The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (12 page)

It
was Uncle Tynan, Madeline would wager.

Unobserved
by all of the mortals present, Darg pounced upon Tynan’s silver ribbon and
began to shred it, as well as put knots in it worthy of a rat’s nest.

“And
what else would I do?” Rosamunde murmured, her tone mischievous. “I have no
other way to fill the hours of the night.”

“How
tragic,” Tynan mused. “I would be a poor host to not offer better circumstance
to a guest.”

Rosamunde
laughed lightly. She reached through the gap of the open portal, her smile
broadening. “And what do you offer to me, Laird of Ravensmuir?”

“There
is one soft bed that is broad enough to be shared.”

“With
whom shall I share it?”

Rosamunde
gasped as her hand was evidently tugged. She disappeared in a flurry of skirts
through the open door and Madeline closed her eyes at the sound of a very
affectionate embrace. She thought of Rhys kissing her with such gusto and her
face burned.

“But
the girls...” Rosamunde protested, her voice oddly breathless.

“Can
slumber well enough without you.”

“But...”

Tynan
interrupted her with resolve. “While I cannot.”

“You
do not mean to slumber, sir,” Rosamunde said, her laughter undermining her
supposed outrage.

“Nor
do you,” Tynan retorted.

“Trust
a man to insist upon his way alone.”

“It
is a way you have found satisfactory enough in the past.”

Rosamunde
sighed and more amorous sounds carried to Madeline’s ears. She stared at the
ceiling, understanding rather more of her aunt and uncle’s relationship than
she had before, and uncertain whether she was glad of it.

The
door was closed with a firm click, then Tynan’s footsteps echoed down the
corridor. The sound of Rosamunde’s whispers faded, then another portal was
closed.

It
was locked with a resounding echo of the tumblers.

This
was her chance.

Madeline
slipped from her pallet and donned her boots, her hands shaking in her haste.
She had gone to bed in her stockings and her chemise, complaining that she was
cold when her sisters commented. She pulled her thickest wool kirtle over her
head, pilfered the purses of her sisters for stray coins, and claimed
Vivienne’s new fur-lined woolen cloak. She took her own eating knife, shoving
it into her belt, and crept to the portal.

Her
heart was thundering so loudly that she feared it would awaken all the
household. Madeline swallowed and squared her shoulders, blew a farewell kiss
to her sisters, then slipped into the shadowed corridor.

She
could have taken a maid, or one of her sisters, but Madeline feared to endanger
a companion unnecessarily. Alone, she could pretend to be a village lass -
having a servant might arouse suspicion. She was deeply afraid, yet excited in
a way. She had never traveled alone before, but surely she was keen enough of
wit to ensure her own safety. She had always been the practical one, after all.

First,
she had to get through the crowded hall.

Then,
she had to steal a horse.

Then,
she had to get through the closed gates of Ravensmuir without alerting the
sentinels to her departure.

Truly,
the odds were against her in this endeavor. Madeline said a silent prayer and
made her way along the corridor as furtively as she could manage. Fortunately,
she would have a good bit of time to consider precisely where she would flee
once she was through Ravensmuir’s gates.

And
even Darg was not witness to Madeline’s departure.

* * *

Madeline’s
palms were slick with sweat by the time she reached the stables. She had crept
through the hall, heart pounding, stepping over and between the sleeping men.
Fortunately, her uncle had been generous with his wine and the men slept
soundly.

Every
sound though, every man rolling over, every dog’s tail wagging in that beast’s
sleep, had made her jump for the skies. She had not noticed Rhys, had not
looked for him, for the men bundled in their cloaks were virtually
indistinguishable from each other and she dared not spare the time.

She
had been glad to made the deserted corridor, even if the wind from the sea made
her shiver. No one had called a warning, no one had awakened and alerted the
household.

Rhys
FitzHenry, his dangerous reputation and his even more dangerous kisses, were
all behind her, for good.

Madeline
heaved a sigh of relief but did not hesitate on the threshold of the stables.
She knew the steed she wanted, the palfrey that she had ridden from Kinfairlie.
The mare knew her and would be the least likely to nicker in alarm at what she
did.

The
horses had been moved, to Madeline’s dismay, presumably to make space for the
destriers of the arriving men. She wasted precious moments looking for
Tarascon, and finally found her sharing a stall with two other palfreys from
Kinfairlie.

