Dryden's Bride (17 page)

“What do
I
know of it?” Beaufort replied, irritated by all the questions. “He fancies himself a sailor. He’ll travel by sea to some port near home, then ride inland the rest of the way.”

Wolf shrugged. Men of means often preferred to travel by ship when convenient. It was possible to reduce travel time, especially when traveling through craggy, mountainous regions. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me,” he said as he stood. “The hour grows old and there is a newborn in my chamber. Have no doubt that I will be present to greet the dawning sun to my son’s raucous tune.”

Hugh stood to take his own leave as the men chuckled at Wolf’s words. He went to Siân’s room again and knocked, but she was not there. Rubbing the back of his neck, he went down to the rooms Kit and Wolf shared, and tapped lightly. Wolf opened the door.

“Is Siân here?” Hugh asked.

“No,” Wolf said with a quick shake of his head. “And Kit’s asleep.”

Puzzled, Hugh headed down the back steps of the castle and went out the door into the black night. He made his way through the courtyard and garden, then
reached the little chapel that was partially concealed by trees and foliage.

“Siân!”

There was no answer to his call.

Worried now, Hugh went into the chapel and lit a candle to illuminate the empty stone room.
What could have happened?
he wondered. Where would she have wandered? And as he pondered that question, an image of Wrexton came to mind, and Beaufort’s information about the earl and his ship.

Even more troubled now, he returned in haste to the courtyard where he’d left her, and looked around. The horses were gone, and all was quiet. An expert tracker, Hugh studied the perimeter of the courtyard, looking for anything out of place. Branches broken, lawn crumpled…And then he found it, near the kitchen entrance of the castle.

Siân’s cloak.

Hugh muttered a curse and turned back toward the main doors of the hall. He knew now that Siân had not wandered. Stupidly, he had sent her around to the back of the castle where he’d assumed it would be safe for her to enter. Obviously, that had not been the case.

Wrexton must have been there.

It was raining.

Siân felt the moisture on her face as it roused her to consciousness. A man came and roughly tied her hands, then pulled her back to a post and tied her down.

“Please!” she cried, her arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets.

“Shut yer trap, woman,” the man said. “Ye’ll be stayin’ out here where ye won’t foul the earl’s cabin.”

Cabin?
Siân wondered at the Saxon word. It had no
meaning for her, but she had to assume it was a warm, dry haven for Wrexton.

“Where are we?” she asked weakly. “What—” A crack of thunder cut off her words and the man stood and hurried away. Suddenly the ground tipped and swayed, and the sea poured over her.

And Siân finally realized she was on a ship. She was at sea, isolated and alone. Doomed.

Lightning flashed, and there was another crash of thunder as the ship pitched wildly in the swells of the turbulent sea. Her stomach heaved again, and she was miserable, pitiful in her fear, her infirmity. She thought of Hugh, and wept knowing that he could never discover where she’d gone. She despaired at the thought that she would never see him again.

Her fingers, cold and nearly numb, tore at the bindings around her wrists. She would not lie there like a limp codfish, reeled in to await its fate. If Wrexton were to do his worst, it would be without her cooperation. She might be ill and terrified by the storm, but she would not go helplessly to her enemy.

The intensity of the storm increased, as did the shouts of the men in the distance. Siân heard cursing as well as praying, as the ship tipped and rolled, yanking her arms painfully behind her with every swell of the violent sea. She was often swamped by the briny water, and each time she retched, her throat and all her rib and abdominal muscles strained in agony. She continued to struggle with the ropes that bound her, but to no avail.

It went on so for hours, it seemed, and at dawn, when the sun should have lit the sky, there was hardly a change in the quality of light. Siân only knew it was morning because the dark seemed a bit less deep. The
storm raged on, and from the angry voices of the men on deck, she gathered that they were off course.

It was either a blessing, or it was the end, Siân thought. And she wished she knew what was happening, so she could plan.

Or at least, make her last Act of Contrition.

B
y the Grace of God, she was alive.

