Betrothed (31 page)

Donovan
did not bother to question but waved his hand at Caitlin, who in turn, made a
hand motion to the dog. In a surprisingly strong voice she repeated her
command .“
Jaffey,
a
Lady Isabeau.”

The
dog barked once, circled a patch of floor. Donovangave a snort of disgust when,
instead of heading for the stairs, the dog went straight to a center wooden
panel in the wall. Donovan remembered the dog’s similar behavior on at least
two other occasions. Then he saw a small piece of green fabric that appeared
stuck between the wall and the floor.

Isabeau’s wedding gown?

The
passage!

How
could he have forgotten its existence?  He had only been through it once,
when his father had shown him the secret.

How
did Simon know of it?  If the bastard knew of the tunnel and made use of
it recently, several things suddenly became quite clear.

He
found Caitlin at his back. “Get Sir Carstairs. Tell him to take twelve of the
best men to the rock formation at the far edge of the west field. They are to
follow the trail leading from the crevasse. Do you comprehend?”

“Aye,
my lord. Sir Carstairs is to take twelve men to the west field and follow the
trail there,” she repeated carefully.

“Good
girl. Now, go!” He strode to an open chest and plucked a sword belt from the
top. “And Caitlin…!”

The
girl slid to a stop, framed in the doorway, craned her neck. “My lord?”

“Tell
Carstairs to come heavily armed.”

“Aye,
my lord,” she called back as she raced from sight.

Donovan
fastened the weapon about his waist and drew the sword from the sheath. He
inspected the blade before glancing down at the dog. “Come, Jaffey. We have our
lady to rescue.”

Donovan
strode to the panel, placed the point of his blade in a crack and slid it down
the seam. A snick sounded just as the center panel popped forward just enough
to afford a finger grip. He opened it wide. The tumble of clothing was just
inside. Giving Jaffey the order for silence, he stepped into the shadows.

“There’s
vermin to purge,” he added in a low growl.

His
eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness but he had experience with
campaigns on moonless nights. He was not going to chance a lit taper revealing
his position. Caitlin’s alarm may have given Donovan enough warning to capture
Simon before he emerged from the other end of the tunnel. After all, Donovan
was not the one burdened with an unwilling hostage.

With
his sword and hound at the ready, Donovan went hunting once more.

The
slanted sunlight, even baffled by the swaying tree branches, caused Isabeau to
squint her eyes. After the tunnel, lit with a single candle, starlight would seem
bright. She took in deep breaths, grateful for the fresher air. Simon’s odor in
the confined space had added to the pitch and roll of her stomach.

“Move.”
Simon pushed her toward a gap in the underbrush.

She
blinked as she stumbled in the direction Simon indicated. Where were
they?  She intentionally went to her knees, one hand grabbing the wrist of
Simon’s hand that held the knife while the other palm spread ground-ward to
buffer the impact. Rather than let her pull him down, Simon loosened his hold
on her clothing and let her fall.

“Clumsy
bitch,” he snarled. “You always did have the grace of a cow. Get up.”

“I
get worse when I am scared or nervous,” she reminded him while she slowly
stood. Brushing the dirt and ashes from her hands she unhurriedly turned to
face him. Her green wedding dress was torn. She’d heard it rip; caught in the
sliding panel when Simon closed it. She’d brought part of the tunnel outside
with her; dirt clinging to her hands and clothing. Still blinking, she hoped
Simon would think her eyes were slow to adjust to the light. They were in a
cave.

Beyond
the trees, Isabeau could see the bailey walls but their distance from them
startled her. The trek through the tunnel brought them to the far side of the
cleared land on the edge of the forest. The huge stones and trees concealed the
cave’s exit from the watchers on top the castle towers. If she was foolish
enough to test Simon’s will and wave towards Bennington, no one would see. She
would have to think of another way to reveal their direction.

Simon
looked at the sky before scowling down at her. He had given himself a week to
bring Isabeau to Kirney. Time was running out. He kicked dirt in her direction.

“Get
moving, wench. Someone eagerly waits for you.”

“Who?”

When
Isabeau was too slow to move, Simon grabbed her hair and yanked her to her
toes. She bit back the whimper of pain and then sucked in a breath when he
touched his blade to her throat.

“I
will not fail this time,” Simon said. He was not answering her.

