The girls put their plan into action, the very next night. After Mistress Blackmore had retired for the evening, they had silently risen from the bed and changed from their night gowns to their day clothes.

"Oh, lord, I am so nervous," Heather exclaimed.

"Me, too," whispered Alana.

"Take courage, both of you. Soon, we shall be on the road north, far from all this plotting and deceit," Rhona encouraged. "Now, Alana, are you ready to do your part?"

Alana nodded. Her eyes looked huge in the candlelight and Rhona quickly hugged her. "Be brave, Alana. You can do this."

Visibly gulping, Alana made her way to the door, whilst Heather climbed into bed, pulling the bed clothes right up to her chin. Her face had been carefully painted with red spots, using the redcurrants from their evening's dessert, and her eyes encircled with ash from the fire, making them look sunken. The candle next to the bed illuminated her cheeks, and in the dim light, she looked truly unwell.

Rhona positioned herself behind the door, a knife in her hand. Taken from their dinner tray, it wasn't the sharpest knife she had ever seen, but it would suffice. She nodded at Alana, who quickly went into action.

She opened the door and peered out to look at the guard. "Prithee can you come, my sister is unwell."

"What ails her?" he asked.

"She complains of a headache and a rash has appeared on her face. She must see a physician."

As predicted, the guard was hesitant to leave his post to fetch help elsewhere in the castle and wanted to see for himself if she was truly sick, before doing so. He followed Alana in and she led him over to Heather, who was playing her part perfectly, moaning softly as though in pain.

He leaned over her cautiously. "You are unwell, my lady?" Just as he began to recoil, after seeing the convincing red rash upon her face, he felt a sharp blade at his throat.

"Move and I will slit your throat," Rhona threatened him. He went to move and she pressed it further into his flesh. "Be still!"

He immediately realised how determined she was and, fearing for his life, did as she said.

"Stand up slowly and sit in that chair," Rhona ordered him. As he straightened up, she moved her blade to the middle of his back. She was too petite to reach his neck when he stood up so pressed it firmly into his back instead.

"You will not get far, if that is what you are thinking. There are guards at every exit," he growled.

"Oh, we will," Rhona spat back. "But that is none of your concern. Sit!"

He reluctantly sat down in one of the chairs and Alana and Heather immediately began to tie him up, using rope from the bedside curtains as bondage and a linen cloth to bind his mouth. Satisfied that he was well and truly trussed, they stood back.

"I will warrant he will not get out of those bonds," noted Heather with satisfaction.

"Aye, now we must make haste," Rhona urged.

Alana had already picked up two candles and, giving one to Rhona, they made their way from the bedchamber.

They reached the storeroom without hindrance, mainly due to the fact that they kept their movements as silent as possible, travelling furtively along the shadowy corridors and shielding their candlelight when they heard anything. Although her nerves were on a knife edge, Rhona relished the knowledge that they might finally be free from this English prison and reunited with their family. It spurred her on to escape, even though she knew that, if caught, they could be actually thrown into one of the dungeons rather than enjoy the luxury of their own room, as they had before.

Freedom was too precious, though. Determined to succeed, the three girls entered the storeroom and closed the door behind them.

* * *

The first notion Leon had that there was a fire within the castle was when Jacques came flying into his chamber.

"Leon, make haste! The storeroom is on fire."

Startled, he shot up in bed and ran a hand over his sleep-filled face, trying to focus on what Jacques was saying. "A fire?"

"Aye!" Jacques rushed back out of the room, leaving a draught of air in his wake. Leon quickly threw back the bedclothes and leapt from the comforting warmth of his bed. Quickly lighting a candle from the hearth, he grabbed his clothes off the chair and began to hastily dress, adrenalin fuelling his movements.

How had a fire started in the storeroom? What the devil was going on?

Within minutes, he was on the scene. A great fire was raging, flames whipping out from the storeroom into the corridor. Several serfs and knights alike were working together to try and dowse the flames.

Theo was in the thick of it, passing buckets along as the water arrived. Leon called to him. "Is anyone harmed?"

Theo shook his head. "I know not. We cannot get in there to see but I have not heard any cries. I think mayhap 'tis just the cloth burning. Lord knows what started it."

Leon frowned as a sudden unwelcome thought sprang to mind and, acting upon it, he quickly bounded along the corridor and up one of the staircases. The castle occupants were already being awoken, ready to evacuate, if need be. Several people walked past him, and he mentally identified every one of them to make sure the captives were not amongst them.

It was then, he saw Mistress Blackmore heading towards him, her face showing absolute panic. She reached him and clutched onto his arms. "They have escaped! Those wicked girls tied the poor guard up and they are gone!"

"You are certain?" Leon asked. "You searched the chamber—they are not hiding?"

"Nay, the guard said he saw them leave. I have looked everywhere. They have vanished. I went to wake them because of the fire and found the guard trussed up like a goose and the girls' bed empty."

