A Perfect Knight For Love (32 page)

Of course the entire plan was foolhardy. But he had to do the chivalrous thing and try to stop this feud, so he could go back to his wife. He didn’t know love felt like this, making a man feel weak and yet strong; quick-witted and yet eternally slow . . . warm with glow, and saturated with awareness. He could’ve sworn she spoke on her own love, between her cries of pleasure. Maybe it had been wishful listening. Didn’t truly matter. He’d just try harder to get her to say the words next time. Thayne couldn’t believe his luck, and that he’d gained what every man longed for—a love match.

His men thought he wanted to be out here, a day and a half ride away? Risking a stay in MacKennah’s rotten dungeon? Not likely. Stealing from her side, in the predawn chill had been the last thing he wanted. He’d toyed with waking her to his plans, so he could see her luminous eyes once more, but he hadn’t wanted them clouded with worry. And she looked fain comfortable in his bed.

They didn’t wait for him to say anything.

Thayne heard the hiss sound of an arrow release a moment before it slammed into his right shoulder from the front. The man had a great arm and he was close, otherwise the blow wouldn’t have knocked Thayne backward, tumbling off Placer. He pulled the captive’s reins as he fell, soundlessly mouthing Amalie’s name. He didn’t have time to do more than groan before another attacker guaranteed his silence with a head-hit. And before then, he heard the pure sound of a hoot owl.

Damn his rotten luck, anyway.

The waiting was the hardest.

Amalie paced the bedchamber, jiggling Baby Mary in her arms as if the infant was fussy. She wasn’t. Of all the inhabitants of Castle MacGowan, Baby Mary was the least disturbed by news of Thayne’s absence. Four days now! Four days that right now seemed the longest of Amalie’s life. She’d listened to rumor over how the MacKennah laird would receive him, and what might ensue during the negotiations. But no one knew anything, all of them speculated. Jamie got more morose and bitter with every flagon of brew he drank, speaking drunkenly and loudly over Thayne’s actions in returning the MacKennahs without one word of permission. That was just a loss of good ransom money and bargaining position. According to Jamie, he was going to challenge Thayne to the list over it when he returned, and this time beat him into his proper place. And all the while the duchess kept up appearances for her group of hangers-on, continuing her evening soirees as if nothing unusual were happening. Although last night she’d requested Amalie attend her own company in her own home if she couldn’t keep her presence from putting a damper on the festivities.

That was no punishment. It had been a chore to prepare and attend sup at the Palace, and once there, she’d had to playact like she hadn’t a care in the world. Amalie must have lost her talent for acting. She’d thought her continual concern well hidden and then Thayne’s man, Phib, had returned. The jubilation started before the man finished his words. Phib told them Thayne had succeeded in gaining the MacKennah chieftain’s ear. Now all they had to do was wait out the negotiations. It wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary.

Well . . . maybe it wasn’t an extraordinary occurrence for them, but for an English noblewoman newly-wed to one of them, it was more than strange. And uncivilized. And just plain barbaric. There was nothing normal about kidnapping neighbors, requiring ransoms, or enjoining clan feuds. Nothing.

And Thayne was still missing.

No one else seemed concerned about it, and whenever Amalie voiced hers, she got sidelong glances that could mean anything, but looked to signify her ignorance and naivety. Both of which descriptions fit. Exactly. They couldn’t know the extent of it, though, and she didn’t speak of it. Perhaps if she’d had a decent courtship, with time to know her groom, she’d be less prone to anxiety. Perhaps here, a man disappeared for days on end all the time. Perhaps she was behaving just a bit hysterically over the length of his absence. And maybe she should just drink the posset prepared for her overwrought nerves, say a prayer, and settle into the big lonely bed without Thayne, just as Maves had recommended before bidding her good night.

Amalie sighed, stroked the baby’s back absently, and turned for another crossing of the chamber. She’d moved all the rugs into a path resembling skipping stones, keeping her slipper-clad feet from the worst of the cold while she traversed the immensity of this floor. She also wore a thick gown, with a cloak over that. She hadn’t worn night attire since Thayne had first gone. She wasn’t hysterical. She wasn’t overwrought. She wasn’t a bundle of nerves, like her countrywomen were reputed to suffer. She wasn’t prone to faints that required smelling salts.

