Rowan's Lady (5 page)

While Rowan reflected on his life and what he
wished
he had, his men were proudly discussing the number of deer they’d killed
and how glad they would be to return home on the morrow. Many of the men were
married and talked anxiously about needing the company and warmth their wives
offered. Rowan envied them.

If Kate had lived…. If Kate had lived, then he
imagined that he would be joining in the conversation regarding warm, loving
wives, whispers and giggles in the dark, and the joys a man could find in his
wife’s open arms.

As it was, there was no such talk for him. He
hadn’t been with a woman since Kate died more than four years ago. There had
been plenty of women over the years, who had happily offered to warm his bed,
but he would have none of them. His heart, he supposed, would always belong to
Kate. He couldn’t imagine inviting another woman into his bed, let alone his
heart.

Guilt, to be honest, was what kept him in solitude
and away from women. Why should he be allowed to enjoy his life while his wife
lay in the cold, dark earth? There was no fairness to it. It should have been
he who died, not his beautiful sweet wife.

Although he had promised Kate -- just hours before
she succumbed to the Black Death -- that he would
someday
open his heart
to another woman, he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

To his bones he believed that if he did by chance,
open his heart to another woman, he would be saying goodbye to Kate
permanently. He didn’t have the strength, nor the desire, to do that. She had
been his whole world. He was not ready yet to say goodbye to her.

Rowan knew that were it not for Lily, he would
have died from a broken heart long ago.

Lily.

Rowan’s lips curved into a warm smile when he
thought of his little girl. Lily was the only reason he took one breath after
another. She was his sole reason for living.

His beautiful daughter, with her curly auburn hair
and big blue eyes, was his entire life now. Lily was the light of his life.
Spoiled, but not so much that people did not want to be near her. Nay, he
spoiled her in other ways.

She was the only four-year-old girl he knew who
owned a sword made specifically for her size, along with a quiver and bow. She
loved to be out of doors, riding with her father, traipsing across the
countryside. He was allowing her to do all the things her mother had wanted to
do as a child, but was prohibited from doing. Rowan was fully determined to
give Lily the kind of care-free life her mother never had but had longed for,
allowing her to do things that would have driven his mother mad.

He chuckled slightly at the thought of his mother.
Enndolynn would have been a good grandmother for Lily. She would have taught
her how to be a prim and proper young lass. Rowan would concede that point. Oh,
how he wished his mum had lived, just to see the look on her face the first
time Lily rode astride or pulled the string on a bow! An all-out brawl between
he and his mum would have quickly ensued, but it was a fight he would have
loved to have fought. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed his mother.

Rowan’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of
horses heading toward their camp. He and his men quickly pulled themselves to
their feet as Frederick, Rowan’s second in command, came pounding into the camp
followed by five other clansmen.

Frederick was off his horse and walking toward Rowan
before the horse had even come to a complete halt. From the look of dread on
Frederick’s face, Rowan could tell it was not good news he brought with him.

“Rowan!” Frederick exclaimed as he raced forward.
His clothes, as well as his ginger-colored hair, clung to him, soaked with
sweat. Out of breath, his chest heaved in and out.

A thousand thoughts raced through Rowan’s mind,
and Frederick had yet to utter a word as to why he was here.

Lily.
She would be the only reason why
Frederick would be here, looking as though the world was about to come to an
end. Frederick’s next words would confirm Rowan’s thoughts.

“’Tis Lily!” he blurted out.

Oh, God, do no’ let her be dead!
Rowan
thought as he braced himself for the worst possible news. He tried to still his
nerves, to push the images of an injured, ill or worse yet, dead, daughter from
his frantic mind.

“Is she ill?” Rowan somehow managed to speak the
question. His mouth and throat felt horribly dry.

Frederick shook his head and took a deep breath
before answering. “Nay,” he said before swallowing hard. “She’s been taken.”