The rain continued to fall steadily. Although the weather had calmed somewhat, Siân’s stomach had not stopped churning. She was soaking wet and freezing cold, lying on the wood planking, with her hands still tied uncomfortably behind her. Every bone in her body ached, and her throat was raw from retching.

Harsh voices split the air all around her, shouting in confusion. The ship’s sails were damaged, and they were far from their destination on the River Dee. The crew was frustrated and unsure what to do now.

“We’re at Basingwerk now, ye tottering clotpole!” one of the hands shouted to another.

“Well, I wants to know if himself’ll give us the time to repair the ship or will we be goin’ on by cart.”

“Damned if I know,” the first one said as they hoisted the sodden canvas from the floor of the ship. “It’s far and away to Chester by cart, ye know.”

Basingwerk
, Siân thought, letting the men’s voices drift away. She was in Wales, then. Surely she could find herself a place to hide here in her homeland, though it would be better if they made it to Chester.
She’d heard of Chester town, and it was not too distant from Pwll. If she could get to Pwll…

No. By going home, she’d put the townspeople at risk. She could not do that again. She would not endanger her cousins or any other Welshman ever again. She had to figure a way to get off the ship and away from Wrexton.

But once off the ship, how would she manage to get by? She had no coin and nothing of value on her person to trade for food or shelter.

Ignoring the pain in her shoulders and arms, Siân managed to fold her legs under her and push up to a sitting position. She took a look around.

She was tied to a low railing near a stairway, but she could not see land, or any other useful thing from her position. She was helpless, and worse, she was completely at Wrexton’s mercy.

There was a sudden flurry of activity and Siân watched as the men moved quickly about the ship, shouting and throwing ropes. They seemed to be pulling the vessel into a place near land. It was unclear whether they would stay until the ship was repaired, or if they would travel to Wrexton by horse cart.

Regardless of the plan, Siân was chilled and wet and she desperately wished she could change into something warm.
That
was not likely to happen, however, and once Siân saw Wrexton climbing the steps and approaching her, she knew she would be lucky if he did not just throw her overboard right there and then. His face was contorted with anger, and Siân could only hope that it was at least partially directed to the fact that the ship had ended up somewhere other than where the earl had planned.

“So. You were not swept in,” he said as he walked past her.

Siân was paralyzed by the venom in his tone. She did not know what she could possibly have done to make him hate her so. Nor could she understand why he felt it necessary to punish
her
for her father’s actions so long ago, during the Glendower revolt. Siân had been a mere infant during the time of the rebellion.

She gave no answer to Wrexton’s words, nor did he seem to expect one. Instead, he spoke sharply to one of the men, who came around to cut Siân loose. Blood rushed to her hands, making them throb painfully, and Siân could hardly move them. When she did not get to her feet immediately, the sailor yanked her up by the back of her gown and pushed her forward.

She fell.

“Get up, y’ bloody Tudor wench!” Wrexton bellowed. Siân dragged herself up onto her knees, then forced herself to her feet. “Renford! Get off and find us some horses. I don’t fancy waiting for days while these incompetents repair my ship!”

“Yes, my lord,” Renford replied as he quickly disembarked to do the lord’s bidding.

Wrexton barked further orders to his men, then grabbed Siân by the back of her clothes, pushing and prodding her to the edge of the boat where a plank was laid across. The earl poked and shoved her all the way across the murky waters to the landing.

Wrexton surveyed the town. “Wretched little
Welsh
hellhole,” he muttered. “Where the devil is the inn? Or a tavern?”

Siân said nothing, but allowed herself to be driven forward, toward a building on the quay. The rickety
building had an overhang, where she stood waiting for Wrexton to decide what to do next.

“Scared, are you?” Wrexton sneered.

Siân held her tongue and tried to appear anything but frightened.

Wrexton paced back and forth as he waited for Renford to return with horses. “They’ve missed you at Windermere by now,” he said.

Siân didn’t want to think about that.

“Probably even sent a party out to search for you,” he added. “Maybe it’ll be that bastard, Alldale, who comes for you. Wouldn’t it be grand—” Wrexton turned his malicious gaze on her “—to watch
another
hanging, eh?”

