by Sherry Ewing
“I must thank you for your valiant defense, Douglas. You have again shown me your worth, and I am in your debt.” Henry winced while flexing his arm as his men began to gather around, one seeing to his injury.
Douglas could only pray the duke would remember his words. He had the distinct feeling they would mean little to a man who wanted Berwyck under his control.
Douglas left the duke’s men to see to him and went to his squire. He put a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “I should box yer ears for disobeying me but cannae help but be proud of ye. Ye fought well, boy. Ye will be a great knight someday. Just be sure tae keep yer elbow up, lest ye miss yer foe when ye go in for the kill.”
The boy smiled. “Thank ye, my laird.”
Douglas took a deep breath, savoring the victory he and the knights had fought so hard for. He noticed a group of prisoners, those lucky enough to survive the ordeal. He wanted information on who had planned the attack and would get it one way or another. Walking over to them, he scanned their faces, looking for the weakest.
Finally, Douglas chose one and knelt in front of a younger man who was bleeding from his nose. He stared at Douglas with unwavering hostility.
“Who sent ye?” he asked in English.
The man didn’t answer but clenched his jaw while one of the guards pulled the rope tighter around his hands.
Douglas tried again, this time in French. “Qui t’a envoyé?”
Surprise flashed across the prisoner’s face. “How is it a Scott knows French?” the man asked, switching to English.
“Just because I’m Scottish dinnae mean I cannae speak another language. We are not all barbarians.” Douglas said while noticing the man’s shoulder was dislocated.
Douglas stood and then pointed to the injury. “I could fix it, but only if ye give me the details of who sent ye.”
“Do what you must, it makes no difference to me.” He turned away from Douglas.
“Then ye can die here with no one to give ye a proper burial, for all I care. I suspect the duke will make an example of yer comrades in arms.” Douglas had run out of patience. “Their heads, no doubt, will hang on pikes around the castle walls as a warning the same fate awaits any who take up arms against a man who ye owe yer fealty tae. All ye need tae do is give me a name.”
“I owe Henry nothing!”
The man spit at him, and Douglas wiped away the spittle before punching him in the face. “So be it.” Douglas said. “Take him away. He can await his fate in the dungeons.”
After Douglas received a full list of the men who had fallen in battle, he organized a burial detail to see to the corpses.
Finally, the duke’s entourage made their way inside the castle gates where Henry called for wine to celebrate their victory and safe arrival. For Douglas, the eve would be long. ’Twould be several days at least before the duke released Douglas and his men to return to Berwyck.
Chapter Nineteen
Catherine left the bedchamber she had been using for the past sennight. ’Twas clear it was not the laird’s chamber. Nor was the simple room meant for the mistress of the castle. She cared not except that she would have thought a small measure of common courtesy would have been extended to her. Freya had reassured Catherine last eve that the room meant for the laird’s wife was almost ready. She would prefer to share Douglas’s room and would take the matter up with him upon his return.
When they had arrived at the bailey in Berwyck Castle, and after the initial shock that she was Douglas’s wife had worn off, Catherine dismounted from her horse. Young lads had rushed over to take the horses to a nearby stable. She had quickly learned Douglas’s mother had left for an outlying village and was not expected back any time soon. Freya had seen that a runner was sent to retrieve her mother.
Catherine had done her best to introduce herself to anyone who worked in the keep. But no one seemed interested in her—even if she was the new mistress. So, she kept to herself mostly. As she left her room, Catherine noted Charles was not standing guard outside the door. When the man slept was a mystery, but now she was more concerned as to his whereabouts. ’Twas unlike him to leave his post.
The great hall was relatively empty with the exception of a few servants. She grabbed a piece of bread and cheese left on one of the platters and headed for the door. She asked after her captain, but no one seemed able or willing to tell Catherine anything.
She made her way to the lists where the men were training, but they were even less helpful than the servants, practically ignoring her.
She headed to the stables. Devil was in one of the stalls, which meant Charles hadn’t left the keep. After she checked on her mare, Catherine spotted Freya scurrying from the stables, and Catherine hastened to catch up with her.
“Freya,” she called as she watched the young woman hurry to her own horse. “Have you seen Charles? I am unable to find him.”
Freya waved her hand about. “He is surely about somewhere. Mayhap he took a walk tae the village.”
“’Tis unlikely, Freya.” Catherine peered at the woman who seemed as skittish as a newborn colt. “What are you not telling me?”
Freya took up the reins. She had a guilty look on her face as she whirled her horse around and shouted back over her shoulder, “I am telling ye, I do not know where he is!”
Catherine waved her arm as the dust flew, and came to the realization that Freya was lying to her, but why?
She felt a presence behind her and turned to almost run right into the chest of a towering Scotsman. ’Twas becoming a bad habit of hers. She knew this brute, he stood near six-feet-tall with black hair and an unkempt beard. His dark eyes couldn’t hide his disdain for her.
“Where is my captain?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.
The man had the nerve to spit in the dirt at her feet. “Ach! Ye English have no business here.”
“Your laird may say differently on the matter once he returns,” she said. “What is your name?”