The guard who had been on duty appeared just behind her, his face flushed with anger.

"They had it all planned, my lord. Lured me in, by pretending one of them was sick, and then pulled a knife on me. They left as soon as they had tied me up."

Leon swore under his breath and spoke to Mistress Blackmore. "Take heart. They cannot leave the castle grounds—there are guards at every exit. It would be impossible."

He turned to the guard. "Come with me. We will search them out. They cannot have gone far."

They left Mistress Blackmore clasping her hands together in the corridor, her beady eyes swearing revenge on the conniving brats.

Leon rubbed his forehead as he made his way back down the staircase. God's bones but the king was going to be angry. Running a hand over his trim beard, he thought hard on where the girls could be hiding.

* * *

Rhona, Heather and Alana were in a row, flattened against a stone wall in the outer bailey. They had made it thus far without hindrance, due to the comforting cloak of the darkened night.

They could hear the commotion within the castle as the occupants tried to put out the blaze, but the guards on the outer posts would never leave their position unattended. This was where their second plan was going to be put into action.

Rhona gripped the knife tightly in her hand. They would only get one chance at this so it had to be a good one. This all harboured on a hope that the guard wouldn't recognise them.

"Shall I go now?" Heather whispered.

Rhona looked over to the guard, illuminated by the burning torch mounted against the wall on the postern gate. Most of his attention was focussed on the keep, where the bright orange flames could be seen flickering from one of the lower windows. The acrid smell of burning smoke wafted over to them and Rhona wrinkled her nose.

"Do it now, Heather. We do not have much time left."

Quickly, Heather moved over to the guard and slowed down a pace when he noticed her. Sashaying her hips, she plastered a bright smile on her lips and fluttered her eyelashes. Putting on her best southern accent, she moistened her lips suggestively and placed her hand on his sleeve. "Would you like some company, sir? It must get lonely standing out here on your own?" She smiled winsomely and, placing a hand on her skirts, raised them a little to show him a shapely ankle.

Even from that distance, Rhona and Alana could see she had gained his attention. Moving to his side, Heather managed to carefully position him so that his back was turned to them.

Moving swiftly and silently, the two girls rushed up to the guard. That was Heather's cue to launch herself at him with all her might so that he would fall to the ground. The only trouble was the guard was burlier than they had hoped and it ended up with the three of them hanging onto him. Rhona's knife went flying and so did she, nearly, just managing to hang on for dear life.

"Get off me!" he growled, trying to pull them off, one by one.

Rhona shrieked at Alana. "The rock, Alana! Use the rock!"

Alana had already been bashing the guard with the rock but had only succeeded in getting his arm. Luckily for her, he chose that moment to reach down to Heather, who was in the process of kicking his legs for all she was worth. Alana lifted her hand and, using all her might, she smacked it down on his head. He teetered for a moment before losing balance and crashing to the floor.

Unfortunately, he fell straight on top of Heather. Winded, she lay there in shock. Alana and Rhona scrabbled towards her, pushing against the guard's great hulk to set her free.

"Seize them!" Suddenly, a deep voice filled the night air. It was Leon.

Alana screamed at Rhona, "Run! I will stay with Heather! Go!"

In extreme panic, Rhona looked over her shoulder at the postern gate and came to a quick decision. Hiking up her skirts, she made a run for it. Alana was right. At least, if one of them could get away, they could get help.

Her heart in her mouth, she wrenched the wooden door open and legged it though the archway, towards freedom.

* * *

"What do you mean she got away?" King William barked at Leon. "How do you think that makes me look? I will tell you—a laughing stock, that is what."

Leon's jaw tightened. He had looked and looked for Rhona but she had been too quick for him. Hidden by the dark of the night, she had been nowhere to be found.

Now he had the king's wrath to deal with.

"I suppose I should be thankful that we still have two in custody." The king continued, "At least I have two hostages to try and bring this damned Scottish king to heel." He paced in front of the fireplace, his face contorted with anger. "We still have no word from him." He threw his hands up in the air. "Mayhap he cares not a whit for these girls. If only I could get his son as a hostage, then he would bow down to me. He is a thorn in England's side. Always, he seeks to take our lands. 'Tis wherefore I returned from Normandy so soon."

It was common knowledge that King Malcolm had besieged Newcastle, only a few months ago, hence the reason King William had made a hasty return to England.

He stopped pacing and turned to fix Leon with a look. "You will place two guards outside the girls' room at all times. The door is to be locked. Mayhap I was foolish, allowing them the freedom within the castle, but no longer."

"As you wish, sire."

"And Leon—I will hold you personally accountable, if either girl goes astray."

Leon bowed stiffly. "Sire." He walked away, wondering if Rhona would manage to make her way back to Scotland and silently lamenting her loss, in more ways than one.

