returning to his inspection and dismissing her.

  Jacqueline’s heart sank as she watched him go. When he did not so much as look her way, she turned away. ’Twas not right! She turned and surveyed the courtyard, guessing that none who had pledged fealty to Father Aloysius would aid her or Angus.

  That meant she could not afford to die within the circle of these walls. She had to escape.

  Jacqueline had to see Angus avenged. She owed him no less for her role in his predicament. She might not be able to save him from those sentries, but she could do all she could to see his name cleared of Father Aloysius’s lies.

  It seemed a paltry exchange, though she knew Angus would want no less. First, of course, she had to see herself freed.

  Angus had insisted that Airdfinnan could not be assailed from the outside, but she was inside its walls. Keeps, after all, were designed to be defended against attack, while prisons were intended to keep prisoners within. She surveyed the high walls of Airdfinnan and decided that it worked effectively as both.

  There had to be some way to escape. The greater good had to prevail!

  Glumly she trod around the perimeter, seeking some weakness. There were at least three ladders wrought of wood lashed together, no doubt the means by which the men scampered to the summit of the walls. All lay on the ground, and when she tried to lift one, Jacqueline found ’twas too heavy for her.

  She muttered a curse worthy of Angus’s vocabulary and continued on. She found Lucifer in a stable. The stallion was not pleased with his situation and showed his mood by stamping repeatedly, snapping his reins, and snorting the feed granted to him all over the floor. He trod in it and shat in it and bared his teeth at the stable boy who tried to approach him.

  Jacqueline spoke to him and scratched his ears, and he deigned to be soothed, though he kept a watchful eye on that stable boy and flicked his tail in dissatisfaction. She lingered with him long, wishing she could explain Angus’s fate to him and wondering if his mood was due to his sensing some dire portent. Her mother maintained that horses knew more than people imagined they did.

  Jacqueline stroked Lucifer’s nose and wondered what would become of a knight’s destrier in a place where there were no knights. He nibbled at her hair, tugging the braid playfully, as if he too had need of encouragement.

  Perhaps someone would eat Lucifer. One heard of such vulgarities. Or perhaps he would be sold to a king or a prince visiting from afar. Unless, of course, Rodney returned in a timely fashion and claimed his knight’s belongings.

  What had happened to Rodney? And how had her parents taken the revelation of her capture? Jacqueline was mortified to realize that she had nigh forgotten about them. Perhaps Father Aloysius could be persuaded to send word to them of her safety.

  But then, perhaps not.

  ’Twas up to her to ensure the survival of herself and Lucifer, up to her to ensure that Angus’s name was not left sullied, and up to her to calculate how that deed might be done. Jacqueline smiled at the stable boy, who eased closer to the calmed stallion. Lucifer brayed at him and stamped ferociously, snorting with satisfaction when the boy fled.

  “Perhaps there is a bit of the devil in you,” she commented, and gave his rump a farewell pat. The destrier snorted and nosed through his feedbin once again, no doubt waiting for the stable boy to feel bold
again.

  Jacqueline strolled, knowing she was not unobserved but seeking to look only mildly curious about her surroundings. In truth, she was thinking furiously, increasingly frustrated by the fact that the only apparent exit was the guarded gate.

  She paced the perimeter and ducked through every lean-to, finding the smithy, the butcher, the buttery, and the henhouse. She avoided the chapel, for all knew that the sacraments offered by wicked priests were wicked in themselves. She would take no Mass or offer no confession in this place, even if it meant she died unshriven.

  She found women doing the wash, though they refused to return her greeting or even acknowledge her presence. They scrubbed unceasingly, mute but fairly exuding resentment all the same. She wondered at this, then recalled Father Michael’s caution.

  The sun was sinking as the sound of pots echoed from the hall. Father Michael departed, locking the gate to the garden securely. Jacqueline watched him, but he did not so much as glance her way. He ducked into the hall and her heart sank with the surety that her charges were soon to be repeated.

