CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alexander was not going to stay at a fortress under siege.
He entered the castle bellowing orders faster than his stewards could move. All of the wagons would have to be left behind for now. He and his entourage would have to travel quickly and on horseback, and leave within the next few minutes if they were to make it out in time.
But there was one particular man in his entourage that he wanted a moment of privacy with. His bodyguard, Ridge de Reyne, was at his side. A mountain of a man with black hair and dark eyes, Ridge was the king’s shadow. He was seen but rarely heard, a defender of the most elite class.
Ridge de Reyne was a man to be feared.
He was also English, gifted to Alexander by none other than the king of England, Henry, as part of a peace overture between the two countries. Alexander had been suspicious of Ridge at first, but the man had proven himself time and time again. He could not do without him.
“Lady Josephine will depart with us,” the king informed Ridge. “Find her and bring her.”
Ridge looked doubtful. “She is with the soldiers in the outer bailey, my lord, and is most likely attached to d’Vant.”
The king stopped abruptly. “I do not care if they are joined at the hip,” he said through his teeth. “Get her any way you can. Knock her unconscious if you must. She leaves with us and we leave now.”
Ridge had little choice, but he seriously wondered how he was going to get hold of the woman. He’d been watching her since his arrival and he knew that d’Vant was quite protective of her, as was Sully Montgomery. That never mattered until now. Now, Ridge found himself having to concoct a plan to abduct a woman who was never alone. That wasn’t part of his usual duties as defender of the king but, evidently, he’d just been given the task.
With nothing more to say, he saluted the king and jogged off, his mail and sword jingling gaily as he moved. He had a woman to capture and very little time to do it in, and hopefully without bloodshed. His bloodshed.
Ridge was a man who followed orders no matter what they were. It was what he’d always done and how he’d become such a valued possession of a king. He was a man who never questioned an order but, in this instance, he was having to take action on something that was out of his scope of work. At least, that was the way he looked at it.
The king’s bodyguard was about to become the king’s kidnapper.
*
Inside the keep, Justine saw the king with his stewards and noticed his haste. A passing servant told her that a Dalmellington onslaught was imminent and then the king’s haste seemed to make some sense. Even as the king was preparing and the rest of Torridon was preparing, Justine had some preparations of her own to make.
She had been through battles numerous times, but now it was different. Her husband, the man she had loved since she could remember, was facing a powerful foe to defend their castle.
Their castle.
Justine had always feared for his safety and for Josephine’s, but had pretended indifference. It was Justine’s way of self-preservation; if she didn’t admit to anything, then it almost didn’t exist. If she didn’t admit to fear or concern, then there wasn’t anything to worry about. But now, she wanted to go outside and find Sully and wish him luck. Yet… she knew he was too busy to bother with her.
Justine remembered the night before, how Sully had gently initiated their lovemaking and how she had given in to the man as if she’d been doing it her entire life. No resistance, no protests – she’d simply let him have his way with her, a testament to her feelings for the man. He was very quickly becoming everything to her and she didn’t want to lose him in some foolish battle.
Now that she had him, she didn’t want to lose him.
But she had a job to do and she was determined to do it. In fact, at the onset of a siege, everyone in the keep had tasks, even the maids. Ola and Darcy, Justine’s maid, brought Justine’s medicines and herbs into the hall and began to heat water in the hearth so they could boil linen bandages. Justine began busying herself over the hearth with her potions when a small child swathed in cloaks entered the great hall. Justine hardly took notice until the figure threw back its hood and revealed the wild red hair.
Andrew’s healer, Oletha, had arrived.
“I thought you might need help, eventually,” she said to Justine in her sweet, high-pitched voice. “I offer my services.”
Justine faced the woman. She had a great deal of respect for her since the night she had diagnosed Josephine’s condition – not hemlock, but dill – and she was grateful for the old woman’s offer.
“I graciously accept,” she said. “In fact, I should most likely be assisting you.”
Oletha wasn’t at all sure how Justine would react to her. The last time she saw the girl, Justine was calling her an incompetent. She half-expected Justine to throw her out. Instead, Justine seemed very receptive and Oletha was a little stunned at the hospitality. This was not the same girl she had met a mere few days ago, arrogant and stubborn. She knew about the girl’s marriage, but she had never seen it change a woman as such. A man, aye; but a woman? Nay. Sully Montgomery must be a great sorcerer, indeed; more than he knew.
As Oletha rolled up her sleeves and went to work preparing for the onslaught of wounded, it was clear that the smell of battle was in the air and everyone was inhaling their fill. The windows were shuttered and the bolt on the entry door was thrown. The great hall was a hive of activity, with the servants casting fresh rushes with the old to cushion the rest of the wounded that would soon litter the floor. It was a grim task; the calm before the storm, and Justine hated it. She always hated it, but she accepted it with stoic resolve because she had to.