“Fail?”
Isabeau asked, though she spoke through an unmoving jaw. She felt the pin prick
as the knife pierced her skin. “What plans -- could you -- possibly have that
-- are worth -- bringing the wrath of Bennington down -- on your head?”

Simon
laughed as he pushed her forward. “Bennington?  I doubt he will bother to
come after you. Why would he?  Do you think he wants another wife who
wishes to avoid his bed?  He will see your pledge ring and your hasty
escape with a few clothes. Naturally, he will conclude that you ran, just as
you did from Olivet.”

Isabeau
sucked in her breath. Her shoe was untied. It would fall off if she was not
careful.

“Did
you think I would not find out about your pitiful attempt to escape? 
Where did you hope to go?  Did you think to find sanctuary with the nuns
at St. Ignatius?  They would not have stood against me. I am your legal
guardian.”

He
pushed her through the thinning brush, deeper into the forest. They soon came
to a little-used path leading away from the castle. “I am your guardian,” he
repeated. “You will go as I see fit.”

“Not
-- any longer. I am -- a married woman.”

“Buh,”
he said as he pushed for more speed. “The church will set aside an
unconsummated union. Allyonshire will not gainsay it once you have been bedded
by your true husband.”

Ice
ran through Isabeau’s blood. What did he mean
true husband
?

“What
have -- you done?” It was hard to keep pace with Simon as he pushed along the
path.

“I
will see that you honor your prior wedding contract. Herzog is most anxious to
initiate you into wedded bliss. He paid a fine price for his virgin bride and
does not suffer rejection kindly. I told him his bride has tried to run from
her fate. He is looking forward to dispensing the appropriate discipline.”

“You
are -- a fool,” she warned breathlessly.

Humor
crackled through Simon’s sly laugh. “Herzog will shut that smart mouth of
yours. He loves the smell and taste of blood. Did I tell you?  He has a
real talent for inflicting pain. I will enjoy hearing the music of your
screams. Perhaps he will employ the custom of a Royal Wedding. Kirney enjoys an
audience to his debaucheries. Would he do any less when bloodying his lance in
his virgin bride?”

“You
are -- too late.” Her words came out on ragged wisps of air. She stumbled in
earnest as her slipper snagged on a fallen branch.  

“Nonsense.”
Simon tilted his chin in the direction of the path. “Kirney knows nothing of
your betrothal. He waits at the road to his holding. He may even have a priest at
the ready. It matters not. I have signed the contract with him. When he takes
you, you are as good as wed in the church’s eyes. ‘Tis the law.”

“I
am – already -- wed,” Isabeau forced the words through the fear drying her
throat.

“’Tis
all in the bedding.”

“Donovan
is -- my husband. He has -- taken me to -- his bed.”

Simon
stopped so suddenly he jerked her head back where he still gripped her hair.

“I
do not believe you. The vows were spoken only this morn.”

“Why
do you think he rushed the wedding vows?  I already carry the heir to
Bennington Castle.”

 “Bitch! 
Whore!” Simon pushed her to the ground. “Why should I believe you?  You
would say anything to save your white hide.”

“You
were right when you said he did not want another reluctant bride.” Rocking back
from her hands and knees, she rested on her bottom so she could look up at her
tormentor. “He wanted to be sure that my body would accept his. Many times he
explored my woman parts and I know well the part of him that attaches to my
body to create a child. I know the pleasure the earl takes in emptying his seed
into my womb.”

“No!”
     

She
did not have time to move out of the way of his open-handed strike. The impact
to her jaw brought white spots before her eyes.

“Whore!”

Isabeau
rubbed her cheek. “Why would I lie?  According to you, Lord Kirney will
know the truth soon enough. What will he do when he knows he has taken his
liege’s wife?   Do you think he will let me live to give testimony
against him?  What will he do to us both when he knows your bargain is
broken?”

She
wondered from where came her courage, her audacity to defy Simon. Since their
father’s death, she had quietly endured her half-brother’s tyranny; found the
strength to protect others, but not herself.

But
now she did defend another. With her body, she protected Donovan’s heir. Above
all, she must protect Donovan’s child. She pressed her hand on her belly.

Simon
noticed the gesture and howled in frustration. “Damn you to hell, bitch.”

Isabeau
read his growing belief in his wild eyes. She also saw a terror beyond all fear
unfold before her.