She knew the trouble. She was in love.

There! She admitted it. She’d fallen in love with Thayne MacGowan. And to an extent she’d have dreamt, if she’d known it existed. It was such a wonder, the world shone with new promise . . . and yet at times such as these; deep into the night; every moment dragged to such an extent, it was near insufferable. She didn’t know love could make her feel vulnerable and weak, but it did. It also made her hypersensitive to everything. She didn’t care what was said, Amalie knew something was wrong. She felt it. Her recent experience with this land primed her for it, and then her newly awakened love guaranteed it.

She knew deep in her soul Thayne wasn’t a guest of the MacKennah clan. He was being waylaid, and it wasn’t with his permission. And she already knew the only thing that could waylay a Highlander was another Highlander with a larger force. Her husband was out there somewhere, maybe injured . . . or worse! His household may think they knew him, but they were completely off the mark. There wasn’t any way Thayne MacGowan would miss the interment of Lady Mary into the family crypt, and yet, he had. They’d done the ceremony yesterday. Amalie hadn’t attended. Not only was it too hurtful to be reminded of Thayne’s prior love for the woman, but the MacGowan clan followed Catholic doctrine! They held Catholic ceremony as if it were completely legal and authorized. Thayne could even be a practicing Catholic. She didn’t know. They hadn’t had time to discuss it, and if he didn’t return, they might not ever get the chance. And as much as that should bother her, it got overshadowed by the waiting. She just wanted Thayne back. In her arms, and in her life. While he still had life.

The nights were the hardest; when she had nothing to occupy her mind except images of Thayne being incarcerated. . . beaten; chained against the wall of a dungeon; tortured. Amalie chewed on her lower lip, breathed in baby scent, and stopped at the fireplace. Warmth and light drew her, catching her attention on the red center coal before she blinked and stepped back. The warmth felt wonderful but dried her eyes, and they already felt filled with sand that scratched and burned. The light was also welcome. She should’ve had more torches lit, except the maids already gave each other significant looks over her request for them. They didn’t know how long Amalie stayed awake pacing. Fretting. Imagining. She turned from the fire and looked over all the pools of gloom, scattered throughout the room, and then the dull thud of a knock hit at her door.

Since Amalie was at the fireplace closest to the door, she was at the bottom step when the door opened slightly, allowing Maves to peek her head in.

“Oh, thank the Lord. You’re still awake. And dressed.”

“What’s happened?”

“It’s bad, mistress. May we enter?”

“How bad?”

“Verra bad.”

The last was a male voice. Amalie stepped out of the way so Maves could enter, followed closely by six hulky men: Honor Guardsmen. Thayne’s men. Two of them looked travel-weary.

“They’ve got the laird!”

“Something’s happened to Jamie?”

“Na’ Jamie—although they’ll need to send a party out to stay him . . . I meant the true laird. Thayne! Oh, dear Lord!”

Amalie’s heart seemed to pause with a hurtful pressure before restarting with such a loud pounding she couldn’t hear at first. Then she realized she didn’t have to. Her soul heard it.

Thayne’s been taken. He was held prisoner in the MacKennah stronghold. The MacKennah clan is demanding a ransom. A huge ransom. The duchess hasn’t funds enough to pay it, and so she did nothing. Nothing! Just kept about her party as if it didn’t matter. The duke has set out on a rescue mission, with full intentions of starting a war.

Thayne’s been taken.
That part echoed, matching each beat of her pulse.

A message got delivered before daylight tied to an arrow shaft, aimed at the tree beside Sean’s head. Sean rode throughout the day to get here with it. They’d show it to her, but Jamie took it. He was using it to gather clansmen to the cause. Nobody knew what to do. Who to turn to. Where to look. They hadn’t enough silver to pay it. Not without next quarter’s payment and it wasn’t due for another month! The MacKennah chieftain wasn’t giving them enough time! They had to deliver funds in full and they had two weeks before the amount got larger and Thayne’s stay worse.

“How much?”

Amalie’s voice was solid and firm, surprising not only her, but the others as well. The lone exception was Baby Mary, who still slept peacefully in her arms.

“Two thousand!”

“Pounds?” Her voice faltered. They were right. It was a huge ransom.

“Aye.”

“Two weeks, my lady! Sweet heaven! What’s to happen now?”