Rowan felt the world around him begin to spin. It
was all he could do to take his next breath as his heart fell to his feet.

Taken?
His mind raced with possibilities
and outcomes. How had anyone gotten to her? Had their keep been attacked? He
could only assume that she had been taken to be held for ransom. The why was
not nearly as important as the who. He needed to know whose throat he’d soon be
cutting.

Several long moments passed before he found his
voice. “How in the hell was she taken? Were we attacked? Who has taken her?”
His words tumbled out as quickly as he thought them.

Frederick had finally managed to get his breathing
under control. “We were no’ attacked, at least no’ from outside,” he answered.

Rowan’s brow drew into a knot of confusion.

Frederick did not relish the thought of explaining
what had happened. He was consumed with guilt for Rowan had left him in charge.
The clan had been experiencing some semblance of peace for the past year. In
hindsight, it had been too much to hope for that peace would be everlasting.

The keep had been fortified. Every precaution
taken to keep the clan safe in the event of an attack from outside sources.
Mayhap they should have spent a little more time on shoring up defenses in the
inside
of the keep.

“We were attacked from
within.
” Frederick
told him. “We do no’ ken who, yet, but someone slipped a sleeping draught into
the ale last night. By the time we realized what was happening, Lily had
already been taken.”

Rowan had never before worried about traitors
among his clansmen. Many of his people he had known since the day he was born.
There were many new clan members, people who had sought refuge with clan Graham
after the black death. How could anyone betray him like this?

Frederick pulled a folded piece of parchment from
within his tunic and handed it to Rowan. Rowan unfolded it and scanned the
contents with angry eyes. His blood boiled with anger and he could feel his
skin heat with it.

“Garrick Blackthorn,” he seethed. His fingers
shook, not with fear but with unadulterated rage. If it was the last thing he
did, he would see Garrick Blackthorn dead.

It seemed to Lady Arline that the past sennight
had flown by. Willie was as energetic and curious as she was adorable and
precious. The child was also very intelligent. It had taken very little time
for Willie to figure out that Garrick Blackthorn, or
the mean man
as
Willie had come to call him, was not a man to be trifled with. Neither were any
of his men.

When Arline had asked for the opportunity to take
Willie out for fresh air, she was met with a resounding “no”. She tried to
explain that it would be in his best interest to insure the child was healthy
when the ransom was paid and the child returned to her father. Garrick answered
with a swift backhand across her cheek that left her reeling for several hours.

So they were kept in seclusion inside Arline’s
private quarters. Although secluded, they were not without hope. Arline had to
hold on to the belief that Willie’s father would soon pay the ransom and have
his child back in the loving arms of her family. To think otherwise was a
useless waste of time and energy. Worry solved nothing. 

Not wanting to risk more retribution from Garrick,
Arline refused to ask for anything further. She took three of her own dresses
and in a matter of days had constructed two suitable dresses for the little
girl, along with a cloak. Out of the remnants, Arline sewed stockings for the
child’s bare feet as well as mittens. She also made tiny chemises and
nightdresses from one of her older undergarments.

Arline taught the child how to sew, something she
was surprised to learn the child hadn’t already been taught. It wasn’t much of
a surprise to learn that the little girl had been treated more like a son than
a daughter, once Arline learned that child’s mother was dead. Her poor father
was, Arline had to assume, doing the best that he could under the circumstances.

Apparently Willie was being raised by a group of
men. There were very few women left in their clan, Willie had informed her.
Aside from the clanswomen who worked in the kitchen and the keep, there didn’t
seem to be any who could take her under their wing.

It was quite evident that the child adored her
father and, from what Willie said, her father adored her in return. Arline had
heard of such things as father’s adoring their children, spoiling them and
doting on them. She had no first hand experience for her own father was a cold,
distant man.

“Da says I be the angel God sent to take care of
him after me mum died,” Willie explained as she practiced her stitches. “He
says God didna wan’ him to be alone. He says me mum was pretty, like me. And
she was verra smart too.”

