The Spellbound Bride (28 page)

"Make haste!"

Archibald held back the branches and slipped inside the narrow opening between the boulders, disappearing just as the clouds pulled away from the moon. Ian handed Henna through, while Archibald pulled her into the opening. When her feet disappeared from view, he pressed himself flat against the lee side of the rock.

"Hoy, you there!" A guard shouted from the Tower’s edge. His voiced echoed in the cold night, chilling Ian to the bone. He stopped breathing, hoping they might think his appearance a trick of the moonlight.

The scuffle of feet against the bridge alerted Ian that men had been dispatched to investigate. He dove into the bushes to locate the entrance. He slipped half of himself inside, but became wedged in the opening at his chest. It was too narrow for him.

Panic seized him. The guards were approaching. He pushed out his breath, then squeezed as hard as he could. He slipped through the opening, then flattened himself, face down, in the dirt of the passage as the bushes outside began to rustle.

"Matherson is addled. There’s no one out here."

"Aye. I think maybe he was angry we were playing cards without him."

The other chuckled. "Or he got a chill and shriveled his root out on the wall." The laughter increased, then faded as they moved away.

Ian rose to his knees and sat back, spitting the dirt out of his mouth and sucking in air to his burning lungs.

He heard footsteps in the passage. Argyll appeared.

"What took you so long?"

"You didn’t tell me that opening was so narrow."

"It’s slim, but passable."

"For you, not for me. We’ll never be able to get Sorcha through there."

"We’ll leave by another route. Pick her up and follow me. This tunnel continues up the hill toward the base of the tower. We’ll be able to gain access to the dungeons through a corridor near the tower. We’ll have to walk for a bit in the dark before we can chance lighting the rush."

If there was another route, then why had the lad chosen this one to get in? Ian gently lifted Henna to his shoulder and felt his way along in the pitch blackness, listening for Argyll’s breath and footfalls as they climbed upward in the bowels of the hill. About a half hour later he stopped.

Ian heard him fumbling with the small pack they had brought. The scrape and spark of flint stone lit the rush, and light blazed to life in the tunnel. Ian squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. They walked along with the flicker of the rush light illuminating only a few feet in front of them.

"We’re getting close to the end of it now."

Ian could only see blackness before them, and his skin tightened at the churning uneasy feeling in his gut. In any other situation, he would have heeded his instincts, but saving Sorcha and the child were all that mattered now.

"You’re certain of this?"

"Aye. Just a few steps more, and we should be at the door."

In short order, a wooden door materialized out of the darkness. Ian could feel the rush of air from beneath it.

"Beyond here we’ll be inside a hidden corridor in the castle itself. We can move along it and wait at the end, but we will not be able to talk above a whisper." The door made only a faint scraping as Argyll pushed it open.

They emerged into a dark passage pricked with points of light at regular intervals. It was a forgotten spy tunnel used to eavesdrop and observe various rooms within the castle. Argyll smothered the rush light. The stone floor felt smooth to Ian’s feet after the uneven base of the previous tunnel. He followed Argyll closely as they crept along. The passage wound about, following the edge of the tower, then took a sharp bend inward.

Argyll looked back at him and whispered. "We’re getting close to the dungeons. We should stop for a while. There will be no point in going to fetch her until after they come for the other prisoners."

Ian nodded and was grateful to set Henna down. The woman weighed at least ten stone when she was asleep, and was breathing deeply. His back and arms ached from carrying her, but the fight in his blood was stronger and thicker than the pain.

While they sat and ate a small serving of dried meat, cheese and bread, Ian listened. He could hear the movements within the castle increase as dawn broke. The light in the tunnel increased as well, the pinpoint openings making strange circles of light where dust motes swirled.

For a time Ian slept as they waited. The noises within the dungeon awoke him. He jerked up and peered out of one of the peepholes. It was not long before a group of guards, dragging the sentenced women from the North Berwick witch trial one by one, passed by on their way to the burning stakes outside along the northeast corner of the Esplanade.

He tapped Argyll on the shoulder and pointed to the door, then motioned for him to keep quiet. His shoulders tensed.

When the last of the escort and the prisoners had disappeared from the hall, Ian nodded to the earl. They opened the sliding door out of the passage and found themselves near the entrance to the dungeons.

