The Border Lord's Bride (43 page)

When he caught her later this afternoon she would cry out with pleasure. He licked his lips again with the anticipation, his hand rubbing at his cock to calm it. He wanted all of his strength for his conquest.

The sand in the hourglass he had turned upon entering the room filtered away until the bottom half was full. Roger Colby turned it again. He would give her a little extra time, because the result of this hunt would end in the capture of Duffdour‘s wife. "I can afford to be generous," Sir Roger said softly, and he thought of her long and silky red-gold hair, of how he would have her brush his body with it. He sighed with his eager anticipation, and when the hourglass was half-filled both top and bottom he arose and, pulling on his gloves, gathered up Ellen‘s gown, directing his steps to the courtyard of his castle, where his sergeant awaited him with two horses and the pack of his hounds.

"I ride alone," he told Rafe.

"You will need someone to call the dogs in when the prey is sighted, my lord," Rafe said doggedly.

It made sense. "Come along, then, but as soon as I see her, take the dogs and return here to the castle."

"Yes, my lord," the sergeant replied. "Shall I give the gown to the dogs to sniff?"

Sir Roger tossed it to him, then mounted the stallion.

Having gotten the scent, the dogs began to bay, and headed across the courtyard, through the gates, across the drawbridge into the meadow. They stopped, sniffing noisily in and around the copse where Ellen had sheltered briefly to get her bearings. Then they headed for the cliffs overlooking the sea. Down the path they galloped, baying and yowling, but at the edge of the water they stopped, confused, milling about.

"Damned dogs!" Sir Roger snapped. "She didn‘t come this way. There are no footprints in the sand or on the path. Take the useless beasts back to their kennel. They‘ve been idle too long.

She‘s gone cross-country, for where else could she go?" He directed his horse back up the cliff path and galloped across the meadow.

Rafe watched him until he was out of sight. The sergeant smiled. The dogs were not wrong. She had gone to water like a clever doe would have. But he‘d not correct his master. Rafe was loyal to Sir Roger, but he had never particularly liked his kidnapping of the laird of Duffdour‘s wife.

She was not the reason his master had lost favor with King Henry. He had lost it because he had grown arrogant in his leadership, and the Scots had taken advantage of that fact, for while they were savage folk they were not stupid. But, of course, such a thought was not to be voiced aloud.

He drove the pack of hounds back to their kennel.

Roger Colby rode cross-country in the direction of the border, for that, he knew, was certainly the direction in which she had headed. The countryside was not heavily wooded, although there were stands of trees here and there. Yet there was no sign of her. Had she come upon some traveler and begged aid? Heaven forefend, but if she had and he caught up with her he would claim she was his runaway wife. A man would always be believed over a woman. But though he rode for several long miles there was no evidence of Ellen, or of any other traveler.

A thought began to tug at him. Had the dogs been right? Had she gone down to the shore? But there had been no footprints. Perhaps the winds that afternoon had erased all evidence of her bare feet, and the beach would have been easier for her than the meadowland. If she had gone for the water then she was far more clever than he had given her credit for. And how the hell had she known to go for the water? Unless, of course, she was a huntswoman. Why had it never occurred to him that she hunted? Turning his horse about sharply, he urged it into a canter, seeking a cliffside path by which he might reach the shore again.

Finally he found one, and his animal carefully picked its way down the steep incline to the beach. The mid-October sun was already low on the horizon. A chill wind blew off the water, while above him the gulls soared, screeching, diving now and again for their supper. Drawing his mount to a halt, he looked up and down the beach, but he could see no sign of Ellen. And there were no caves in this vicinity in which she might hide. He was puzzled. Where the hell was she?

Where could the woman have gone? She had to be somewhere near. She had to be!

He rode north up the beach but could find no trace of her. The gusty winds would have blown any trace of her footprints away by now, for it had been several hours since he had released her before his castle. He stared into Solway Firth, but the full-bore tide was high, the waters rough, the currents strong. He could not imagine a petite creature such as the lady of Duffdour swimming her way to freedom, even here at the narrowest point of the Solway. Could she have taken her own life, walking into the cold waters of the firth to drown herself? Nay! She would not have had the courage. Few did. So where was she?

