True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (18 page)

Which was the truth?

Or which parts of which tale were true?

Garrett wondered. He listened to the thoughts of those who attended Andrew’s tale, most of whom liked it. Several found it familiar and he considered their notions, seeking a kernel of truth in it all. It was an exercise in futility, like sifting through a wagon of grain in search of a pea, but Garrett could not help himself.

Darkness fell and the night sounds of the forest surrounded him. There was a storm brewing, the wind stirring the undergrowth and driving dark clouds to gather overhead. It was easy to move close to the manor as time passed, for most of the people within its walls slept. Their dreams were not so coherent as to trouble him, save for that one pulse of malice. It had diminished now, no more than a current running deep below the surface of the murmuring thoughts. That it disguised itself was no good portent, to his thinking.

Then he heard a thought that startled him.

One way or the other, I claim my bride this night.

Orson. Resolve and anger rode in those few words, making it all too easy to recall the knight’s inclination to violence. Garrett heard a command uttered to the squire, gleaned the boy’s understanding of what the knight would do.

It was clear that Orson suspected that Annelise would flee on this night. As a result, the decision was made. Abduction was not an uncommon way to claim an unwilling bride from what Garrett understood, but he found it offensive as the tactic usually included rape.

That Orson planned to do as much to Annelise was horrifying.

Garrett had to stop him. But how? The sentries stood vigilant at the main gate, chatting to each other about Andrew’s tale. Garrett knew he could not walk past them. Was there another way into Seton Manor? Garrett searched the thoughts of those within its walls.

He heard a carpenter regret that the back gate had not been repaired on this day, and his conviction to remember the task on the next day. Garrett had not even realized there was a back gate to Seton Manor. The carpenter fell asleep, so Garrett sought some thought of it. He heard Bess, locking the goats into the shed, thinking of wolves in the forest and fearing for the goats. She silently cursed the carpenter who repeatedly had forgotten the task of repairing the gate. She vowed to herself to seek him out the next day and see it done.

As human thoughts faded into sleep, Garrett listened to the animals. The goats bleated softly, some of them sleeping and others nuzzling in the hay. Few of them thought of much beyond their bellies and their udders. One disliked the shed and thought about its preference for the pasture that was beyond the gates. Garrett saw the pasture in the creature’s mind from its vantage point.

The wolf had led him through that very meadow. He was certain of it.

Garrett strode through the forest, his footsteps quick and silent. The storm built overhead, the wind becoming more violent and the dark clouds gathering. The moon was obscured from view, the forest seeming to mirror Garrett’s agitation. He found the pasture and it looked much like the goat’s memory. Garrett crossed the meadow openly, for it was quicker and he would take the chance that no sentry kept watch so far from the hall. He could not hear one.

Just as the goat recalled, there was a small path leading out of the pasture on the far side. Garrett fairly ran along the path, hearing the thoughts of those in Seton Manor grow in volume. The path ran beside a brook, which led to the millpond at the back of Seton Manor. He spied an opening in a wall, one that could be missing a broken gate. Cautious now, Garrett eased closer and listened.

The yard beyond the gate was quiet. He could see the kitchens, the hut where he had been taken, the back of the stables. The dogs were dozing outside the stables, their bellies filled with scraps from the kitchens. One snored in contentment, but a second was partly awake. Garrett listened, knowing dogs to be most observant. He was aware of the dog’s conviction that they were all safe and felt its wariness rise as he slipped into the yard. The dog identified passing scents dispassionately as it dozed: manure, horse, straw, eggshells and vegetable trimmings cast to the pigs, a stranger.

The dog lifted its head, sniffing, and Garrett was relieved the moment it realized it knew him. It was the hound that had slept at his feet in the hall, and its tail thumped against the ground as he approached. Garrett paused to scratch its ears before slipping into the stables.

There were at least a dozen horses stabled there and they regarded him with drowsy curiosity. Horses were even more inclined than dogs to be interested in those they knew, and these horses returned to their drowsing when they realized they did not know Garrett. Two of the destriers he recognized as belonging to the knights, as well as the one palfrey. There was another pair of destriers that he did not recognize, and he assumed these belonged to Murdoch. There were also two large black steeds, magnificent and proud creatures, one a mare and one a stallion. They were striking for both their size and their beauty. Were these Murdoch’s steeds? The stallion’s nostrils flared as he assessed Garrett; the black mare snorted and returned to her feed bin.

He heard her dismiss him in her thoughts—for he was not Annelise.

If Orson meant to abduct Annelise, he would take his destrier and command his squire to follow. As much as Garrett did not want to condemn the boy, he had to protect Annelise. He found the knights’ trap, for it was not just finely made but flamboyant. The leather of one saddle had been dyed to match Orson’s caparisons. Garrett seized the trap for both knights’ destriers and that of the squire as well, though he could not easily imagine that Orson would stoop to ride a lesser horse.

Garrett knotted the reins repeatedly, creating a great mess of all the trap, so that it would take precious time to untie it. He removed every part of Orson’s saddle that he could, then scattered caparisons, stirrups and straps around the entire stable. He dropped some parts into the water reservoir provided for the more humble horses, doubting the knight would look there. He removed the bridles from the destriers, casting them into the manure piled behind the stable, then using his booted heel to bury them in the fragrant heap.

He slipped into the stall with the black mare, well aware of her uncertainty. He brushed her with long steady strokes, calming her with his touch, even though he knew that time was fleeing. He had her saddled when thunder boomed overhead. The rain began to fall upon the roof, echoing so loudly that he barely heard the door to the stable creak open.