“Tarascon!”
Madeline whispered, knowing the beast would discern her excitement. The mare’s
tail swung in recognition of Madeline’s voice and she began to turn, her
companion horses stirring from sleep as well.

“Tarascon,
make not a sound! All of you be still, for I have brought you treats from the
hall.” Madeline’s fingers fumbled with the latch and she hastened into the
shadowed stall, intent only on reassuring the horses before the ostler
awakened.

They
immediately surrounded her, nuzzling her cloak, seeking any treat. Tarascon
nipped Madeline’s braid with affection and nigh flattened her against the wall
of the stalls. Madeline laughed beneath her breath, and offered the trio of
apples that she had seized from the food yet littering the hall. So concerned
was she in finding Tarascon’s saddle that Madeline did not realize that she was
no longer alone.

Not
until the man cleared his throat.

* * *

At
the sound, Madeline jumped and bit back a scream.

A
fair-haired man smiled amiably as he leaned upon the door of the stall. “Is it
customary to feed Ravensmuir’s horses in the night? And that without the
ostler’s awareness?”

“Kerr!”
Madeline whispered, her knees weak in her relief. Kerr was a man-at-arms who
had served at Kinfairlie for as long as she could remember. “You frightened me
beyond belief!”

He
scowled with the affection of an older brother. “There should be some soul
watching over you, Lady Madeline, for it is not fitting for you to be about the
keep while it is filled with fighting men.” He shook his head. “Even worse,
they are fighting men who have had their fill of drink and then some.” He shook
a finger at her. “You should be locked in your chamber with your sisters.”

Madeline
chose to confide him. “I must flee, Kerr, and I must flee this night.”

He
pursed his lips. “You mean to avoid your nuptials.” It was not a question,
though Madeline nodded quickly. She would have explained but Kerr held up his
hand. “You need not tell me more of it, Lady Madeline. I have always thought
you to be a sensible lass, and in this, you show me to be right. Rhys FitzHenry
is a dangerous man, one with a price upon his head for treason. No woman could
be blamed for trying to avoid a match with him.”

“Indeed,
Kerr...”

He
shook that finger again, his manner scolding. “But you are a fool and then some
to consider departing alone. You cannot know what or who you will meet upon the
road, nor what dangers you will face. No lady should travel alone in these
times.”

“But
Kerr, I could not ask a maid or one of my sisters to accompany me and Rosamunde
would not have agreed to do so.” Madeline sighed. “She seems to have an
affection for Rhys, which I cannot explain.”

“Birds
of a feather, no doubt, my lady,” Kerr said darkly. “Your aunt has lived
outside the bounds of law for so long, if you will forgive my speaking bluntly,
that she sees only good in a fellow rogue and not his wickedness.”

Madeline
turned back to her steed, glad that she was familiar with saddling it herself.
“I thank you for your counsel, Kerr, but I must leave afore my absence is
noted.”

“But
you will not go alone,” the burly Scotsman insisted.

Madeline
glanced up, surprised at his tone.

“If
you insist upon going, my lady, then I will escort you to a safe haven. I owe
your father’s memory that much, at least.”

Madeline
smiled, relieved by his offer. “My uncle and brother will not be pleased with
you, Kerr.”

He
shrugged. “They are not the only lairds in Christendom with coin to hire a
fighting man.” He sobered and granted her a level glance. “And there are times,
my lady, when a man must do what he must do, and let the consequences be as
they will be.”

“I
thank you, Kerr.”

“Hasten
yourself,” he said gruffly, glancing over his shoulder with the manner of one
uncomfortable with a lady’s gratitude. “There are many at Ravensmuir who sleep
lightly this night.”

* * *

Dawn
touched the eastern sky before Kerr finally called a halt. Madeline was
exhausted, so unaccustomed was she to missing a night of sleep. At least the
rain had halted shortly after their departure, and though their course was
muddy, she had not been drenched. Kerr indicated a gully and she turned
Tarascon in that direction. The palfrey moved with purpose once she heard the
hidden stream that flowed there.

Meeting
Kerr in the stables had been an uncommon stroke of fortune. Madeline did not
know how he had coaxed the gatekeeper to open Ravensmuir’s double portcullis,
nor did she know how he had found a path across the wilderness of the moors.