  She had best decide what she intended to do and decide it quickly. The guards changed with no interruption in their vigilance, no moment when the ladders were unattended. The sentries paced along the top of the wall, spaced with disquieting regularity, watchful as hawks on the hunt.

  The women wrung out the last of their washing and flung what looked like men’s chemises over a makeshift line. They dumped their cauldrons of water and Jacqueline jumped back, certain the area would be flooded. But the water barely spread across the ground at all.

  ’Twas then Jacqueline heard the gurgle of water flowing down a drain. She trotted after the women, her heart pounding as she spied the wood lattice nailed over what was obviously an outlet to the river outside.

  Here was her salvation!

  She feigned indifference and strolled past the hole, noting that ’twas wide enough for her, but acting as if she had not even seen it. ’Twas nailed down securely, the lattice so tightly fashioned that a rat would have had difficulties slipping through it.

  Somehow she had to remove that wooden lattice. Pretending to be a bored demoiselle despite the mad racing of her heart, she visited Lucifer again.

  “I will return for you,” she whispered, rubbing his ear. “Somehow I shall do it. Or I will buy you from him. Fear not!”

  The steed looked unlikely to fear anything. She took his brush, as if she had all the time in the world, and worried about those large nails in the lattice even as she brushed him down.

  ’Twas when she brushed his flank that she spied the awl. It had fallen in the straw underfoot, perhaps dropped by a frightened stable boy when Lucifer objected to his presence. No doubt the boy had not the audacity to return for it.

  It mattered naught—the tool was there. And in the twinkling of an eye, ’twas hooked through Jacqueline’s belt and hidden in the folds of her kirtle. Her mouth was dry, her heart hammering, her gaze quickly flying over the courtyard as she sought her moment.

  She knew ’twas time when the stable hands retired to the kitchens. Jacqueline ducked into the shadows. She needed a distraction and knew where to find it. She slipped into the henhouse, unlatched the door, and shooed the chickens out of their nests. They clucked and bickered and complained in a most promising fashion as they made their way out in the courtyard.

  But then they pecked the earth and hovered close to the henhouse, causing no ruckus at all.

  Nay! This could not be! Where were the dogs when she had need of them? Jacqueline glanced around the courtyard, knew she had no time to trouble herself with chickens, and continued her quest. Keeping a careful eye on the guards, she crept from shadow to shadow, hugging the walls wherever she could, gradually coming closer to that wooden lattice.

  She had not much time. The women lingered at the portal, exchanging boisterous comments with the guards as they passed through the gates. The yard was momentarily silent, the chickens having disappeared. Wretched birds. They were always making noise at Ceinn-beithe, but these seemed of a different, more tranquil breed. Fortune would seem to be against her.

  All the same, she had to try. Jacqueline dashed across an open space, her breathing labored as she flattened herself against the wall just a few steps away from the lattice.

  So close ’twas and yet so far. The sunlight glistened upon the wet wood and gleamed upon the enormous nails. There were six of them.

  Six! She knew she could not crouch beside the opening and work the lattice free without being seen. And she doubted she could work those doughty nails free that quickly. She chewed her bottom lip in vexation, unable to fight the sense that this would be her only opportunity to seek freedom.

  As if he sensed her dilemma, Lucifer suddenly seemed possessed by demons. He snorted and neighed and kicked when the stable boy came near. Jacqueline saw the chickens flutter from beneath his feet, feathers flying, and knew that Fortune again smiled upon her. The other horses took up his attitude, the chickens scurried and squawked and evaded capture in a most noisy fashion.

  Jacqueline did not hesitate. She lunged for the grate, dug her awl beneath the edge, and tugged. The wood splintered, but the nails were long and did not give. She swore through gritted teeth, sparing another glance toward the ruckus in the stables. Every eye seemed trained upon the balking steeds and the stable hands and now the ostler who tried to quiet him.

  At least for the moment. Jacqueline gave a mighty wrench and cursed as only the corner of the lattice gave way. She dug the awl more deeply beneath the wood and jumped in fear when ’twas snatched from her hands by pale clammy fingers.

