Chapter 32
Tristan reined in his horse, certain he’d seen something waver in the trees to his left. Brom pulled up beside him, his eyes scanning the area. They’d been over every acre of the woods outside the castle, back and forth, searching under the craggy, exposed tree roots, in the odd cave, poking at snowdrifts. Too many days had gone by without a ransom demand. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, refused to admit it, but he knew at this point, Brom and the others had stopped hoping Fay was alive. They were searching for her body.
Some of Sir Walter’s men came from the direction of the river, and they all met in the snow-covered training field behind the castle. The place he’d first shown off for Fay. Their eyes told him the answer was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. The sun was almost set, and he hated the thought of her being alone in the dark.
He only ate at the urging of Sir Walter to keep his strength up to continue the search. At supper they discussed where they had gone, who they had spoken with. They were repeating what they’d already done. Sir Walter had news from some of the surrounding landholders, but none of them had heard anything. They were, indeed, shocked to find Lady Fay had gone missing.
She wasn’t in the forest, or any of the farmers’ tiny houses or outbuildings. No one had seen anyone abducting her or even reported any visitors passing through the village. Everything was shut up tight against the constant snow and icy winds. As he paced the floor of his chamber, he listened to the gentle patter of the snow against his window covering. It was deceptively peaceful, but it made the search all the more difficult, covering tracks, keeping people indoors so they didn’t know what went on in front of their own noses.
He slammed his fist into his open palm. Who had taken her? And why hadn’t that person made their demands known? If it was money they were after, he knew Sir Walter would have paid any price. If it had to do with the recent attacks on the outskirts of his land, then the marauders would have gloated over their revenge if they had taken her. The castle was dark and quiet. Unable to sleep, he set out once again, this time on foot.
With every step, he prayed to find her miraculously safe and warm. She’d laugh at him for worrying, having only wandered off and got lost while looking for birds’ nests or some other wild story. He found a clearing where the moon shone down on the untouched blanket of snow and fell to his knees in it, feeling around until his hands went numb. He’d seen the others beating the bushes and poking the white hillocks, thinking she’d frozen to death while trying to seek shelter. The first two days they’d called her name until they were hoarse, but now they just rode and searched silently. He was the only one who still called for her but now here he was, so tormented by the unknown that he was willing to think the worst. Had his love not been enough and the curse she so feared finally claimed her?
He stood and looked at the churned up mess he’d made of the tranquil clearing. His heart told him she was still alive and that he should move on, continue searching. The snow continued to fall until he could barely make his way through the deep drifts and he headed back to his chamber, exhausted enough to fall asleep at last.
*
After a scant bit of restless sleep Tristan dragged his weary body out of bed. A quick bite to eat and he’d be good to go again. He hadn’t liked the hopeless look in Sir Walter’s eyes the night before and was afraid the man was giving up. He didn’t think he’d be able to accept that. Before he reached the doors to the great hall, he saw Batty, the master of the horses’ wife, and Lady Anne’s maid Marjorie huddled together on a bench, looking like they were in a heated argument.
He looked at the closed doors, knowing the warmth of the great hall awaited him, but also those hopeless eyes of Sir Walter’s. He stayed in the drafty hall and walked over to them.
“It’s altogether possible,” Batty insisted, glancing at him. “Sir Tristan, you’ll agree. I’ve had the most—I don’t know if it’s a good or awful thought.”
“What is it?” he asked, making her flinch with his harsh tone, yet he couldn’t soften it. Not if she had an idea where Fay might be. “Tell me at once, girl.”
She glanced at the stable master’s wife and that woman took her hand. He rolled his eyes, but tried not to shout with frustration. Finally Batty stammered, “It’s only that she’s so absent-minded sometimes.”
He looked to the other women. Marjorie refused to meet his eye, but Mrs. Merrick nodded vociferously.
“It’s true,” she said.
He sighed. Fay had told him a little about this, when they’d further discussed the curse she was under. Even now, fully believing her, his mind reeled when forced to think of it. It seemed when she arrived from her own time, she, of course, didn’t know anything. It must have been the same for the poor lost souls who came before her. As such, she’d been labeled, unfairly according to Fay, a bit flighty. He himself had thought so, and worse. He’d thought she might be going mad.
“Very well,” he agreed cautiously.
Batty clasped her hands together. “She sometimes got lost, especially in the back part of the castle. Of course, that’s mostly for servants so there’s no reason she should be back there often, but still … she’s lived here all her life.”
“One time, months ago this was,” Mrs. Merrick cut in. “She asked me where the dungeons were. Can you imagine?”
He stared at them. Marjorie twitched and looked worriedly behind her, as if she wished more than anything to be away. He agreed with her, wishing he had bypassed these tittering hens so he could get back to searching.
“Don’t you see, Sir Tristan?” Batty asked, reaching for his arm. Her big, round eyes were full of tears. “There hasn’t been a ransom, and your men along with Sir Walter’s haven’t found a hair of her outside. What if—what if she was poking around somewhere in the castle and possibly hurt herself? Fell down some stairs or—” she put her face in her hands, trying to keep from crying in front of him.
He patted her shoulder. It was just the kind of daft thing his Fay would do. He no longer believed she was on the verge of losing her mind, but she was altogether too reckless. He felt his cheeks heat up as he thought of how deliciously forward she’d been their first night together. And he was the only one who knew she hadn’t been living at that huge, rambling castle her whole life. It would be very easy for her to get lost.
