A Knight's Captive (Falling For A Knight Book 3) Page 2

  While Lady Arabela hadn’t succumbed to his charms during his previous visit, that had been his own fault. She’d thrown him off balance with her cautious, questioning looks. But when faced with marrying someone of Sir Rory Buchanan’s reputation, he had to believe she’d be thrilled with the opportunity to escape.

  “Have no doubt,” Chanse said, “the lady will be pleased to see me. Overjoyed, in fact. I’d be willing to wager on it.”

  Matthew nearly chortled in response, placing a hand over his mouth to remain quiet. They were a fair distance from the holding, but sounds carried far in the quiet of twilight. “Overjoyed, eh? I’ll take that wager. How unfortunate Braden isn’t here to join in this one.”

  Hardly a day passed without Chanse and Braden wagering on something when they were together. His brother had wanted to come, but Chanse insisted he remain in Berwick with his new bride, Lady Ilisa. They’d been through enough. It was Chanse’s turn to lead this mission.

  Besides, how difficult could it be to enter the lord’s keep and sneak out with Lady Arabela? He couldn’t believe that she was happy about the upcoming wedding. Still, she was a dutiful daughter who did her father’s bidding. No doubt she was ignorant of his true plans.

  She’d be pleased to see him. Surprised, mayhap. But pleased. Especially once he added a charming spin to his plan to rescue her.

  “Let us move a little closer so we’re ready when night falls.” Chanse kneed his steed forward.

  “The steps in the castle wall are well hidden from the outside, but I think I can locate them even in the dark.”

  “Excellent. We’ll leave the horses in the crags just ahead and venture the rest of the way on foot.”

  “I hope this goes as smoothly as you think it will. Once we gain entrance, I’ll gather my belongings and meet you in the tower.”

  “Aye.” But Chanse’s thoughts were already on the lady who was no doubt preparing for her wedding at this very moment. Was she distraught? Resigned? Frightened? Wishing for a way to escape?

  He smiled, looking forward to seeing her expression when she realized he’d come to her rescue.

  Chapter Two

  Arabela all but flew up the uneven tower steps to her bedchamber, the sound of voices and laughter from the great hall chasing her. She cradled her aching arm, and her heart pounded with worry. The evening meal had been a nightmare. That terrible kiss with Rory. Her father’s excitement. Her mother’s lack of concern.

  She had no one to turn to. No one to aid her but herself.

  Escaping wouldn’t be easy, but as the last several days had shown, neither would being married to Rory.

  Arabela chose escape.

  She entered her bedchamber at the top of the tower and closed the door, shutting out the noise of the continuing celebration. Surely, they’d seek their beds soon in preparation for the feast on the morrow. The quiet night would provide the chance she needed to leave.

  Arabela pulled the bag from under her bed and checked the contents again. She’d packed little as she would have to carry the bag on her journey. Extra weight would only slow her course.

  What did one take when leaving their home forever?

  Her chest tightened at the thought. Life here wasn’t easy, but the idea of departing filled her with fear. Her father would never forgive her for what she did this night. Returning home wouldn’t be an option. Unless, of course, he dragged her back. She shuddered at the thought.

  Her leaving would be unacceptable to both him and Rory. She’d been a dutiful daughter most of her life, but deep inside her heart was a rebel. Each harsh word and unreasonable demand her father uttered had built defiance within her, layer upon layer, much like the wall that surrounded their holding, until the weight of keeping it hidden felt as if it would crush her.

  Watching her mother withdraw further with each year that passed had given Arabela the courage to protest her upcoming wedding. The fog that held her mother in its grip seldom lifted. Arabela wondered if Effie, the village healer, gave her an herbal remedy of some sort to numb her.

  Arabela didn’t want to live like that. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  Her father had refused to listen to her objections, becoming more enraged each time she raised the topic. His response left her no choice.