“Control yourself, Maves. We’ve got a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. Fetch me a quill and parchment. Bring them to . . . the table there.”

Amalie got more than one open-mouthed look at either the words, or her tone. She’d have joined them in amazement if she wasn’t locking every emotion away so it wouldn’t interfere. Nothing about her voice or frame gave away the absolute fear permeating every bone as she did the best playacting of her life. And then found, as she continued, that it turned into reality. She’d never felt more calm and in control.

“You’re writing . . . a letter?”

“Not just a letter. An appeal. Any of you men capable of riding?”

They all managed to stand taller, as if offended, somehow. Amalie ignored their bruised pride and headed for the table. She didn’t step on one rug, and didn’t even feel the chill.

“Well?”

Amalie looked up at them from the table. Maves had gathered an inkpot, a quill, enough parchment to pen a short story, and hovered at one side with a wax-tipped stick.

“’Tis na’ that far to MacKennah land, my lady.”

One of them offered the reason. Amalie huffed.

“Shortsighted. I’m not speaking of the MacKennah clan. I’ll never acknowledge them in my world. Not in this lifetime. Not after this. Try to do a good deed, and look what they do? They’re absolute heathens. I need a rider for England.”

“England?”

“Anyone capable and willing to ride, without rest if necessary, to Ellincourt Castle? It’s near Leeds. Anyone know it?”

“Aye. I’ve seen it. Great stone castle, built of yellowish stone?”

“That’s the one. If the earl is home, his standard will be flying. It’s got a Stag Rampant in silver, on a field of blue. Anyone willing and capable of riding that far?”

“Write your missive, my lady. I’ll take it.”

Amalie smiled at the man. He looked sturdy and capable. “Do we have enough funds to pay for fresh horses for the journey? I know I should have checked with these things, but I always thought there would be time.”

“I’ll check with the steward, my lady.”

One of them bowed and left. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know most of their names, although she recognized Sean as the most weary-looking and dirty. He looked mud-spattered, his face lined with more of the same. Amalie smiled at him and watched him frown.

“What now?” she asked.

“Will the earl accept . . . a missive?”

“Didn’t any of you believe me? I truly am the daughter of the Earl of Ellincourt. I’ve got an enormous dowry, and it sounds like we’re going to need some of it. Maves? Take the babe so I can write.”

Amalie handed over Baby Mary. It warmed the area about her heart to see how the babe immediately woke and started fussing, but then she put her attention to composing words that wouldn’t give her father apoplexy.

Chapter 23

“Ah . . .
Jesu’!
”

Thayne choked on liquid fire that ate through his chest wall as he breathed it in. He was then curved into a ball of defense in order to hack the concoction from him, wracked with spikes of ache the entire episode. His body didn’t belong to him, or if it did, someone had found a way to send it beneath the wheels of cannon. Either that, or he’d been assigned time on the rack, pulled in so many directions it was impossible to pinpoint the agony with any degree of accuracy. Then full consciousness settled the pain right in his head, where it seemed his mind was at war with his teeth. It felt like he’d lodged in the jaws of some huge beast, getting squeezed between skean-sharp teeth that ground together in excruciating agony. There was nothing for it. He’d rather die.

“Good. I see you’ve decided to rejoin the living.”

“This . . . is . . . na’ living.”

He couldn’t get the entire sentence out. His voice gave first, and then his strength, as he collapsed back onto what might be a pallet if it had any give to it, but instead felt like a chunk of planed wood.

“’Tis more than you had before. Now, open up and take your medicine.”

“Before—?”

She didn’t let him finish, using the opening of his mouth to send more fire onto his lips, then his tongue, and he spat before it could poison him further. Her laughter over how pathetic he’d made the act infuriated him. Thayne fought the choking reaction even as it consumed him, bringing worse blows to hammer through his skull, while he battled blurred vision to bring her into focus. And failed. He realized it as coughing plagued him, liquid from within him made breathing nearly impossible, and through it all her laughter tormented him. Thayne gripped the left side of his support, concentrating with every fiber in his being, to will air back into his body. He knew then he was definitely atop a bit of planking, and it wasn’t very thick since it flexed within his fingers with his grip. He no longer heard her laughter, but knew she was still there. He felt her. Not helping, just watching. . . and waiting.