“What does it matter tae ye?”
Although she had not been introduced to this particular knight, she had been aware of his presence whenever she went about the castle. He constantly showed up, watching her like her falcon seeking prey. He was the one who told everyone she could not be trusted.
“Because I wish to know the name of the man who seems to have been left in charge but still has no right to question my authority here.”
“Ye have no rights at Berwyck til Laird Douglas openly declares ye are his wife,” he growled. “Even then, I might question his sanity for taking an Englishwoman for his woman.”
“His sister can certainly vouch that she was witness to our marriage,” Catherine retorted, hopeful the man would see reason.
“Freya is unreliable,” he laughed. “Only our laird’s version of the truth will satisfy me.”
“Your name,” she repeated.
“Cathal,” he finally answered.
“And my captain?” she asked again.
Cathal seemed to ponder the matter before he pointed to the keep. “He is below.”
“Below?” she said aghast. “Are you telling me Charles has been put in the dungeon?”
“Where else should a prisoner be taken? At least I kept him alive.”
“Why have you locked him up?”
The Scot scowled. “Freya said she was vexed with him. Seemed fitting he should see the inside of a cell til he learned some manners.”
Catherine’s mouth fell open. “Are you telling me Freya told you to put Charles in a cell?”
“Nay. I made that decision.” Cathal chuckled, an evil sound to her ears. A look passed over his features, giving Catherine cause to be leery when he advanced.
“Stand back, Cathal,” she shouted. God’s Wounds! Did this man actually think he could do as he pleased with her now that Charles had been taken to the dungeon?
“Perchance ye would care tae persuade me tae allow him tae see daylight again,” he offered as though she would welcome his touch
. “I can be most accommodating and can overlook the fact ye are English.”
He gave her no time to think, but reached for her. Catherine jumped back. Bending down, she lifted the hem of her gown and pulled a dirk from her boot. Shock registered on the warrior’s face.
“I think not,” she warned, waving the knife. “Do not think me incapable of defending myself. If you do not want to see your laird’s wrath, I suggest you leave me alone and that goes for my captain as well.”
Cathal threw his hands up and blew out a breath. Obviously, he was not intimated by her threat. “Mayhap another time, milady,” he said before taking his leave.
Sickened by the attempted assault on her, Catherine left the baily and made her way back into the keep. Crossing the hall, she grabbed a blanket left on a chair near the hearth and headed toward a kitchen maid cleaning one of the tables.
“Tell me where the dungeon is located,” she asked, watching the woman’s eyes widen in surprise.
“’Tis a nasty place, milady. Ye dinnae want to be going down there.”
“I have no choice. ’Tis where they have put my captain.”
Catherine followed her to a set of stairs leading below. Her ire rose thinking of Charles being locked up in such a place.
Taking a lit torch from the wall, she made her way down the stairs, the temperature growing colder with each step she took. She shivered, but discomfort would not sway her from finding her captain.
She came to a landing where the passageway split into two. She chose the corridor to the left but to no avail. The other direction led to more empty cells, so she turned back and continued her descent below, til at last, she came to the bottom. She covered her nose and mouth with the blanket, the horrendous stench overpowering her senses.
No one stood guard, and Catherine could understand why. There was nowhere a prisoner could go after being locked in a cell. She had already seen the heavy bars on the doors in the other cells, her poor captain had no hope of escape.
“Charles,” she called, and heard her name coming from the far end of the passageway. She ran to him, pleased to find him unharmed.
“Merde, Catherine. What possessed you to come down here?” he asked, his tone sounding both grateful and worried.
“I came to find you, of course,” she said, passing him the blanket that he quickly wrapped around his body. She took his hands in hers, trying to breathe some warmth into them.
“You must leave. I would not wish one of the guards to find you with me and report back to Cathal you have provided me with some meager comfort. He seems to enjoy watching me suffer.”
“Where are the keys?” she asked, hoping he had seen one of the guards place them somewhere.
“He keeps them with him, so there is no hope for you to release me.”
Catherine cursed. “When have you last eaten?”
Charles shrugged. “Days? ’Tis hard to tell when you have no daylight to guess the time.”
“I will return with something for you while I think of a way to get you out of here.”
“Just do not get caught or put yourself in danger. I am certain your husband will return soon and put this matter aright. If you can manage a morsel or two, however, I will be most grateful.”
“Do not lose faith, Charles. I will return shortly,” she promised before taking her leave.
Once Catherine was back above stairs, she set about procuring a feast worthy of the man who had risked so much for her. She could only pray Douglas would arrive home soon before Cathal made further advances toward her.
Douglas checked the straps on his saddle, thankful to finally be back on English soil. After more than a fortnight of travel, home was close at hand. His men were ready to ride and only awaited his command.
He had been thankful they were able to book passage on a ship bound for Southampton, and after several hard days of riding, they were but a day away from reaching Berwyck. He missed his wife and looked forward to their long overdue reunion.