"They’re likely holding her in a larger cell towards the back," Argyll whispered.

"How many guards?"

"Only two, but they’ve probably gone with the others to take the prisoners up for the burning. No one wants to miss out on the spectacle."

They moved with caution toward the hidden door that opened from the passage to the dungeons. Ian put his ear against it, hoping to hear if a guard waited in the room beyond.

He motioned Argyll forward and propped Henna against the wall. Together they pushed the door open. Ian gently picked up the woman, and they slipped through. Finding no guard, they hurried to Sorcha’s cell.

"How did you plan to undo the lock?"

Argyll lifted up an iron key. "Donated to our cause by a worthy lord who lost badly at gaming and then conveniently passed out drunk."

When they reached her, she was curled up against the wall crying. Her sobs broke Ian’s heart. She jerked up when she heard the scrape of the lock. Even in the half-light he could see her face was swollen from her tears. He laid Henna down just inside the cell.

"Ian! Archibald!" She ran to the open door and launched herself at Ian.

He hugged her tight, lifting her from the floor.

"But you promised me you would leave for France."

"Aye, but I never promised to leave without you." He kissed her soundly, then set her down and reached out to lay a hand on the small swell of her stomach. "Are you well?"

She nodded and then began to weep once more.

"Is there something wrong with the babe?"

"Nay." She touched his cheek with a shaking hand. "I never thought I would see you again."

Archibald hissed. "The guards!"

Ian grabbed her hand and pulled her aside so Archibald could pull Henna into the cell.

"We must make haste," Ian said.

"Who is that?"

"It matters not. Go!" Archibald muttered as he dragged Henna further into the cell to the dark corner where Sorcha had sat.

They ran from the dungeons and into the hall. They rounded the corner, making a straight path for the hidden door.

A score of guards blocked their route of escape. Blood pounded hot and thick in his veins, as his heart hammered with fear for his wife and child.

"Take them!" yelled the guards.

Ian whipped around to see Argyll double back and disappear around the corner pulling Sorcha with him. Their only chance was for him to engage the guards and give them time to escape. Ian faced the closing guards. He pulled his sword.

His defense was sharp and quick. The blows felled three of the guards in short order, but there were too many of them. He swung, blocking an attack from the side, but they crowded in. Ian gave the attack everything he had, lunging and hewing at the guards, but their numbers seemed to only swell.

Suddenly pain shattered through his skull and vibrated down his spine. His vision ebbed, turning black as he dropped to the floor.

He awoke on the cold stone floor of a cell, the moldy, rotted straw beneath his face the most pleasant smell around him. Ian blinked, his head still aching from the blow that had knocked him out. When the blackness didn’t clear, he knew it was not from the blow, but because there was no light. He sat up and slowly stretched.

Worse than the throbbing pain that surrounded the egg-sized lump at the back of his head, was the ache of not knowing if Sorcha had made it out.

He sat brooding in the dark, listening to the thin crunching sounds the rats made as they feasted on who knew what in the fetid straw. It was too dark to see much, but Ian felt along the walls to give him an idea of the cell’s size. A solid locked door and no windows made escape impossible. He sat back against the wall, curling his legs up and laying his aching head on his arms to rest. Escape didn’t matter. His mind and his heart were far away from the walls that held him. As long as Sorcha was safe, he could endure anything.

Chapter Nineteen

"Where are we?" Sorcha mumbled as she woke.

"Somewhere safe."

She remembered the flight from the dungeons and the carriage that had carried them out of the city. She looked up at the rafters of the small cottage, and a feeling of dread came over her.

"Where are we, Archibald?" she said again, this time her impatience clear in her tone.

He sighed.

"If you must know, we are near Urfildon. You’ve been asleep for several days. The escape must have taken a toll on you."

It was more than that. This place had a familiar smell to it that pierced her memory. It was like the cottage that had burned in her childhood. She shoved the thoughts away, concentrating on the moment even though her head still felt light.

"Where is Ian?"

Archibald shook his head and would not meet her eyes.

She grabbed his shirt front and pulled him face to face with her.

"Where is Ian?" she shouted. "You told me he was right behind us! That the horse we left behind was for him!"