  Though she’d never ventured farther than she could see from her tower window, she intended to journey southeast toward the border, perhaps to Berwick or Dunbar. Edinburgh was too close. But a bustling city of some size might allow her to remain hidden among the residents. She could find work as she wasn’t without some skills. Mayhap a baker or an alemaker could use her. She’d prefer to work in a stable with horses, but the idea of posing as a boy was daunting. A convent was another option as well. Though she couldn’t say she had a calling, she would be pleased to spend her life helping others, and such a place might offer protection.

  She’d taken dried meat, bread, and cheese from the kitchen earlier in the day. With so many guests at their holding for the festivities, food was plentiful. No one had noticed her passing through the busy kitchen and acquiring a few things.

  The sound of her chamber door opening had Arabela quickly stuffing the bag back under her bed.

  “Whatever are ye doin’, milady?” Edith, her maidservant, asked. She strode forward and lifted the bed linens to reveal the bag. “Och, ye’re not still goin’ on about leavin’, are ye?”

  “Aye, I am.” Arabela’s heart pounded as she faced the woman who’d been more of a mother to her than her own. “Will you come with me?”

  While ’twas selfish of her to ask, if Edith remained behind, her father might very well take out his anger on the older woman.

  “Don’t go, milady. I beg of ye.” Edith clasped her hands before her, knuckles white. “Ye can’t venture that far on yer own. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “’Tis too dangerous to remain. Once Rory is king and I give him an heir, he’ll have little use for me.”

  “That’s not true. Yer sire won’t allow anything to happen to ye. Sir Rory won’t truly hurt ye. He only makes empty threats.”

  Arabela shoved up her sleeve to reveal the red marks on her arm. “Not so empty.”

  “Och!” Edith reached out a tentative finger to gently touch the darkening bruises, her brow wrinkled with concern. “How dare he touch ye like that?”

  “I can’t stay here. Not only will our marriage put me in danger but all of Scotland as well. Father knows his choice of Rory will anger England. King Edward wants someone he can control or who will at least serve as an ally. If England declares war on Scotland, how many innocent people will die?”

  “But to leave all ye know? Think of the danger ye’ll face.”

  Arabela’s gaze dropped to her arm. “I’ll face that no matter what I choose. At least going will be my choice.”

  Edith sighed, her brown eyes full of worry when Arabela looked up. “Life isn’t always fair.”

  “Nay.” Arabela bit her lip to keep from arguing that it never was. She took the maidservant’s hand in hers. “I fear my leaving places you in danger but more than that, I would miss you far too much if you remained behind. Will you come?”

  The woman’s hesitation caused Arabela’s breath to catch.

  Then, with a single decisive nod, Edith squeezed her hand briefly. She released it to take the woven blanket from the end of Arabela’s bed. “It’ll be cold at night. We’ll need as many blankets as we can carry.”

  A lump formed in Arabela’s throat as she watched the maidservant fold the blanket and tuck it inside the bag. At least she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Edith. “I have some food already.”

  “I’ll fetch a few more things and pack me own bag as well,” Edith said.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Despite the concern that lingered in the older woman’s eyes, Edith smiled. “Ye won’t have to find out. I’ll prepare.”

  “Excellent. I’d like to depart near midnight if those staying
in the great hall are asleep by then.”

  “With luck, they will be. We’ll take great care not to disturb them.”

  The idea of being caught before they’d even left the keep sent a wave of fear washing through Arabela. But not trying wasn’t an option. “Aye,” she agreed. “We’ll be as quiet as mice.”

  Edith managed a smile then was gone, and Arabela was alone with her thoughts once again.

  Her maidservant’s anxiousness forced Arabela to think twice about the details of her plan. Though she’d come up with a dozen different ideas of how she might take her horse, she’d discarded each one. Going through the heavily guarded portcullis would be impossible. Her father had ordered twice the normal men to watch the entrance, partly for his guests’ safety and partly to impress them with the number of soldiers he had in his command.