Arline listened intently as she finished the hem
on the night dress she was making for the child. She envied the little girl.
Aye, she’d been pulled from her home, was a pawn in a ruthless game made up by
foolish men. That wasn’t what she envied. What Arline coveted was the way the
child loved her father, and if what the child said was true -- and she had no
reason to believe otherwise -- the way
he
loved her. What she would not
give to have her own father treasure her thusly.

“Me da will come fer me,” Willie told her as she
carefully pulled the bone needle through the cloth. “He will run the mean man
through with his sword.”

Arline looked up from her own sewing and eyed the
child. She wasn’t bragging. It was a statement of fact in her eyes. How
wonderful it must be to have such faith in another individual. Especially one’s
own father.

A thought suddenly occurred to Arline.
What if
her father doesn’t come for her? What if he cannot pay the ransom?
She
shuddered at the prospect. What if what Willie was telling her was only the
fanciful notions -- or worse yet, wishful thinking -- of a very young child?
There was a very strong possibility that Willie’s father might not have the
funds necessary to procure her freedom. What then? What would Garrick do?

Arline had witnessed his ruthlessness on many
occasions this past year. There was nothing in their history together that
would lead her to believe he would show the slightest bit of compassion toward
the child.

Panic welled. Her mind screamed what her heart
already knew.
Garrick will kill this child.

There was no doubt of it. He would kill her if he
did not get what he wanted. He certainly wouldn’t keep the child around until
her father could come up with the ransom. Arline’s mind raced with worry. How
long had Garrick given Willie’s father to pay the ransom? A fortnight? A month?
She had no definitive answer and could not begin to guess.

Willing her nerves to settle, she went back to her
sewing. She needed a plan of escape, a way out of this castle. Guards patrolled
the corridors virtually around the clock. No doubt Garrick had doubled the men
outside as well, on the off chance that Willie’s father would be more inclined
to attack than pay.

Walking through the front door and out of the gate
was out of the question. Arline chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to focus
on the stitches. The last thing she wanted was for Willie to pick up on the
fact that she was worried. Nay, not worried.
Terrified.

As she tried to think through the situation, she
poked her finger with the bone needle and cursed out loud.

Willie giggled. “Ye said damn!”

Arline cast her a disapproving look as she sucked
on her finger. “Young lasses should no’ use such words, Willie.”

“Ye did,” Willie challenged.

“Aye, and ’twas wrong of me to do so. I’ll have to
say extra penance tonight fer it. Ye’ll do the same fer repeatin’ me words.”

“Da lets me say damn,” Willie told her.

As if her father had anything to say on the
matter. “Yer prayers have just been doubled, Willie. And if ye dare say it
again, ye’ll go to bed early.”

Willie stared back at Arline. Arline had to fight
the urge to laugh. She could tell the child was thinking hard on her threat.
Mayhap the child was used to having her own way with her father or mayhap she
was simply testing her boundaries. Either way, it mattered not to Arline. She
would not have the child go back to her father using foul language.

Willie turned her attention back to the scrap of
cloth. “I do no’ like sewin’. I’d rather be out of doors playin’.”

Arline couldn’t argue with her. She too would have
preferred to be out of doors, taking in fresh air, walking through the autumn
leaves, anywhere but in this room or this old, damp castle.

Arline went back to her project. There had to be a
way out. Mayhap she could bribe one of the guards? But with what? The promise
that as soon as she turned five and twenty she would send him money from the
funds her father held for her? Even she wouldn’t be inclined to help someone on
that promise.

Nay, there had to be a way out. Over the past
year, she had discovered a few passages hidden behind walls and tapestries. But
they had led to nowhere other than the gathering room below stairs and the
kitchens. She had supposed they had at one time been used by servants. Over the
decades rooms and additional stories had been added onto the original castle. Endless
stairs that led to nowhere could be found quite easily.