Archibald’s face hardened.

"They caught him." He grasped her hands and tugged them from his shirt. "It was either fight or save you." He turned away from her and stalked to the other side of the room.

Regret settled like a stone deep in her stomach. Clearly Archibald had tried his best. She walked up behind him and laid her cheek against his back.

"I’m sorry, Archibald. You risked your life to save me."

He turned, wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest. His slenderness and youthful form made her long for Ian’s more powerful build. He would hold her and could easily tuck her head beneath his chin.

"You’re shaking."

It was not cold that racked her, but fear, desperate fear for Ian.

"What will they do to him?"

"Most likely hang him."

A wracking sob tore from her chest and she doubled over from the pain that filled her chest.

"We need help to save him," she said.

Sorcha’s mind whirled. She began kneading fistfuls of her skirt in her hands. Was there any corner to which she could turn to find help? Her uncle would hold no influence with the king, certainly Archibald would have tried, had he thought he could.

"We must contact his brother, Lord Hunterston. He has influence."

Archibald sighed.

"You are overwrought. ‘T’isna’ good for the bairn." He put his arm about her, walked her back to the bed, then sat her down and laid her back against the soft down pillows. He covered her with a warm sheet and blanket.

From his coat he produced a leather flask.

"I have been to see a midwife in the village and had her prepare this to fortify you and the babe." He poured some noxious looking black liquid into the wooden cup on the beside table and handed it to her. "Drink."

"What is in it?"

"A whole host of things, but I do not remember them all. Licorice root, dandelion and the like."

Sorcha sipped at the concoction, but her stomach rebelled.

"You must drink it all."

"I will, but not just now. I am feeling ill."

"As long as you finish it."

"Aye, I will."

Later in the morning, when the sickness had subsided, she drank as much of the liquid as she could stomach, but could not finish more than half of it. She felt tired again, and owing it to the babe, she let herself fall back into the bed and sleep.

The familiar dream enveloped her again. Her dark hair blew in the wind, the yellow blooms of the Scots broom danced out of reach of her chubby hand. The smell of smoke came to her, and she ran, stumbled and fell.

She reached the fairy ring and there sat her mother, carding wool. She looked up, her face smiling and motioned for Sorcha to sit by her in the springy green grass. The smell of smoke was gone. Sunlight danced among the leaves.

"Mam, why are you here?"

"I always am."

"Why aren’t you carding in the cottage?"

"It isn’t safe."

"But what about Anne, Caroline and John?"

"I am here for you." The answer calmed her and dissipated the fear that clung to her dreams.

"May I help?"

Her mother handed her the carding boards and a bit of washed wool to stretch and comb. She looked down to see her hands were no longer chubby and small, but slender and long.

"Where is Ian?" The fact that she knew of him didn’t seem surprising. Mam knew everything.

Sorcha looked into her kind eyes. "He’s in prison. The guards caught him."

"You love him, don’t you?"

"Aye."

"Then that shall be the saving of you both."

"I can’t get him out."

"Aye. You can’t, but what of his brother? Wouldn’t he help save his own kin?"

"I don’t know."

Her mother shook her head.

"You’ll never know unless you ask."

Sorcha pulled the carding combs apart and misjudged the pull. One scraped across her stomach, the tines digging in through her dress to rip her skin. Sorcha buckled at the pain.

She awoke with her arms wrapped around her stomach and spasms of pain racking her. It came in waves and, after the next crested and left, she sat up breathing in a gulp of air. Sorcha flipped back the covers. Blood, bright and red, smeared her thighs.

The pain returned, doubling, clenching, tight. She laid back trying to breathe. Where was Archibald? She called for him, but he didn’t come. She fought against the pain.

* * *

"Get up!" A booted foot slammed into Ian’s stomach. "You have a visitor." Ian gasped, then struggled to his feet. He blinked against the light of the rush that seemed intensely bright after his week or more in the darkness. He was bound at the wrists, then pushed along the dungeon corridor and up a flight of stairs to the interrogation room.

At the table sat Argyll. His court dress reflected his station.

"You may leave us."

"My lord, I can’t leave the prisoner— "

"I said leave us."

