Delight (22 page)

21

R
owena
'
s lips were num
b with cold and pray-
ing. "This isn't right, Jerome. Frederic was worried sick about leaving me alone. He would have at least sent me word of his whereabouts.
"

"
I told you.
"
Jerome
'
s gaze darted nervously around them. "I told you that you should have taken asylum in France instead of Scotland. The people here are half-pagan."

Her laughter floated into the still air. "And we at Hartzburg, with our worship of mountain trolls and sorceresses, are not.
"

They rode bareback on the mare Jerome had stolen from one of the guards patrolling the loch. Rowena had diverted him by skimming stones from a tree on the water
'
s surface. It was a ploy she and her cousin had used as children.

A couple of hoodie
crows cawed from a stand of
skeletal
alders.

"Birds of death,
"
Jerome murmured.

"You sound like Hildegarde." Rowena spurred the mare forward. She wore a pair of green woolen hose beneath the rucked-up skirts of her riding habit.
"
The poor woman is probably convinced by now that you
'
ve abducted me.
"

She felt him stiffen against her.
"
As if I
'
d hurt you.
"

She forced a smile. "You suggested only seven months ago that Papa imprison me in the dungeon if I refused to marry the Duke of Vandever. You said I needed peace to think.
"

"For the good of Hartzburg,
"
he said indignantly.

"More evil has been excused by those same words, Jerome. I won
'
t marry that man.
"

His knee bumped against hers. The sky had turned sullen, shedding only pinpoints of light that stabbed the forest like spears.
"
Because of Matthew the perfect and pompous?"

"
Why does everyone think I am in love with Matthew?" she asked in annoyance.

"If you won
'
t marry Matthew, then why refuse the duke? They are both handsome men.
"

"
I don't know," she said. "Perhaps they are not my destiny."

He scoffed at her.
"
Destiny, Rowena. I warned your father he shouldn
'
t shelter gypsies in the castle.
"

"
There is love as a consideration," she said dryly, "or rather the lack of it.
"

"A woman of your position cannot squander her life on ideals.
"

"Why not?
"
she said quietly.

"
'
Tis the earl, isn
'
t it?
"
he mused aloud. "The dark warrior always wins. You let him kiss you. I would not have believed it if I hadn
'
t witnessed the shocking act myself. He would have been hanged for daring as much at home.
"

She grinned crookedly and said nothing, remembering the powerful thrill she had felt down to her toes when Douglas kissed her. The memory of it warmed her even now. There could be no doubt her Dragon had come to care for her, that she had won his warrior's heart.

Or that he faced deadly danger, perhaps at this same moment. Her grin faded as fear for him gripped her. How easy 'twould be for the raiders to ambush him, and no one would know of it for days.

"Let's go back,
"
Jerome said without warning. "
'
Tis going to storm. I shouldn
'
t have brought you. We will return and ask the earl to help when he returns from his quest."

They had ridden into the pinewood shadows of a ridge that overlooked the winding road to the castle. Rowena urged the horse down toward the fringe of forest on the other side, an area thickly clothed in bracken and bramble fern.

"
I saw something. A man
'
s cloak.
"

Jerome wriggled around. "I don
'
t like this.
"

"Neither do I," she said. "Look, fern doesn
'
t grow like that.
"
She halted at the edge of an ash coppice that was interspersed with overgrown hazel and holly. A woolen plaid hung between two trees.

"
'
Tis a hiding place,
"
she whispered. "You can watch the road from here and not be seen.
"

"
I see naught but tangled thorn and dying foliage,
"
Jerome exclaimed.

"The woman is right, laddie.
"

The crude voice came from the surrounding trees. Before Jerome could raise his musket, trapped between Rowena
'
s cloak and her backside, he was hauled backward off his horse by a small group of Highlanders in filthy plaids who burst from the underbrush.

Rowena sat motionless on the mare. Part of her upbringing, ironically enough, had consisted of the appropriate behavior during a political abduction.

She tucked her shaking hands into the sable muff suspended from her waist on a gold-linked chain. She did not want to show her fear, to give them any more power over her than the physical.

A short man with blackened stumps of teeth, his hair in greasy braids, tore off his bonnet and swept her a mocking bow. "Welcome to hell, Yer Highness. We have just recently learnt of yer esteemed identity. Did ye enjoy the present my brother left in yer room?
"

"Dear God.
"
She leaned down to examine him.
"
You need a dentist! You look like an All Hallows
'
Eve turnip head with hollowed-out teeth.
"

He frowned in confusion.
"
What does that mean?
"

"She said ye
'
re as ugly as a rotten turnip,
"
one of his men laughed.

Rowena
'
s heart hammered against her breastbone. A Damascus-steel sword dangled at the spokesman
'
s waist, inscribed with a blessing from her godfather, the Archbishop of Hartzburg. Her composure crumbled. She knew the sword had belonged to Frederic, that they had found him. She prayed his death had been swift. She prayed she would remain strong.