Tying her hair back in a kerchief and pulling on an apron, she busied herself at the hearth with a kettle of healing herbs.
The death watch was beginning.
*
Outside, a huge storm bank was rolling in from the west. In the midst of battle preparations, Josephine glanced up to see the boiling clouds approaching and knew it was going to be a fierce storm, in more ways than one.
Sully was on the wall with the archers, keeping a sharp eye on the horizon where Colin was assembling his troops in formation. Colin was a student of Roman warfare and his soldiers were well-trained. Sully leaned against the cold stone, tilting his helm back and wiping his brow. He had the strangest feeling that this battle would decide the course of the de Carron – Dalmellington future.
Now that he was the official Master of Torridon, protection of the fortress took on a new, deeper meaning. This was where he would raise his own sons and, God willing, he would return it to Josephine someday. He never did intend to keep it. But Torridon was his home and it would always be a part of him.
The rain started. Far below Sully, Josephine stood with Severn and Henly as Andrew began giving orders. She was watching Andrew closely, impressed with what she saw. The man did this for a living and she could see that he knew much more of warfare than she ever could. It wasn’t simply his knowledge, but his manner with his men. A siege was imminent, but Andrew was calm and steady. He called each man by his first name. He used suggestions instead of criticisms, and a small joke instead of an unkind word. He was more a friend to them than a leader, but there was no doubt of his control.
Sully handled Torridon’s soldiers just as well, and they would easily die for him. But he lacked the depth of compassion that Andrew exuded. Compassion that turned deadly on an enemy and from which there was no escape.
But the man was certainly something to watch.
The outer bailey was quickly turning into a mud pool as the rain began to pound. Helmless, Andrew’s hair was turning into a dark, wavy mass as he turned from the men and caught sight of Josephine. He smiled at her and her heart leapt in her chest. But just as quickly, he was gone and she found herself moving with her knights to the wall.
Positions were about to be filled with an attack to fend off, but she had no way of knowing if it would be the last time she saw Andrew on the grounds of Torridon, now… and possibly forever.
There was no way she could have known that, at the moment, she was being hunted.
The hunter with the dark eyes had been tracking her for the last several minutes. When the woman would turn in his direction, Ridge would manage to hide himself, only to emerge when Lady Josephine was properly distracted. He lost himself in the hordes of soldiers in the outer bailey, but his gaze remained locked on to the lady.
He kept his eye on the target.
Damn the king! Ridge had known all along that d’Vant would never let the king take her away after the betrothal announcement and it occurred to him that Alexander had been planning some sort of abduction all along. The king knew he couldn’t fight off The Red Fury and he didn’t bring nearly enough men to fight off the mercenary army.
Therefore, Ridge was left with the dirty work.
While his sovereign and entourage had already left the castle through the gatehouse that was just being shored up, he remained behind carrying out orders that would surely provoke a mighty wrath were he discovered. Ridge was good with a sword; one of the best in Scotland, but he sorely doubted he could outfight The Red Fury.
Fortunately, Andrew was too busy with battle preparations to be able to stick close to his lady. She, on the other hand, was surrounded by several Torridon knights, and Ridge had no intention of taking them all on. Therefore, he waited, angling himself over towards the east wall where the huge ladders led to the platforms that lined the top of the fortress. He knew that eventually she would mount of those ladders and, mayhap, if he was quick enough, he could grab her. There were enough supplies, weapons, and other clutter to hide behind, so he crouched down in the sludge.
He didn’t have long to wait. Lady Josephine and a young, blond knight were headed his way, talking between themselves. They were in the shadow of the wall, concealed from the walk above and from most of the bailey view, and Ridge knew his time was coming. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get another chance to be this close to the woman and he knew he had to take the opportunity. As the lady and the knight drew closer, he reached into his vest and drew forth a dagger with a six-inch blade.
His eyes glittered with anticipation as Lady Josephine came to within arm’s length of him. As she put her hand on the wood of a nearby ladder, Ridge’s gauntleted hand shot out and yanked her behind the bushels. Severn, momentarily stunned at what he just witnessed, drew forth his sword and followed her.
The first thing Severn saw in the dimness was Josephine on the ground in front of him. The next thing he realized, a dagger was thrust into his rib cage and he suddenly felt very weak. He wanted desperately to help Josephine as she struggled to her feet. He saw a very big man wearing the king’s colors move towards her, but he couldn’t seem to speak. His breath caught in his throat and he saw the knight knock Josephine savagely on the side of her head, knocking her back down again.
The last recollection of Severn’s life was a burly king’s man gathering the limp form of his lady and carrying her off into the storm.