The Border Lord's Bride (40 page)

And then suddenly Ellen was filled with an anger such as she had never felt before. She would not continue to be his victim. She would not! Still on his lap, his arm about her waist, she said,

"So tonight you will complete your rape of me, my lord." Her tone, so filled with disdain, gave him a moment‘s pause.

"What do you suggest then, madam? You are hardly my willing victim now, are you?" His color was high, for she had indeed pricked at his vanity.

"Loose me outside your castle. Give me an hour‘s start. And then hunt me down as you would a helpless doe." She laughed. "But you would not do such a thing, because there is always the possibility that I might escape, isn‘t there? And you could not bear to lose your revenge against my husband," Ellen sneered. "So you will take the coward‘s way, and force me to your will, and then declare a victory. But I tell you, my lord Colby, that even though you have already ruined me in my husband‘s eyes he will still have your life for it, and I would too, given the opportunity!" Then, pulling away from him, she jumped off his lap, settling her skirts about her with an angry shake.

His face had darkened with every word she had spoken. She was baiting him. He knew it. Yet the sting of her scorn burned him nonetheless. He would prove her wrong. "You‘ll run barefoot, and in your chemise," he said. "And when I catch you I‘ll have you then and there with no niceties, and you‘ll remain my willing whore until I tire of you. Those are my terms, madam.

Have you the courage to accept them?"

"When?" she asked, her heart beating with a mixture of both fear and excitement.

"Now," he said.

"You will give me the full hour?" she asked him. How far could she get in so short a time? Ellen wondered. Far enough to gain more time to elude him? She had to take the chance, because it was the only one she would have.

"I do have some honor left, and as there is no doubt as to the outcome of this wager I can afford to be generous," he told her.

"The time will start when I step through your gates," Ellen said boldly.

"Agreed," he replied with a chuckle. "You shall have every moment you are entitled to, madam, before my dogs and I run you to ground, and I fuck you." Standing, he led her down from the high board. "I shall escort you to the gates myself," he said, and he took her by the arm as they walked from the hall and out into the courtyard. "Open the gates," Sir Roger called to the men at arms standing by the closed entry.

They obeyed immediately. The portcullis was winched up, and the drawbridge was slowly

lowered.

"Take off your shoes," he said, and then he helped her to do so. "Now your gown, madam." And when she had he took her across the drawbridge himself. When they reached the other side Roger Colby yanked Ellen into his arms, and kissed her hard. "In an hour listen for the sounds of my horse‘s hooves, madam, and the baying of my hounds as we come after you," he said. Then, turning, he walked back across the drawbridge.

She ran for the shelter of nearby copse, out of the castle‘s view, and then stopped briefly to consider in which direction she would go. He would assume she knew that his prey would go cross-country, and so he would ride in that direction. But Ellen had often hunted in her childhood Highland home with her grandfather and his clansmen. She remembered a time when they had tracked a magnificent twelve-point buck for hours, only to have the dogs lose the scent after they had crossed a stream.

"Damn!" her grandfather had sworn. "The beast has taken to the water."

She had asked him what he meant, and he explained that instead of fording the stream, the animal had instead stayed in it, working his way either downstream or upstream before stepping onto land again, where his scent could be tracked. There was no telling where the buck was at that point, and so they had gone home again. The memory sharp in her mind, Ellen looked about her, considered the position of the sun above, for the day was fair, and then she headed west toward the beach.

In short order she found a narrow path and picked her way down the side of the cliff. Along the way she plucked a thick handful of long grass, and when she reached the bottom she backed slowly toward the water, brushing the marks of her footsteps away as she walked. She would wager Sir Roger would not have considered that she had that kind of knowledge. Ellen chuckled as she stepped into the water. She gasped, for it was icy.

She ran as quickly as she could in the water. Her feet were soon numb with the cold sea, but she did not stop. It was the middle of October, and while the weak sun offered her some small warmth, the breeze was chilly. Her chemise offered her little warmth, but it was better than nothing. Finally Ellen stepped from the water and onto the beach. If Sir Roger had gone off cross-country, as she thought he would, it would be at least another hour or two before he considered—if indeed he did consider—that she would have taken to the beach as a means of escape. Hopefully he would not find the imprint of her feet anywhere, and would be puzzled.