Sir Roger rode back down the beach until he reached the path that led directly up to his lands. He reached the top of the cliff and, turning, viewed the brilliant sunset over the sea. He didn‘t want to admit it to himself, but it was just possible the laird of Duffdour‘s wife had escaped him. He swore furiously beneath his breath. He had been a fool to give in to her taunts! An arrogant fool!

He had known that she was baiting him, but he was so certain of her helplessness, of his superiority, that he had made his harsh conditions and, when she had agreed, released her. He chided himself for allowing her that extra modicum of time. But because he knew she could not escape him he had been generous, and like the whore, the slut she was, she had taken advantage of him.

His horse clopped across his drawbridge, and, entering his courtyard, he ordered the drawbridge raised for the night. Let the little bitch remain outside his walls in the cold October night. He would ride out again in the morning to find her. Cold, hungry, and probably wet, she would be more than willing to return to the castle. He‘d cut a hazel switch, strip her chemise from her, and whip her for her impertinence. He‘d put a rope about her delicate neck and trot her naked back to the castle.

Then she would sit unclothed, hungry, and shivering in her tower rooms until he deigned to send for her. There would be no wood for her hearth. No water to drink. And after several days of denying himself the pleasure of her body he would have her brought to him in his hall. He would make her crawl the length of it on her hands and knees to the high board, where she would beg his forgiveness. Then, before all of his men, he would have her, bending her over his table, taking his pleasure of both her orifices while his men cheered. He would break her spirit, punishing her so that never again would she defy him, or any man. He would teach her her place.

She was a whore and a slut.

Roger Colby said nothing as he sat alone in his hall eating his supper. His sergeant wisely asked naught of his master. The laird‘s wife had escaped, and Rafe was silently glad and relieved. He knew the woman‘s success was a great blow to his master‘s pride, but Rafe also knew that if Sir Roger were to regain King Henry‘s respect and his favor, he had to concentrate on the task at hand, and not on a woman.

He was not surprised, however, when Sir Roger rode out again the following day. His lord would need to come to terms with having been bested by a mere slip of a female. Of course, that would never really happen, Rafe knew, but he would help to eliminate the sting of the loss when he could. He gave Ian Johnston some whiskey, and told him that Sir Roger had more important business to attend to this day, and would see him on the morrow, or if not then the day after.

Roger Colby spent most of his day searching the countryside for Ellen. It began to rain in early afternoon as he sat a-horse looking out over Solway Firth, and knew in his heart that he had been bested by a woman. He shrugged briefly, defeated with the thought. But then he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. He had wasted too much time on the little Scots slut. He was behaving like the fool she had played him for by wanting her. One juicy cunt was just as satisfactory as another. She was more than likely dead in some ditch. Good riddance!

As for the laird of Duffdour, Roger Colby decided that he mattered not at all. Armstrong hadn‘t been able to find his wife and free her. And while Sir Roger would have enjoyed taunting the man about his lady, and how he had pleasured himself with her while he held her captive, her death in a sense was a sort of revenge. It had been known throughout the borders that Duncan Armstrong loved his wife. Let him mourn her now. Let his heart be broken. Roger Colby had other matters to attend to, and while he was disappointed that he had not been able to satisfy his lust entirely upon Ellen‘s body, it was time for him to turn his thoughts to other matters, he realized as he rode back to his castle.

"Where is the Scots bastard?" he asked his sergeant as he entered his hall.

"I‘ve kept him in the barracks as you requested, my lord." The sergeant did not ask about the woman.

"Tell him I‘ll speak with him in the morning," Sir Roger said. "I did not find the laird‘s wife. She is either dead or has actually managed to elude me. I did not think her so clever, but then of late I have not used my best judgment. She‘s gone, and it‘s done with. I have plans to make if I am to regain King Henry‘s favor. Tonight, however, I want a woman in my bed. The Scots whore roused my lusts, and I need to release them or I shall be ill. Is there anyone new in the kitchens I could use?"

Rafe hesitated just long enough to pique his master‘s curiosity.