  She moved to the narrow window to look out. If only Sir Matthew, the former captain of the garrison, had remained, she might’ve gained his aid to escape. He alone seemed to sympathize with her position. But nay. He’d chosen to leave with Sir Hugh and Sir Chanse, both who had been guests during the tournament her father had held two months past to celebrate her birthday.

  Matthew’s departure had been unexpected and concerning, especially when her father refused to tell her of the details. Why hadn’t he bothered to bid her goodbye? The unexpectedness of it almost made her wonder if his departure had been unplanned.

  She’d liked Sir Hugh and his wife, Lady Cairstine, and often thought of them. The lady had been the closest thing to a friend she’d had in a long while despite their brief acquaintance. When Lady Cairstine had fallen off the stairs outside Arabela’s bedchamber to the floor below, Arabela had been horrified.

  But the lady’s miraculous recovery had been nearly as shocking as her fall. Though Lady Cairstine had claimed Effie, the village healer, had aided her, Arabela had a difficult time believing that. She’d known Effie for many years and while she was a skilled healer, she hadn’t managed to produce any miracles prior to that.

  Shrugging aside the questions to which she’d never have answers, Arabela studied the horizon visible in the fading twilight from her tower window. This was the last night she’d have this particular view. The realization was both heady and frightening.

  Her gaze swung in the opposite direction to where she knew the steps were that led over the parapet wall. They were her best hope of escape.

  She and Edith needed to be certain not to provide any evidence of their passing that could be tracked. A direct path might see them farther away more quickly, but she didn’t want it obvious as to where they were going. In an effort to place a false trail, she’d asked the new steward how long it took to ride to Edinburgh. With luck, he’d remember her question when her absence was discovered and mention it to her father.

  A flicker of hope filled her heart. Mayhap escape was possible. Difficult, aye. But possible. The idea of living a life of her choosing brought a slow smile to her lips. With skill and luck, she might be doing more smiling in the near future.

  The idea of happiness was merely a dream but never had she held more hope than now. She closed her eyes, holding tight to the wavering feeling, well aware she’d need the sensation to keep her going in the days to come.

  ~*~

  Chanse topped the curtain wall, pleased once again that Matthew had accompanied him. Though he’d known the general location of the steps from inside the holding, finding them in the dark from this side had been no easy task. Rather than actual steps, stones were positioned as footholds at irregular intervals, some small, others more noticeable.

  Navigating them in the dark had been difficult.

  Whether Lady Arabela was capable of climbing down them remained to be seen. Between he and Matthew surely they could manage to help her.

  They stayed low as they hurried across the walkway along the top of the wall then moved slowly down the steps that led to the inner bailey. They paused when they reached the ground. All was quiet inside the holding from this position.

  The path they followed skirted the small village that sat in the bailey. The blacksmith’s forge had been banked for the night, the bellows silent. The baker, the potter, and the other shops had closed shutters as well. Though many lived in the rear of their shops, they’d already sought their beds for the night. Even the chickens had settled in their nests until morn.

  Matthew paused ahead of him and leaned close. “I’m going to the garrison while you seek the lady.” He pointed toward the keep, the outline of the three-story building still visible against the night sky. “I’ll meet you in the tower.”

  “Take care,” Chanse whispered. “I don’t want to have to come and save you.”

  Matthew grinned. “I was going to say the same to you.”

  Chanse returned his smile. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Matthew faded slowly into the night.

  Lady Arabela’s chamber was in the top of the tower of the keep, a detail Chanse knew from his previous visit. The guests that had already arrived for the wedding were both helpful and a curse. Helpful as ’twas impossible to lock everything tight for the night, and a curse as there were that many more eyes watching.

  He stayed low in case some restless soul wasn’t yet asleep and kept to the darkest part of the path, pausing every so often to listen.