Perhaps he would return to the castle defeated, yet more than likely he would ride along the sand until he found evidence of her again. Still, she could no longer bear the frigid waters of the sea.

When her feet stopped burning and tingling with her pace, and began to feel like her feet once again, Ellen began to run faster. She had not heard either the sound of pursuing dogs or a stallion‘s hooves, but she did not count herself safe by any means. And then ahead of her the distance between the land on either side of Solway Firth grew narrower and narrower. And the waters of the firth seemed to have receded in that space. Ellen could not believe her good fortune. Was it possible that she could cross the mudflats back into Scotland? Please God and his blessed Mother that she might. Finally, at what she judged to be the narrowest point between the land, Ellen stepped from the sandy beach onto the mudflats of Solway Firth. She walked carefully, for mud, she knew, could be treacherous, but she walked as swiftly as she could. It made no matter that the only sounds she could hear were the gulls soaring and swooping above her.

And then, when she had almost reached the other side, she heard an odd roaring sound, and turning her head she saw a great wall of water coming swiftly up the firth and directly toward her. She stopped, terrified, unable for a moment to move. She heard shouting, and saw ahead of her several men upon the beach gesturing at her. One of them broke from the group, hiked up the robes he was wearing, and ran out into the firth toward her. The water was beginning to rise around her ankles.

"Hurry, lass, hurry!" the man coming toward her cried, and, reaching her, he put an arm about her and forced her to run.

The water now washed about her knees. It was like trying to run through honey, Ellen thought, but she kept on moving, the man‘s arm about her. The water reached her waist, and in a rush her shoulders. Gasping, she swallowed some of the salty sea. The man was swimming. He held tightly on to Ellen, bringing her along with him. But she could swim too. She kicked her legs and struggled to keep her head above water, even if the currents beneath and around them were strong. Finally she felt the bottom of the firth beneath her feet again, and with her rescuer she stumbled up onto the beach before collapsing onto the sand.

"What in the name of holy Saint Andrew made you cross Solway Firth with a full-bore tide upon you, woman?" her rescuer demanded to know.

"I did not know, and it was that or die on the other side," Ellen finally managed to gasp. She sat up, looking about her and at the men surrounding her. All were dressed in long brown robes.

"You are holy men?" she asked them.

Her rescuer smiled. "Brother Griogair, lady," he said, pulling his robe back down. "We are from the monastery of St. Andrews just atop the hill." He pointed.

"I am Ellen MacArthur, wife to Duncan Armstrong, the laird of Duffdour. I was kidnapped by the English several months ago, and held captive until today, when I managed to outwit my captor and escape. When I saw the distance between England and Scotland so small I crossed. I was not aware of such a tide as almost overcame us, for the sea is not a thing familiar to me. I thank you, good brother, for helping me to shore. Now I must beg a boon of you. Can you shelter me, and send to my husband at Duffdour to come for me? I live in terror that my captor will find me, for he is not averse to raiding into Scotland."

"Let us return to our house," Brother Griogair said. "The prior must make that decision, but he is a kind man, and will have some good solution for your problem."

He stood and helped Ellen up, avoiding looking at her, for her thin wet chemise clung closely to her body, revealing all her secrets. Then with his three companions they walked up the hill to the monastery of St. Andrews. They housed her in their tiny guest quarters, and shortly thereafter Brother Griogair returned with clean, dry garments for her, a dry chemise and a brown woolen robe. "You could hardly see the prior, dressed as you are, lady," he said with a small smile. "I will return with him in half of the hour. Will that be time enough for you to make yourself presentable?"

Ellen swallowed a giggle. "Aye, and thank you," she said. When he had left she stripped the sopping chemise from her. The salt water had left her body sticky, but using a rough cloth and a pitcher of water provided, she managed to cleanse and dry herself. She donned the fresh chemise and the rough brown robe. It was long on her, and so, hiking it up, she tied it with the knotted rope that had come with it. There was nothing she could do with her hair without a comb, and so, squeezing the water from her soaking braid, she left it as it was. A knock sounded upon her door.