“You may be on to something, Batty,” he said. “Where do you think she might have gone?”
“Do you really think she’s been lost somewhere inside for five days?” Marjorie asked incredulously. “Even Fay isn’t that …” she trailed off at his look and bit her lip. He continued to glare at her until she bobbed a curtsey and turned to flee. “I suppose I can start looking for her.”
He watched her trot away, then turned back to Batty and Mrs. Merrick. “Can you both start looking?”
“I’ll check the north tower at once,” Batty said. “We never go over there, it’s just old, broken furniture and supplies the physician uses sometimes.”
“Very good. I will speak with her father about this.”
“I’ll search the kitchen cellars and the servants’ quarters,” Mrs. Merrick said, hurrying off.
Batty looked up at him gratefully. “I pray I’m not wrong. And I pray we’re not too late. Oh, my poor Lady Fay… You were supposed to be married yesterday.” She fled for the stairs.
Why had neither of them thought to check the dungeon when Mrs. Merrick had expressly mentioned Fay asking about it? He shook his head, wondering why she would ever be curious about such a place, but that was his Fay. He’d have to learn to understand her because, as odd as she was, he couldn’t live without her. His anxiety wasn’t lessened to learn she might be within those very walls. It had still been five days and, if she was hurt badly enough that she couldn’t find her way back from wherever she was, things were no less dire than they had been a few moments before.
The two women had taken off with the speed of a freshly loosed arrow, but Marjorie had gone straight down the hall and wouldn’t be far. He’d find her and ask her where the dungeons were. He couldn’t believe he was beginning to feel foolish for not having thought of it on his own, and much sooner. But who got lost in their own home?
He sighed. He had to remember who it was he really loved. It wasn’t Lady Fay Grancourt, but plain Fay Driscoll from hundreds of years in the future. She said she had worked at a shop. It fairly made his head want to burst to imagine such a thing, but it didn’t dampen his love for her at all. He felt a sense of pride that he’d found such a unique woman. Pride and luck. Now if only the luck would still be going strong.
He saw Marjorie turn down a dark, narrow side hall, but before he could call out to her, she disappeared.
“What in all the saints’ names?” he murmured, hurriedly following to see what had become of her.
It turned out the hallway abruptly ended in a sharp corner. Behind the corner was a wooden door set with wide hinges and a heavy bar across it. It was ajar, just enough for the slight Marjorie to get through. As he made his way down a steep, curving stairway, he realized he had inadvertently set himself on the proper track to the dungeon. The cold, dank smell the further down he climbed gave its identity away.
It was almost completely dark as Marjorie and her single candle were so far ahead. He wondered how she moved so swiftly without falling face first down the old crumbling stairs. He was pleased one of the girls had half a mind to her, and wanted to call out for her to wait, but didn’t want to startle her into tripping. His stomach churned as his descent continued, half-hopeful and half-terrified of what they might or might not find.
Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, the terrible smell nearly overwhelmed him and he wasn’t particularly fussy about such things. His heart ached that Fay might have been stuck down here all that time with her sensitive nose. He stood at the landing, a small, round room that led off into three short hallways. He saw the candle bobbing at the end of the center hall, so decided to check the one to his right and took a step into the darkness.
“Oh no,” Marjorie gasped. He hurried back toward her, not daring to wonder what her exclamation was about. “Are you still alive?” she then asked. He burst into the dank cell she had entered. She jumped and shrieked at the sight of him, then pointed to the lump on the floor. “It’s Lady Fay,” she said shakily. “I just saw her move.”
“Dear God,” he uttered, not sure if he was praying or cursing. He dropped to the filthy floor and pulled her into his arms. Her head lolled against his chest and she made a dry, rasping sound. Her frail hand reached for him, but dropped once again to her side. “Fay, love. My dearest. Open your eyes.” Her lashes fluttered and he turned to Marjorie, still standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and fearful. “Run for help. Leave the candle,” he demanded.
She dropped it with a clatter to the floor and took off running. The walls were so thick inside the cell that her footsteps were muffled the instant she was out of the short hallway. He stroked the damp hair off Fay’s brow, horrified she’d been in this cold, dirty place for so long. Finally, her eyes opened and she managed to grip his tunic.
“You found me,” she said, licking futilely at her cracked lips.
He had to get her back upstairs at once. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, not wanting to jostle a broken bone.
“Not hurt,” she whispered. “Hungry. Thirsty. Where am I?”
He carefully gathered her close to his chest and stood. “Grancourt Castle,” he said worriedly. “You’re home.”
She shook her head, wincing with the effort. “But why would I be held here?”
“What do you mean, my love? Didn’t you wander in here on your own?”
That perked her up and she pulled at his tunic, wanting to be set down. He feared she was too weak to stand so held on tighter.
“Someone hit me over the head and I woke up in there. Really, Tristan, put me down. I feel better now.”
She struggled in his arms and when he set her down, she stood with no trouble, not even a slight waver. It was a complete turnaround from the half-dead girl he saw lying on the cell floor only moments before. He looked around him, then at her, surprised to see the look of despair on her face. He had a queasy sensation and put his hand to his head to stop a bout of dizziness, something he’d never experienced before.
“What is this place?” he asked, taking in the rank odor and darkness.
She reached out and he looked down at the small hand that clutched his wrist in a desperate grasp. “Tristan,” she said, voice shrill. “Oh my God, do you know who I am?”