"There is!" Sir Roger said, his eyes lighting up with anticipation.

"I hesitate to suggest her, my lord. She is Farmer John‘s youngest daughter," Rafe murmured slyly. The girl was Eve‘s sister.

"Is she as beautiful as my unfaithful whore was?" his lord wanted to know.

Rafe nodded. "More so, if that is possible, my lord."

"Bring her to me. If she pleases me I‘ll free her from the kitchens, but if I do she will live in the tower, and I will hold the only key to her rooms," Sir Roger said. "This slut will not fuck my captain as did the other."

"You have no captain," Rafe boldly reminded his master.

"Nay, I do not, do I?" Roger Colby said. "Nor will I ever again. And I have no bitch of a mother to tempt my retainers so she could scratch that undying itch of hers."

"No, my lord, you do not," the sergeant replied.

"You would not betray me, Rafe, would you?" He looked at his companion.

"Nay, my lord, I will never betray you," the sergeant responded.

"What is her name? The farmer‘s slut?"

"Clothilde," Rafe answered.

"Such elegant names for two little peasant girls," Sir Roger mused. "Fetch her to me now." He sat down by the fireplace. "Have her washed first. Between the farmyard and the kitchens she will be ripe."

"Yes, my lord," the sergeant said, and he moved from the hall to do his master‘s bidding. It had been providence that he had been in the kitchens when the girl‘s father had come yesterday while Sir Roger rode out on his futile mission. The girl had been with him, bringing eggs in a basket to the cook. Her father said she was sixteen. He had told the cook to offer the girl a position, and the old farmer, always eager for coin, had left his daughter with them. Sooner than later his master would need to be diverted from the fact that the Scotswoman had escaped.

Rafe had known immediately when Sir Roger had refused to listen to the dogs upon the beach that the laird‘s wife would elude his master. With luck she would have made it across the mudflats of the Solway before the tide returned, but his master would not have thought of that.

And if she did not then she was indeed dead. Either way she was no longer a candidate for his lord‘s lust. He could not help but wonder, however, if she had reached Scotland. He hoped so.

He had more often than not heard the sounds of her weeping as he approached her door, although when he put the key in the lock her keening had ceased, and she was composed when she faced him. And she had always been polite, never cursing at him for her plight like many another would have done. Aye, he did hope she was not dead and had managed to reach safety. Like Sir Roger, he knew the stories of how much the laird of Duffdour loved and cherished his wife. Rafe smiled, imagining the man‘s joy at being reunited with her.

He didn‘t want to let her go. He held her tightly against him until finally Ellen protested.

"I cannot breathe, Duncan. You are holding me too fast." But her voice was happy even as she said it.

"I‘m afraid if I let you go I will lose you again," he replied. "I‘ve sent that little bitch Evina to Maggie‘s convent to have the devil beaten out of her, and to teach her some manners. Machara told me how Sir Roger kidnapped you."

"Why did you not come after me, Duncan?" Ellen asked. Best to put him on the defensive right away, she thought to herself regretfully.

"But I did! We rode immediately to Devil‘s Glen, but the house was shut up, and there was no one we could find who knew where Sir Roger might have gone," he said.

"His family‘s small castle sits near the mouth of the Solway on the English side," Ellen told her husband. "Could you find no one who knew that?"

"Little was known of him but that he came into the borders with the authority of King Henry to unite the men there and use them to harry us on our side of the border," Duncan explained.

"Everyone we questioned believed that Devil‘s Glen was his house. He had a group of about two dozen men who had come with him, and a sergeant."

"Rafe," Ellen said. "The sergeant‘s name is Rafe. He is not a bad man, Duncan, although I cannot say the same for Sir Roger."

"Why did he take you? He never asked for ransom," the laird responded.

"He stole me to punish you. He believes that since you led the borderers who destroyed the English villages, and stole their stock, you are to be held solely responsible for costing him King Henry‘s favor," Ellen explained. "The royal favor was all that Sir Roger had, Duncan. It gave him great pain to lose it. And so he decided he would steal from you the thing that meant the most to you, the thing that it would give you pain to lose. He decided that thing was me."