* * *

A week later, Rhona had indeed made it home. Through sheer determination and perseverance, she had managed the long journey, bartering with stolen food and goods to hitch rides with any cart going north.

She had kept her identity secret for most of the journey, for fear of being captured again. When she was safely in the north, she secured passage back to Penrith with a band of travelling minstrels, promising them a handsome reward, if she was returned safely to her parents.

Once they had found out her identity, they had promised to not only help her, but if they could perform for the Scottish king, that would be reward enough.

So she had walked back into her parents' arms, tired and bedraggled, but thankful to be home. Her mother had fussed over her, ensuring she had a nice warm bath in front of the hearth and plenty to eat. Tucking her up in bed, she had promised they would speak in the morning. For now, she was to get some rest.

The next morning, Rhona awoke to a cloudy, blustery day, but it did nothing to dampen her spirits. It was so good to be home. She stretched and thought of her two cousins, still captive at Winchester.

If only all three of them could have escaped, as planned. She swore softly. At least, she could now organise some sort of rescue mission, for she wouldn't rest until they were back home where they belonged. She needed to know why her uncle had failed to rescue them or even attempt to do so.

She threw the bedcovers back and slipped from the bed, quickly washing before getting dressed. It felt luxurious to have fresh clothes again. Her mother had already taken away her old clothes, sleeping rough had taken its toll on the material and she doubted the servants would be able to remove all the mud and grass stains.

On light feet, she descended the stairs and went to break her fast.

Her little sister, Bethoc, looked up, when she entered the room and beamed at her. "Did you rest well, Rhona?"

"Aye, Bethoc. It was heavenly." She took a seat at the table and reached for some bread. How she had missed proper cooked food, these last few days. The divine smell of the freshly baked loaf assailed her nostrils as she cut a thick slice. Whilst buttering it, she asked Bethoc where their parents were.

"Father left last night, just after you went to sleep. He is joining our uncle in battle, for he is invading England again."

Rhona gasped. "Truly?"

Her mother, Hextilda, entered the room, having overheard their conversation from just outside. "Aye, daughter. Malcolm has been planning this, ever since we knew of your capture."

"I thought he did not care enough to attack," she reasoned. "We had no word."

Hextilda tutted loudly and shook her head. "Of course, he cares! It takes time to organise a battle, and he has no intention of King William ruining his plans."

"I must go with them!" Rhona said, springing up from the table.

"You will do no such thing, young lady!" Her mother marched over, and placing her hands on Rhona's shoulders, pressed her back down into the chair. "We lost you once; we will not lose you again, do you understand? 'Tis bad enough that poor Heather and Alana are still captive." She pointed her finger at Rhona. "And a battlefield is no place for a woman, Rhona. Aye, you are good with a bow and arrow but that is all. And remember, your father wishes you to behave as a lady—not as a man."

Rhona slumped her shoulders, realising her mother had a point. "But I feel so useless."

Her mother pushed an errant strand of hair from Rhona's face and smiled reassuringly. "Leave this to men who know what they are doing. As God wills it, Heather and Alana will be returned to us before you know it."

"I hope so."

"Now, finish your breakfast. I am going to help with the livestock."

When her mother had left, Rhona chewed slowly on the savoury bread, deep in thought, until her sister moved position and sat right next to her.

Bethoc was only eleven and had an inquisitive mind. She placed her elbows on the table and framed her face with her hands before asking. "What was it like in the castle? Did they torture you?" She grabbed one of Rhona's hands and turned it over, inspecting it. "Douglas said the English often stick pins in your hands and eyes to make you tell them secrets."

"Bethoc! No such thing happened and Douglas should not go around scaring you like that."

Douglas was one of the farm hands, an old man, and one who should know better. She mentally made a note to have a word with him. Aye, he may have heard such stories but poor Bethoc should not be told such things.

Rising from the table, she went in search of her bow and arrow. Even though she could not join the battle, it would do no harm to practice her skills, in case it was needed.

* * *

King Malcom was incensed that King William dare take members of his family hostage and had wasted no time in gathering his kinsmen for another attack. He planned to move even further south and hit the English king where it hurt —by taking his precious English soil.

He would claim yet more land and redraw the border between Scotland and England in Scotland's favour. He also planned to get Heather and Alana back home. He had spies, and with a little cunning and plenty of bribery, he was certain he could get them set free. Or so he had tried to assure his worried brother, Donald.

He would certainly never acknowledge King William's over lordship. Never.

Two weeks later, King Malcolm had to do exactly that. The Norman forces of King William II of England advanced north and captured Carlisle and Cumbria, driving out the Scots from their stronghold.

Confronted by William's vast army, Malcolm quickly retreated and was forced to acknowledge William's over lordship, for fear of even more bloodshed.

Satisfied, William returned south and, as agreed, Heather and Alana were returned home, unharmed, back into Scottish hands.

For the moment, at least, peace reigned.