There
had been a course though, or at least one visible to any soul who already knew
it to be there, and it had avoided the towns and abbeys. The only town they had
passed close had been Galashiels, slumbering as it had been.

The
rising sun showed hills around then and little else, hills that were more
verdant than the ones near Kinfairlie and of a more gentle inclination.
Madeline could no longer smell the sea, and she guessed that they had taken a
course southward with a slight inclination to the west.

But
she had no quibbles. She realized now that she could never have managed her
escape alone, so limited was her experience in such journeying. During the
night’s ride, it had occurred to her where she might go - she could try to
discover the truth of James’ demise herself. She wondered if she had coin
enough to hire Kerr to aid her in such a quest, for she would have to go to
France.

They
had ridden in such silence for all the night that she had not had the
opportunity or the will to ask him as much, not as yet. Kerr was not a man who
said much, but Madeline trusted his abilities. He could not have been more than
a decade older than she, though he had lived more roughly, to be sure.

But
she was glad of his competence, and even more glad that they would halt
shortly.

Despite
the fact that the rain had ceased, Madeline was damp and chilly and filled with
aches. She had not complained at this unfamiliar hardship, for there were many
miles between herself and Rhys FitzHenry. It was only now that the household of
Ravensmuir would be awakening, only now that her absence might be discovered.

Thanks
to Kerr, none would find her soon. Madeline granted him a smile. He did not
return it, merely flicked a glance her way before his narrowed gaze scanned the
horizon again. There was more gorse here, thick along the gully, and Madeline
understood his trepidation. There might be all manner of wild creatures taking
shelter here, who might take exception to being roused.

Perhaps
she was a fool, but Madeline was too tired to care. Let the wolves come upon
her, if they dared. She would wash her face. Madeline dismounted, grateful for
the change of posture, and stretched her back. She followed Tarascon down the
steep bank of the gully, sat upon a rock and bent to lift the cold water in her
cupped hands.

It
was blessedly cold. Madeline heard Kerr and his destrier descending the slope
behind her. Tarascon waded in the stream, drinking noisily of the water as her
tail swished. Madeline bent again, but her hands never reached the surface of
the stream.

A
gloved hand closed over her mouth and Kerr roughly pulled her back against him.
The cold blade of his knife touched Madeline’s throat.

She
tried to scream but Kerr’s blade only cut deeper. “Make a sound, lass, and I
will cut out your tongue afore I have you.”

Madeline
whimpered against his glove, so astonished was she. At the press of the blade,
she fell silent.

“That
is better, lass.” Kerr removed his hand from her mouth. He spun her to face
him, gripping her bodice and tearing the front of her kirtle in one gesture.

Madeline
gasped as the cold air touched her bared breasts. She backed away, biting back
her scream lest she vex him further.

“I
have wanted to see those for many a year,” he said, his gaze devouring the
sight of her. A cruel smile claimed his lips. “And I shall have my due, though
I could never have paid your brother’s price.”

“But,
but you, my father...”

“Your
father knew my desires well enough.” Kerr laughed. “Why do you think I left
Kinfairlie last year? But he was fool enough to not confide in his son, so
Alexander was quick to hire me back.” Kerr smirked. “You nobles all think you
are so clever.”

Madeline
realized that Kerr’s breeches were already unfastened. She could see his prick
and could have no doubt of his intent.

“Come
here, for I have waited long enough. I will have my due now and I will have it
time and again until I am sated.” Kerr reached for her and Madeline ran.

Kerr
swore and lunged after her. He caught a fistful of her hair, dragging her to a
painful halt. Tarascon whinnied and turned to aid her mistress, but Kerry
slashed at the steed’s flank with his knife. His stroke was brutally effective
- the horse fled as the long deep wound began to bleed profusely.

Madeline
screamed.

Kerr
struck her across the face. “I bade you be quiet!”

“But
my horse! You cut her apurpose!”

Kerr
tightened his grip upon Madeline’s hair, winding the length of it around his
fist. “It is but a horse,” he said with a sneer.

Madeline
feared that she had seen but a small measure of his cruelty. She had no doubt
that she would bear the worst of it, and her heart leapt in terror.

She
dared not make a sound of protest.

Kerr
smiled coldly. “I have waited long enough for this moment that I will bear no
interruption.” He gave Madeline a shake. “You knew I watched you in your
father’s abode. You felt the weight of my gaze upon you and tempted me apurpose,
for you wanted this as much as I.”