Chapter Twenty
Catherine heard the stable doors open and grimaced when she saw who approached. She had evaded Cathal for the entire day but ’twas clear he refused to stay away. She nervously looked about for an escape, knowing her chamber ’twas the safest place to go, for she could bolt the door. But…
“There ye are,” he said with a wicked laugh. “Now that yer guard dog is leashed, ye cannae put me off!”
“I am not hiding, and I am certain you have better things to do than follow me around.” She retreated til her back was forced up against Night Star’s stall door.
“Aye, I am tired of waiting tae take ye, and here is as good a place as any,” he said, taking hold of her arm and swinging her around so her back was pushed up against the front of his body. He thrust his hips, and she gasped at the feel of his manhood pressed intimately against her.
“Let go of me, you bloody arse!” she cursed before she felt the neckline of her gown being ripped apart. Struggling to escape him, Cathal began rubbing his hands across her breasts, squeezing them so hard she cried out in pain.
“Aye, I like it when ye struggle,” he whispered in her ear before forcing her head up so she had to look into his eyes. “I see no fear in ye, but that is no matter as long as ye give me what I want.”
He leaned down and kissed her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop him. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and ’twas all Catherine could do not to vomit as he punished her with another kiss.
Her eyes widened as he lifted the hem of her gown and his hand traveled up her leg. Catherine refused to submit, she would not be raped! She jabbed her elbow into his belly before slamming her boot down on his foot. ’Twas enough to startle him as he loosened his hold, allowing her to twirl around, wrenching herself free.
Taking hold of the bridle she had left hanging on a hook, she whipped it at his face, leaving a red welt down his cheek.
“Ye bloody bitch,” he growled, stumbling backward and covering his face.
Catherine did not wait to see what damage she had caused but made for the door while holding her bodice together. Running as fast as her feet would carry her, she must have made quite a spectacle. Cathal followed close behind, cursing her.
She yelled for help as she reached the keep, and saw Shona, Berwyck’s healer, alarmed look while she held open the door. Catherine had no time to thank her as she continued through the great hall.
A maid cleaning the floor stared at Catherine with pity. “Hurry, milady,” the woman urged. “I will slow him down for ye.”
Catherine ran up the steps even as she heard a pail of water being sloshed over the floor. Thankful the maid helped her, a bellow of outrage soon followed along with a heavy thud. Knowing Cathal had slipped on the wet floor gave Catherine a small moment of satisfaction but she would not rejoice til she was safe in her bedchamber.
Out of breath, she reached the corridor and was about to head toward her room when she saw Freya coming down from the floor above. Catherine had not seen much of the girl, especially since Charles had been placed in the dungeon.
“Catherine!” she exclaimed, looking guilty but pointing toward Catherine’s torn gown. “What has happened to you?”
Unsure if she could trust the young woman, Catherine pulled the neckline closer together. “’Tis nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
Freya reached out for her hands. “Please forgive me for what has happened tae Charles. I did not mean for the situation tae go that far.”
“We can discuss this later, Freya, but for now, I must flee. Cathal is close behind and means me harm.”
“Cathal? Did he do this tae ye? He was always trouble,” Freya said. “I promise I will make things right when Douglas returns.”
“I will hold you to your vow. I am uncertain even my chamber will keep him from what he wants from me.” She wondered where else she might hide.
Freya took her hand. “Come with me.” She pulled Catherine to the next floor.
; They passed chamber after chamber. “Where are you taking me?” Catherine whispered frantically, afraid she would be found in a narrow corridor with no place to run.
They reached the end of passageway, and for a moment, Catherine thought Freya had betrayed her. But the girl ran her fingers carefully along the stones before them. Catherine made no attempt to hold back her surprise when a loud click sounded. Freya pushed on the wall, revealing a hidden passageway.
Taking a lit torch from the wall, she thrust it into Catherine’s waiting hands. “Make yer way carefully down the stairway.” Freya checked behind them to make sure they remained alone. “When ye come tae an open landing, ye will find supplies along with a change of clothes. Take what ye need and follow the remaining stairs til ye come tae the opening of the cave. Tis hidden from view by bushes but ’twill bring ye tae the shore beneath Berwyck. As soon as ’tis safe, I will send Boyd, Shona’s husband, tae ye. Ye can trust him and the men he will bring. They will take ye someplace safe til Douglas arrives home.”
“Why are you suddenly helping me?” Catherine asked.
“I should have done more. My mother will never let me hear the end of her disappointment once she finds I did not do everything in my power tae make ye welcome at Berwyck. I am most sorry, Catherine. I hope ye can forgive me.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
Catherine reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Get Charles out of the dungeon as soon as you are able and send Douglas to me. I am trusting you with my life,” she said, praying she was not misjudging Freya’s words.
“Douglas told me he asked ye tae trust him. I am now asking ye tae do the same for me. I promise I will keep my word.” Freya gasped when she heard Cathal’s voice coming from the turret. “Ye must go. Hurry!”
Before Catherine could question her further, Freya gave her a push through the doorway. The rock wall closed fast behind her, plunging her into complete darkness beyond the light of the torch. The smell of wet earth made her nose crinkle along with the unnerving sense of the unknown.