But he felt Annelise. The serenity of his lady’s nature revealed her presence, although she was agitated on this night. Garrett spun to face her.

He might have spoken, but fury roiled behind her.

Garrett hid himself in the shadows of the mare’s stall, in the very nick of time.

*

Annelise made it to the stables just before the skies cracked open and the rain began to fall. Her heart was leaping, but she was certain she had not been seen. How would she find Garrett?

She would go first to the glade. If he could hear her thoughts, he might guess her destination, then come to meet her there. It was a thin plan, but the only one she possessed. It would have to do. Then they could ride to Kinfairlie to speak to Alexander. Annelise knew her brother would not deny her choice.

Once in the stable, Annelise strode toward the stall where Yseult was tethered. She realized that the horses were all watching her very keenly. They should have been asleep or dozing, but perhaps the storm had wakened them.

Though perhaps it was something else.

Annelise heard the dog sleeping by the entry growl, then the door to the yard was opened again. She recognized Orson, even silhouetted against the silvery rain.

“I was right,” he snarled. “You do intend to flee.” He advanced into the stable, and his squire slipped into the building behind him. The boy hauled the door shut behind him, making the shadows deeper.

When the latch dropped into place with a clang, Annelise shivered.

Orson stepped closer and she took a step back from the anger in his expression. She felt chilled to her very marrow, simply from that glimpse.

She feared he would strike her, then told herself he would not.

“Since you are so inconstant, my lady, we shall see this resolved here and now.” And Orson reached for the lace of his chausses, even as he advanced upon her.

Annelise backed away, astonished. “I think not,” she said. She could not believe that Orson would force himself upon her, but he closed the distance between them with purpose.

If anything, his brow became darker with each step. “I think so.” His eyes narrowed. “You will learn this night, Annelise, that what I think will be what you think.”

“Nay!”

Orson’s eyes flashed at her defiance. Annelise realized this was no jest, no challenge she could win with words.

She lunged for Yseult’s stall. She could ride without a saddle, in a crisis. She had to flee in truth!

She had no chance to reach the horse. Orson snatched her up from behind, his leather glove locking over her mouth. He held her above the ground even as she struggled against his grip. “Bind her ankles, fool!” he commanded his squire, and Annelise realized he did not care how much he injured her.

A cold resolve settled within her. She had to fight him, instead of being fearful. She would have but one chance to surprise him.

This was it.

Annelise let herself go limp, as if she surrendered. Orson chuckled and loosened his grip slightly. “I see you can be taught. That bodes well for our future, Annelise.”

No sooner had he said as much than Annelise twisted and kicked him hard in the groin with her heel. She had never done such a thing, but she had seen a man felled by a horse’s kick in that place. There was no man she wished to see felled more than Orson.

He howled in pain and dropped her. “Bitch!” he cried and would have grabbed her again.

But Annelise was prepared for his move. She had hit the ground hard, but immediately scrambled toward Yseult’s stall. The squire blocked her path so she changed direction. She dared to glance back and her heart faltered. The squire held the rope and Orson’s expression was furious, the pair of them closing in on her. Annelise was terrified as she backed away.

Annelise was more terrified when she realized she was in a corner. She stood then, trembling, even as she tried to fathom how she might escape this man.

It was like the wolf in her dream. She would be ravaged by him.

But unlike her dream, Annelise would fight. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be struck across the face by the knight. Annelise fell to her knees in shock, then looked up at him with new fear.

Orson offered his hand to her, anger simmering in his eyes. “Another lesson: if you scream, I will beat you senseless.”

Annelise kept her mouth closed, for she believed him. She took his hand, for she knew he expected her to do as much, and rose to her feet again. Her cheek stung and her defiance had multiplied tenfold.

There had to be a way to escape him.

To Annelise’s relief, a way made itself clear. A man’s shadow appeared behind Orson, and it was a familiar silhouette, too. It was all she could do to keep her expression the same when relief was weakening her knees. Garrett had stepped out of Yseult’s stall. He moved silently behind the knight and she knew she could not reveal his presence.

Garrett came to her aid. He did not look entirely well, and she knew he was experiencing that same strain.

But he bore it for her. Her heart thundered at the import of that.

She kept her gaze fixed on Orson, then, and her expression mild.

“I shall teach you your place, Annelise,” Orson vowed, working the lace free of his chausses. Annelise was not entirely innocent, for the breeding of horses was a major undertaking at Kinfairlie, and she understood more of such matters than Orson clearly expected. She let her eyes widen as if she was awed and fearful.

He smiled at her reaction. “Your place is beneath me, with your legs spread wide,” Orson continued. “You shall learn it on this night.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It will be easier for you if you do as you are told from the outset.”

“I understand,” Annelise said quietly and he reached for her.

The squire gasped when Garrett seized him from behind. The boy pivoted, but Garrett flung him out of the way. Orson spun, but Garrett was not so gentle with the knight. He punched him in the face, and Orson cried out as blood spurted from his nose.

“Villain!” the knight shouted and leapt for Garrett. The two fought hard, Garrett landing blow after blow on the knight, even as that man battled viciously.

“Flee, my lady!” Garrett commanded.

Annelise hastened to Yseult’s stall, only to find the mare already saddled. She grabbed the reins and would have climbed into the saddle.

But the squire leapt out of the shadows to seize her arm. Annelise pulled herself free of his grip and pushed him hard. He fell back, his expression shocked. Yseult stamped and whinnied, having no patience with a ruckus in her stall. The mare kicked backward and the squire yelped in fear. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away. Annelise took advantage of his dismay and snatched the rope out of his hands. She had bound his ankles together before he could move, then tied his hands.