  He planned to enter through the kitchen, a separate building attached to the back of the keep and hoped the door that led to the great hall would be unlocked. From what little he could see, the kitchen used to be a completely separate building in case of fire, but at some point, it had been expanded and was now connected with a passage to the keep. No doubt Lord Graham preferred his food to arrive in the great hall still warm.

  The scuff of a boot on the path just ahead halted Chanse’s progress. He bent low as a man emerged around the rear of the kitchen, yawning as he staggered along. He took several more steps then stopped, too close for comfort.

  Chanse stiffened, prepared to silence him by whatever means necessary, when the sound of him pissing filled the quiet night. As it continued, Chanse could only shake his head, surmising the man had much to drink earlier. Finally, the sound eased as the man gave a little shudder, adjusted his clothing and then headed toward the stables.

  Chanse waited several moments before continuing toward the kitchen, taking care to avoid the puddle and hoping everyone else slept. He tested the door, relieved to find it unlatched. Pausing inside to sweep his gaze around the room, a mix of aromas struck him. Roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and the tang of sweat lingered in the air. Luckily, the room was empty. The coals in the hearth glowed, giving off enough light that he could see his way past the work tables to the door that led to the keep.

  He opened it cautiously and listened. The passageway was pitch black, so he waited, hoping his eyes would adjust. A faint light coming from the entrance to the great hall became apparent, and he closed the door behind him and moved toward the light. The sound of snores, some faint, others much louder, rent the quiet of the night. He moved as far away from the entrance to the hall as possible and walked past it. He strode forward with an even pace that suggested a purpose, hoping that if someone saw him, they’d think he belonged there.

  When he reached the tower steps, he couldn’t help but study the floor before looking up the curving stairs. The thought of Ilisa, known as Lady Cairstine while she’d visited here, being shoved from those steps caused anger to build. Thank goodness she’d recovered.

  He walked slowly up, not wanting to falter on the uneven steps, which were purposely built that way to slow an invader such as him. The door on the next level most likely led to Lord Graham’s chamber. Though the idea of simply doing away with the man who intended harm to so many was tempting, murdering him in his sleep would be the act of a coward. Chanse was no coward. And doing such a ghastly deed the night before the lord’s daughter’s wedding would create sympathy amongst the people of Scotland. That wouldn’t serve Chanse’s purpose.
Far from it.

  He continued upward, pausing to listen a few times when noises from the great hall drew his notice. At last he reached the door at the top of the tower.

  Would the lady be sleeping? Waking her without frightening her half to death would be no easy task. But he was certain she’d be pleased to see him, even more so once she understood his purpose.

  He opened the door, his gaze catching on the form under the bed linens lit by a flickering candle on a low table and started forward. A sharp prick in the back of his neck halted him.

  “Who are you?” a feminine voice whispered harshly.

  Startled, he began to turn only to feel the press of a knife more firmly. He halted, still frowning at the bed. “A friend of the lady’s.”

  “What kind of friend enters a bedchamber unannounced in the dead of night?”

  Chanse knew who stood behind him. He stepped away from the blade, holding his hands away from his sides, palms out, to show he meant no harm. “One who comes to rescue the lady.”

  Silence greeted his words, and he took that as permission to face her, a smile on his face. He dipped his head in place of a bow so that he might keep her—and her knife—in his sight.

  Lady Arabela Graham held the knife as though she knew how to wield it, making no effort to lower it though he knew she recognized him. Nor did she answer his smile.

  Her heart-shaped face was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. And he remembered her clearly. Brown eyes framed by gently arched brows a shade darker than her hair. High cheekbones and a pointed chin. Thick, brown hair loosely plaited to fall over her shoulder tied with a single white ribbon. A cool, haughty expression still in place. “I am not in need of rescue. Leave.”

  His thoughts slowed, confused at the differing clues greeting him. The shape of a body under the covers. A packed bag on the floor near the foot of the bed. The lady dressed in attire better suited to a peasant than a bride-to-be. An angry lady who appeared far from pleased to see him.