“What
do I do?” Dancing in place, Simon looked up the path then back the way they had
come. “What do I do?” he repeated.

He
glanced once at the knife he still held, then at Isabeau. For a moment, she
thought he would use the blade on her. Instead, he grabbed her hair again and
dragged her to her feet.

“Not
in this place.” He spoke as if to himself. “I need time to think; to get away.
Allyonshire need never know I was here.”

They
retraced the path only a short time before Simon hauled her down a faint fork.
Isabeau limped. She had lost her slipper. Thin branches slashed at her while
she did her best to shield her face and remain on her feet. Simon was desperate
enough to kill her if she fell to the ground again.

“This
is all Allyonshire’s fault,” Simon panted his words as they made fast time down
the narrow trail. “Why does he still live?  Did he not drink his nightly
wine?  The powder worked well enough on the brat.”

“What
-- are you saying?”

“The
powder stuck well enough on the candied nuts that the brat enjoyed. Perhaps the
wine diluted it too well?”

Comprehension
chilled Isabeau’s bones. She pulled back strongly enough to stop her brother.
“Are you speaking of Christian?  They said fever took Christian
..
You murdered him?  A child? A baby?”

“He
was in the way. My son should be the next earl. I worked hard enough planting
my seed in the countess’s belly.” He spoke no more but jerked Isabeau forward
until they came to a small clearing near the mouth of the same cave. The narrow
path must have been a short cut.

Isabeau
tamped down on her trembling. She needed to remain calm, to think with clarity.
“But Syllba was Marta’s…”

Simon
looked down at her as he slowed and led her towards the dark opening.
 “You know of Marta’s -- affection? I found the knowledge quite
profitable. The countess could refuse me nothing. She would do anything rather
than have her preferences revealed. I would allow her visits to Syllba. In
return she accepted my seed. She would even meet me here and act the whore she
was. I wonder which she hated more, taking a man into her body or stripping
down and groveling on the ground as I pounded into her.” He continued to pull
her towards the cave as he bragged of his conquest.

“I
cared not that she hated my touch. What mattered was the babe in her belly. All
would have been well, but she began to suspect what had happened to
Allyonshire’s get. She was going to tell all. She should have seen reason…”

“What
happened?”

“She
went into hysterics. I only hit her once—but she fell. Not far from here, in
fact. No one ever suspected this was where she kept trysts. They thought she
fell on one of her habitual strolls.”

“You
killed
her
?
Too
?” Isabeau knew immediately it had been the wrong
thing to say. Where Simon had been lost in his recollections of past triumphs
and failures, her words returned him to the present.

He
stared at her with renewed hatred, with new speculation. She read her death in
his cold eyes. If she was going to act, she needed to do it now. She searched
for a weapon. A stick, a rock would suffice. If she entered the cave with
Simon, it would become her tomb.

Isabeau
struggled against his hold to no avail. Simon only twisted her hair tighter
around his fingers. Her hip bumped something hard secured in his belt. Could it
be another knife?  Their father had given them each a set of three
throwing knives. She grabbed Simon’s wrist, the one with the knife and held on
for dear life. With her other hand she pushed at his chest. He was the stronger
but she was more desperate. She was fighting for her life, and the life of
Donovan’s child.

She
twisted her head, trying to get free from Simon’s hold. Frantically, she tried
to keep Simon’s attention away from her hand as it sought his weapon. She
curled her nails into his wrist and drew blood. The pain angered him and he
stabbed. She dodged. Simon howled with frustration when she writhed away from
his blade, but she was losing the battle. He was unaware when her fingers
settled on the hilt at his waist.

As
she snaked the blade from the sheath, she felt the familiar balance of a
throwing knife but she needed distance to throw; to gain the proper speed to
drive her weapon home. Under perfect conditions, she had sent her knives inches
into a wooden target. If she did not act within the next heartbeat Simon’s
weapon would be at her throat.  She reared back as much as she could and
thrust the blade into his belly just above his belt.

Simon
roared in pain.

But
not mortal pain.

Isabeau
had lacked the strength to go deep. Her thrust had hit nothing vital. But, she
had drawn blood, quite a bit by the slippery warmth spreading over her fingers.
The blade slipped from her hand as he threw her down, dropping his hands to the
knife still imbedded in his belly. He pulled the knife from his side and glared
down at her.

His
wide pupils made his eyes black, and in their wildness, she saw her death.