No one seemed to know what to do with her.

Then one of the outlaws holding Jerome motioned to the man who wore Frederic
'
s sword. None of the outlaws were Neacail of Glengalda. Rowena had gotten a fairl
y good look at Neacail's coarse-
featured face that night he'd fought Douglas on the bridge.

This man was apparently another of Neacail
'
s lawless relatives.

"What do we do wi
'
her, Eachuinn?"

He walked up to Rowena, eyeing her with suspicion. She stared at the dried blood on his breac
hes
, wishing for Douglas, trying not to think of what Frederic had suffered. Of what might befall her.

"Pig,
"
she said in her low smoky voice. "Swine.
Offal of a maggot. May you be carried to hell in a burning chariot.
"

He turned pale under his pockmarked skin. His men laughed again, albeit uneasily this time.
"
She
'
s curst ye, Eachuinn."

"
A burn
in' chariot. 'Twill be the first time ye
'
ll ride like gentry.
"

"Awful maggot. That
'
s ye, man. A squirmy wee grub.
"

"She
'
s a witch, mayhap," someone murmured. A muscle twitched under the man
'
s hollow cheek. "Then let
'
s take her up to the Witching Stone and let her summon her master."

"
Neacail will want a ransom fer her," said a man positioned in the trees.
"
Should we not wait until he returns?
"

Echoes of thunder resonated across the moor as the men debated the matter. Rowena glanced once at Jerome
'
s face and saw that he looked ashen with terror in the diffused light. Jerome had dreamed of fighting battles, of proving himself a hero. Reality was not the epic battle with a rainbow at the end he had expected.

Her sable muff, and the pistol within, were suddenly to
rn
from her grasp. Three men pulled her to the ground, feigning concern when she fell to her knees. Rough hands gripped her shoulders, her hands. She heard Jerome cry out a warning, and she closed her eyes.

Rowena managed to control her fear, relying on faith.

The outlaws didn
'
t know it yet, but her instincts told her they weren
'
t going to live long enough to collect any ransom.

D
ouglas and Dainty reached the hill where Neacail's men had taken Rowena within a minute of each other. Dainty
'
s first thought when he saw Douglas cantering toward him, his face black with fury, was
"
I
'
m a dead man. I ought to just lie down on my goddamned sword.
"

But Douglas didn't waste his energy; he was staring up at Rowena lashed to a standing stone on the crest of the hill, the wind tearing her hair into ribbons around her oval-shaped face. Her riding habit had been shredded into rags. Her white throat glistened in the rain. Her eyes were closed, her neck twisted at a peculiar angle, and for a moment he could not breathe or move, wondering if she were even still alive.

She turned her head. Relief replaced the fear that paralyzed him; blood rushed back into his limbs and brain in a burst of rage he could barely restrain. To see his lady thus abused enraged him beyond human endurance.

She looked pagan and beautiful and rigid with resigned terror, a medieval sorceress in silken rags who was stirring up an unearthly storm. He swallowed over the knot in his throat.

He glanced at the giant beside him.
"
Where is her whelp of a cousin?
"

"In the cave with the outlaws," Dainty said.

Dainty had never seen Douglas like this. His eyes burned with an unholy light. His being pulsated with a charge that seemed to harness the raging elements around them. Pirating had always been a game. This was not.

"Is the lad dead or alive?
"
Douglas asked.

"
Alive the last I saw,
"
Dainty said.

Douglas was silent, coiled energy gathering as rain washed down on his rugged face. Uncertainty darkened his gaze as he realized that Aidan was already halfway to the hill. The man crawled from stone to stone like an adder in the concealing blackness of the storm. Douglas knew he could trust him.

"Sir,
"
Dainty said, shifting with impatience.

For the first time that day, Douglas really looked at his friend.
"
My God,
"
he said with humorless smile.
"
A monster in mail-armor. You
'
re a one-man arsenal, aren
'
t you?
"

Dainty grinned, ready to pay any penance. "I raided the guardroom before I left the castle.
"

A coat of chain mail covered his brawny chest. A steel fist-shield hung beside the sword at his waist along with a pole-ax. He was holding a medieval morning star, the spiked metal ball on a chain and handle that could smash a man's head open with one blow.

"I hope to God you don't rust in the rain,
"
Douglas said softly.

Dainty swallowed, needing forgiveness.
"
Sir—
"

Douglas turned away, his eyes narrowing in speculation.
"
Aidan has almost reached Rowena
'
s stone. Do you re
member our first raid on Carta
gena?
"

"
You want me to wait here?
"
Dainty said in disappointment.

"Only until I enter the cave and flush them out.
"
His teeth showed in an arrogant grin. "Then you may put your incredible arsenal to the test.
"