  She had not a moment to stand, let alone to flee before a man shoved the lattice open. His teeth were gritted, his flesh of the pallor of a corpse, his eye wild. She screamed, then clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized what she had done.

  ’Twas Angus who glared up at her, dripping and out of breath, his fingers clenching and unclenching the awl.

  He was not dead, nor even wounded! Jacqueline might have flung herself upon him in relief, if he had not looked so furious.

  For the guards had looked their way when she screamed, and even now a shout rose from the walls.

  In a heartbeat, they were surrounded. Angus was divested of the awl and his hands were roughly bound behind his back. He fought but had no chance.

  Indeed, Jacqueline felt ill for the second time that day, but not because her hands were bound. Nay, Angus had come to rescue her but through her own inability to be silent, now they both would die.

  Father Michael was troubled by this Jacqueline’s assertion.

  ’Twas true that he had long suspected that matters were not as they should be at Airdfinnan, but ’twas not in his nature to meddle. And he knew that Father Aloysius would see him banished from this marvel of a garden without a second thought; though he had been concerned by the other priest’s insistent questions about herbal poisons, particularly those that were difficult to detect. ’Twas no accident that Father Michael kept much of his knowledge to himself, and he told himself often that ’twas to the greater good to pretend his ignorance was more extensive than it was.

  And he found it worrisome that he had arrived to find the burnt rubble left of the monastery entrusted to their order but Father Aloysius claiming himself answerable to none. Pride was the most troublesome of the great sins, in Father Michael’s opinion, and Father Aloysius seemed to have struck a great lode of it when Airdfinnan fell to his trust.

  The younger priest had been taught to be wary of the beguiling words of women. ’Twas perhaps timely to recall that Eve had been the one to tempt Adam so fatefully and that she had accomplished the matter by persuasive argument alone.

  Still, in his own family, there were women in whom he placed every faith. And the demoiselle had seemed so sincere that he could not simply leave the matter be, even though he knew he should do precisely that.

  He entered the hall, intending to ask Father Aloysius about his o
utspoken guest. ’Twas always worth discovering the other half of a tale before making one’s own conclusions. But the hall was nigh empty, the rumble of men’s voices carrying from the kitchens. From behind the screen that separated the quarters of Father Aloysius from the common hall, he heard a muttered voice.

  “And to the abbess of Inveresbeinn, I extend my good wishes for her continued good health.” Father Aloysius spoke slowly and in Latin, his words evidently being inscribed in a missive. “I also send news of a novitiate pledged to Inveresbeinn who has come to my gates in distress. She is named Jacqueline, and it appears she has been abused by a brigand. Because her health is precarious as yet, I would assure myself of her well-being and her safety before dispatching her to your care, as she was originally destined.”

  Father Michael straightened, knowing full well that there was naught amiss with the well-being of the Jacqueline he had met.

  “Read that again to me, if you will.”

  While the servant did so, Father Michael crept closer and halted beside the board. The table had been abandoned after a meal and not cleaned fastidiously—even as he lingered there, a dog dared to take a bone from the edge of the table. There was a box of figs, and being somewhat hungry himself, Father Michael helped himself to one.

  An odd scent, one that would be noted only by an herbalist with a sharp nose, halted his gesture when the fruit was but an increment from his lips.

  He sniffed it again, knew ’twas aconite he smelled, then replaced the fruit in the box, newly wary.

  There was a bundle of cloth left upon the board as well, so wrapped around itself that he thought at first ’twas no more than a rag.

  But proximity revealed the red stain upon it. Father Michael cast a furtive glance about, then unfurled the garment. ’Twas a tunic of the fashion worn by knights and one heavily stained with what could only be blood. He fingered the cloth thoughtfully, noting the red crusader’s cross stitched upon its front.

  He bent and smelled the cloth, his keen nose identifying foreign spice and smoke beneath the overriding scents of man and iron. This garment had recently been on foreign shores, unless he was mistaken.