"Aye, my lord." The guards nodded and bowed before shutting the door behind them.

Ian leaned forward.

"Where is Sorcha? Is she safe?"

"She fares well enough considering she has lost the bairn."

He felt the blood leave his face and his heart sink.

"Lost him? When?"

"Aye, four days ago. I think the strain of the escape was too much for her, but she is resting now."

Ian scrubbed his face with his hands. This was all his fault. He should have taken her to
Chaumiere de Heureux
when he’d had the chance.

He looked up at Argyll and saw the familiar flash in the lad’s eyes and the cockiness of his demeanor. The oddness that had bubbled beneath the surface, was in full force now and Ian recognized it—Argyll was in love with his wife in a way that had nothing to do with kin or friendship and everything to do with full-grown desire.

The only thing he was sure of was that Sorcha did not return the lad’s affections in the same manner.

"Where is my wife?"

"It certainly took enough effort to get her away from you so I can convince her we should be together."

Ian narrowed his eyes, his mind not fully believing what the lad had just said.

"What?"

Argyll stood from his chair. He gave a brittle laugh.

"Surely you’ve noticed. She and I have cuckolded you right beneath your very nose."

Ian stood so suddenly, his chair toppled to the floor.

"You lie."

Argyll shrugged.

"It is only a matter of time before she sees the truth of it. If you had just let her remain at Moray’s estate as Bothwell had suggested, all of this would have been simplified and you could already be on your way to France."

He glanced around the room, then smoothed his hair back and looked down his patrician nose at Ian.

"You could have easily cried off when Bothwell’s men abducted her in the woods. The odds were uneven enough for the bravest man, no one would have been the wiser and I would have finally had her to myself."

Ian snorted, stalking toward the lad.

"And you think they would have let you?"

Archibald squared his shoulders in response.

"Aye. They promised her to me."

Ian’s brain burned with fury. He wanted to plant a fist into the young lord’s face.

"You bartered your services to Bothwell and she was payment? Of all the pompous, cowardly—Have you ever seen what troops can do to a woman? Do you even ken the danger you put her in, you little bastard? You play at this as if it were a game of wooden soldiers. These are men with political ambitions that could reduce you to nothing,
my lord
, not dolls for your amusement."

Argyll’s face turned ashen. Ian knew he had struck a chord in the lad. It was clear he had not considered the danger to Sorcha and cared for her deeply. Perhaps too deeply. If the earl’s desire for her crossed over into obsession, what else might he do to her?

Ian forced himself to be level-headed despite the anger that pumped through his veins. The lad was lucky he was bound.

"Where is she now?"

"Safe."

"From whom?"

"Anyone who would kill her for naught."

"Aye, but you yourself nearly did that. So how safe is she, Archibald? And how long will it last? Until your boyish attentions begin to annoy, rather than endear her to you?"

Archibald lashed out, striking Ian across the face.

"Enough!" he roared. "I will have her as my own and she will see the right of it, and damn the cost!"

"Spoken like a true child."

"Guard!"

The two guards burst in and clamped down on Ian before he even had a chance to turn around and prepare himself for the onslaught.

"The prisoner is being most uncooperative. Take him back to his cell."

"She will not have you, Argyll."

Lord Argyll’s face transformed into a mask of utter rage.

"She’ll have me, Hunter. And if she won’t, then no man shall."

* * *

The bleeding had stopped by the time Archibald had returned two days later. Sorcha had washed herself and put on a clean gown and was resting when the door of the cottage opened.

"Archibald! I’m so glad to see you. Where have you been?"

"I had to check on Hunter for you."

She sat up. "How is he?"

He settled on the bed beside her, then gently tucked her hair behind her ear.

"More importantly, how are you?"

"I’ve been terribly ill while you were away. There was a lot of blood, but I think I’m all right now. The pain has stopped."

"My poor love." He leaned forward, cupped the back of her head with his hand and kissed her full on the mouth. His lips were insistent and firm, his tongue reaching to thrust into her mouth.

Sorcha pulled back, startled, and gasped.

He grabbed her arms and yanked her forward, kissing her again, more brutally this time, his mouth hard and demanding.

Sorcha pushed away from him, slapping him in the face.

"Stop! Archibald what are you doing!"