"Come in," Ellen called.

The door opened to reveal Brother Griogair and a white-haired older man. "This is Prior Kenneth," the brother said. "I have already told him your tale, lady."

Prior Kenneth came into the guest chamber. "You will understand, my lady, that we are a community of men. A woman may not enter our premises, and so I must come to you." He sat down upon one of the two chairs near the hearth, and beckoned her to take the other. "Now, tell me, who was the villain who stole you away from your husband?"

"His name is Sir Roger Colby," Ellen said. "He has caused much trouble along the border in the last two years at the behest of his master, King Henry. Finally my husband, with the Earl of Bothwell‘s aid and the king‘s approval, gathered together a vast troop of clansmen from several border families. They completed a series of fierce raids into the English border, breaking up Sir Roger‘s own band of raiders, burning a number of villages, and looting. These actions caused Sir Roger to be discredited in the eyes of King Henry, and he swore revenge against my husband."

The prior nodded. What she was telling him wasn‘t anything he hadn‘t heard before, for he had in one form or another. This constant raiding back and forth between the Scots and the English was nothing new, but tragic nonetheless. "Go on, my child," he said to her. "How was it you were taken?"

"In midsummer a sickness swept through our village and out among the cotters. One day as I tended to a family at the farthest reaches of our cottages Sir Roger came and kidnapped me. He threatened the cottage goodwife, a widow, and her children. Her eldest daughter had been whoring for the English for coppers, and had betrayed me."

Prior Kenneth tsked and shook his head wearily. Was there no end to human perfidy? "You were taken into England?"

"To Colby Castle, where I have been imprisoned ever since," Ellen said.

"Tell me how you tricked your captor into allowing you to escape," the prior asked her. If she had been imprisoned for several months, why had she not previously attempted to escape? he wondered.

Seeing the doubt and concern in his eyes, Ellen considered how best to explain. "For many weeks after my capture I was imprisoned in the dungeons of Colby Castle," she began. "There was no opportunity for escape. And then when I sickened I was brought from the dungeons to be kept in a tower of the castle. The door to my rooms was locked from the outside. I saw no one but whoever brought my meals, either an old servant or the castle sergeant. And then Sir Roger began to visit me in an attempt to seduce me. I rebuffed his attempts, reminding him I was a chaste wife and mother."

Both the prior and Brother Griogair looked uncomfortable with her recitation, but Ellen continued on. "Finally this morning I was brought to the hall, where Sir Roger told me I would come to his bed tonight. He seemed to believe that by dishonoring me he could have his revenge on Duncan, my husband. I taunted him, calling him a coward, and saying he had not the courage to loose me, give me an hour‘s start, and then hunt me down, if indeed he could. He is a proud man, so he agreed, insisting that I be barefoot and wear naught by my chemise." Ellen laughed softly. "I am Highland born, and until I was sent to court rarely wore shoes. And I remembered my grandfather telling me that an animal could escape pursuit by taking to water. I suspected Sir Roger would believe I should run from him cross-country, but I took to the water instead."

The prior nodded, smiling. "It was cleverly done, my lady. But surely once your captor went down to the beach he would have seen your footprints in the sand."

"I gathered grass as I climbed down the cliff side, and brushed my footprints away as I went,"

Ellen said. "By now, of course, Sir Roger may have figured out what I did, but he will have to ride the beach in both directions, and when he finds no trace of me in either, I do not know what he will do."

"He is obviously a very wicked man," the prior observed.

"Aye, he is," Ellen agreed. Then she said, "Good Prior, I have no wish to endanger you, or St.

Andrews. All I ask of you is that you send to my husband, so he may come for me and bring me home to Duffdour."

"I think I may have a better plan, my daughter," the old prior said. "Tomorrow Brother Griogair will take you to his cousin, Robert Ferguson, the laird of Aldclune. He is in a better position to help you reach your husband than we are. As you will be traveling in your brown robe with its hood up, you will appear to be nothing more than two poor monks to anyone you pass."