Hugh saddled his horse and left Windermere immediately, heading south, toward Wrexton’s lands. It was late, and all of Windermere was abed, so he did not awaken anyone to accompany him. Besides, this was how he worked best. Alone.

He would ride all night and all the next day if necessary, to reach the Wrexton estate, to get to Siân. His heart beat faster with the thought of her at the mercy of the earl who seemed determined to make her life a misery.

Hugh had never been to Wrexton, but he had no doubt that he’d be able to find the place, and quickly. He headed in a southwesterly direction, knowing that he’d be able to correct his course after daybreak when people were up and about.

He could only hope that he was not too far behind the ship where Wrexton was holding Siân. Glancing to the west, toward the sea where he knew Wrexton’s ship
sailed, Hugh watched the progress of a violent storm, and knew that Siân was in the thick of it.

He kicked his heels into the sides of his mare and continued on, covering the miles as fast as he dared in the dark. He wanted to reach Wrexton lands before the earl did, though he knew the chances of that were slim. The quickest route had to be by ship, else Wrexton would not have taken it.

Hugh was well aware that he had no idea what he was getting himself into, what kind of fortress Wrexton had, how many knights he kept, or how heavily guarded Wrexton was. He knew only that Siân’s safety was first and foremost to him.

He slowly realized, however, that he should have brought help.

Wrexton rode on ahead with two of his men, while Siân was tied again and shoved into an oxcart to be pulled along the countryside. The rain had let up, but she was still wet. She didn’t think she would ever feel warm again.

Four men accompanied her, one driving the cart, the other three riding in front and alongside. Only one of the four men looked particularly dangerous, and Siân was especially leery of him. He would not think twice about bringing her to heel.

Nothing about the land looked familiar and Siân knew she was far from Pwll. She was miserable, bumping along in the cart as they traveled the rutted road. Though she was gaining new bruises with every mile, it was much better than being on board Wrexton’s ship, with the waves engulfing her every minute and the rain threatening to drown her.

Siân knew they were headed for Wrexton Castle, but
she had no idea how far away it was, or how long it would take to get there. No one in her village ever traveled, and other than receiving news from the occasional monk or some other likely traveler, they rarely learned of events outside their small community. No one knew the lay of the land beyond their own fields, other than to know that London was far to the east, and that most of Wales lay to the south of them.

Siân, of course, had done a great deal of traveling since leaving Pwll at Owen’s behest, but her journeys had never taken her back to Wales. She was still as ignorant of her homeland as ever, which made any plans—beyond escape—impossible.

Siân closed her eyes and lay back in the cart in an attempt to recoup some of her strength. She wondered what Hugh had done when he realized she was gone. Would he ever know that she’d been taken against her will, that she hadn’t just run away?

Of course he would, she thought. Hugh knew of her history with Wrexton. The earl’s arrival and quick departure along with Siân’s disappearance were too coincidental. Hugh would know what had happened.

But he couldn’t help her now.

An hour or so past dawn, Hugh reached a manor house near a cliff overlooking the sea. He was exhausted and the wound in his arm throbbed painfully. He could go no further.

The lord of the manor was a middle-aged, minor baron who met Hugh in the stable yard when he rode in. With a long, straight nose and ruddy complexion, he was tall and angular of build. His hair was a mixture of yellow and white, and he had thick, bushy eyebrows of the same color over clear, glass-blue eyes.

“Greetings, my lord,” the baron said as Hugh dismounted. “Welcome to Northaven Manor. I am Eldred de Grant, baron of these lands.”

Hugh gave a quick nod. “I am Hugh Dryden,” he said. “Earl of Alldale.”

“Please come in,” de Grant said, motioning for one of the servants to come and attend Hugh’s horse. “You have been riding long and hard, it seems,” he said, leading Hugh to the house.

“I am headed for Wrexton lands,” Hugh said, “but I have only a vague direction to follow.”

They reached the house and de Grant gave instructions to the house servants to prepare a meal and a room for their guest. He also sent someone out to find his son.

“I cannot stay,” Hugh protested.