“No!
I...”

“Silence!”
He waved the knife beneath her nose. “Now, lift your skirts, wench, and offer
yourself to me.” He leaned closer, his breath upon her very cheek. “Sweetly, my
Madeline.”

There
was fury and lust in his eyes, as well as a determination that did not bode
well for Madeline’s fate. Would she leave this creek alive? She did not imagine
so.

Anger
burned within Madeline, anger that pushed her fear aside. How dare he blame her
for his unholy lust? How dare he declare that she had tempted him? Somehow she
had to evade him.

She
dared not let Kerr glimpse her intent, so she lowered her gaze as if
embarrassed.

“You
speak the truth, Kerr,” she said meekly. “No other man could have guessed my
thoughts so well as you.”

“I
knew it! Tell me you have dreamed of this moment.”

Madeline
swallowed her rising bile. “Of course I have dreamed of this moment.” She could
not summon any conviction to her words, but they seemed to please him. She
swallowed, then began to lift her skirts in apparent compliance. “I have
dreamed only of you.”

Kerr
chuckled when he could see her knees and his prick danced with enthusiasm.

Madeline
took a shaking breath and raised the hem of her kirtle higher. Her hands were
trembling, both with anger and the need to deceive him.

The
wool cleared the top of her stockings and her garters. Kerr caught his breath
in anticipation when he spied her bare thighs. Madeline guessed that he was as
distracted as he would be afore this deed was done. She let one hand trail to
her waist, relying upon the fact that the other lifted her skirts yet higher to
keep Kerr distracted.

She
seized the small knife in her belt, and slashed suddenly at his hand. To her
delight, her blade found the increment of bare flesh between his glove and his
sleeve, and it bit deeply. Kerr roared, and Madeline kicked him in the crotch
as hard as she was able.

He
cursed and loosed his grip upon her hair. This was her sole chance! Madeline
leapt away from him, landed knee-deep in the cold water of the stream, and ran.

Kerr
swore with unholy vigor. Madeline’s heart thundered in her chest. She crossed
the creek with great bounds, cursing the weight of her full wet skirt.

She
scrambled up the opposite bank of the gully on all fours, weeping as her boots
slipped in the mud. She was blind to the course she took, needing only to put
distance between them.

Kerr
was fast behind her, his feet landing heavily on the bank as he muttered
curses. Madeline did not look back. She seized a tree and pulled herself up the
hill as quickly as possible. Her breath came in pants and there was an ache in
her side and she dared not slow down.

“Whore!”
Kerr shouted. “Thankless bitch! You will get what you deserve soon enough and
it will be all the more bitter for your defiance!”

Madeline
reached the summit. She did not pause for a single breath before she raced out
onto the moor.

“You
will not flee far!” Kerr roared.

Madeline
heard him behind her, his every step covering twice as much ground as one of
her own. She heard his hard breathing and glanced over her shoulder.

His
furious expression fairly made her heart stop. He was close behind her, too
close.

He
leapt and snatched at her.

Madeline
ducked, evading his grasp in the last moment, fairly feeling his fingers slide
through her hair. He swore. She redoubled her pace in panic, holding her skirts
in fistfuls above her knees.

Then
she slipped in the mud and fell.

Madeline
knew she could not recover her balance, though she tried. Her flight was ended.
Kerr would have her now, he would hold her down. He would take her all the more
cruelly because she had fled from him.

She
heard Kerr’s shout of triumph, heard a curious whistling, then she landed hard
against the earth. She winced at the impact, then Kerr landed upon her so
heavily that the breath was driven from Madeline’s chest. His head was beside
hers, his lips fairly against her ear, the weight of him squarely atop her. She
was crushed beneath him, but that was the least of her woes.

Madeline
hoped his crime was quickly done. She squeezed her eyes closed, for there was
nothing else she could do, and waited for the worst.

* * *

Rosamunde
awakened in Ravensmuir’s solar, well content. She did not open her eyes
immediately, for it suited her to savor the comfort that surrounded her.
Tynan’s bed was wide, its mattress plump, its draperies rich enough even to
satisfy Rosamunde’s discerning tastes. His solar was warm, as so few chambers
were in this cursedly northern clime, and she smiled at the possibility that he
had stoked the fire particularly for her.