“An hour’s rest will do no harm,” de Grant said. “Wrexton is quite a distance from Northaven and you look about done in.”

Hugh rubbed the back of his neck. He was exhausted. The infection in his arm had drained his strength as well as his stamina. He needed to rest before he could proceed, before he could take on Wrexton, but the thought of Siân in the earl’s hands made him ache with every pulse of blood in his body. While there was no guarantee that Siân had not already been harmed, Hugh
had
to believe that Wrexton would wait until he had her secured away before tormenting her. It was the only way Hugh could contain the rage and frustration inside, the only way he could stay levelheaded enough to pursue her.

He nodded to de Grant, saying, “I thank you, sir,” as though resigned to the delay.

“Think no more of it,” de Grant said.

The baron took him to a large room where a fire burned merrily in the grate, even though there were signs of mourning all around. It was a prosperous house, comfortable, well appointed, and tidy. Hugh went over to the fire and warmed himself.

“My son and I buried my wife yestermorn,” de Grant said quietly. “If she were here, bold and forthright Welshwoman that she was, she’d be blunt and ask outright what business a fine, upstanding man such as yourself has with a pig like Wrexton.”

Hugh was taken aback by de Grant’s bluntness, though he was encouraged by his derogatory reference to Wrexton, as well as the fact that his wife was Welsh. Edmund Sandborn was clearly no favorite here at Northaven Manor. “You speak strongly of Wrexton,” he said, intending to draw out more information from de Grant before he spoke of Siân and her predicament.

De Grant shook his head. “Never heard of such goings-on,” the man said. “Who does he think he is? The law of England itself?”

“What goings-on?” Hugh asked.

“Well, you should know, if you’re bound for the man’s territory,” de Grant said. He was interrupted by a servant who entered the room with a tray of food, which she set on the big, oaken table.

“Young Marcus is just riding down into the dale now, my lord,” the old woman said.

“Thank you, Peg,” de Grant said as he beckoned Hugh to table.

Hugh sat down at de Grant’s table, helped himself to what he could, and encouraged the baron to talk.

“What do you know of Wrexton?”

De Grant shook his head desultorily. “Never cared
much for his father the few times I met him,” the baron said, “but young Edmund…Oh, he is a rare one.”

“In what way?”

De Grant tipped his chin up and squinted his eyes to look Hugh over. “Mayhap you’d like to tell me what your business is with the earl,” he said, pouring himself a cup of ale, “then I’ll be more at ease, telling you what I know.”

Though his host had said little, his few words were not complimentary. The man would not interfere with Hugh’s plans to rescue Siân, and might even be a valuable ally. “Wrexton stole a young woman from Windermere last night,” he said. “She is a lady of good family, and he had no right to take her. It’s my belief that he intends her harm.”

De Grant said nothing, other than uttering a small “hmm” under his breath. Those heavy white brows met above his nose in a frown. “Why would Wrexton take the lady of Windermere? Even for Wrexton, this would be a feat—”

“’Twas not the lady of Windermere,” Hugh quickly interjected. “Wrexton abducted a guest, a woman unrelated to the lord and lady of Windermere.”

“This is most unlike Edmund Sandborn,” de Grant said. “To harass a young Englishwoman who—”

“She is not English, but Welsh.”

“Ah, that explains it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since the Welsh uprising, Wrexton has had an unholy hatred for the Welsh,” de Grant explained. “He was a very young man at the time, but he and his younger brother fought a few skirmishes, nonetheless.

“The younger boy could only have been in his fifteenth or sixteenth year,” de Grant continued. “The
lad was killed one day, by a Welsh arrow. Edmund was devastated. When they brought the boy’s body to the old earl, it is said that the man clutched at his heart and died on the spot.

“Edmund inherited the title and the lands, as well as the care of his young sister. Battles were waged, and Wrexton became fiercer than ever. He cared not who he cut down…even went after women and children in villages.”

De Grant explained that finally a group of Welshmen, in order to gain some leverage with young Edmund, abducted his twelve-year-old sister. They hoped that, in exchange for the girl’s safety, Edmund would stop his vicious raids, stop the killing.