Captured by a Laird (4 page)

The hall went silent. Not one man stepped forward.

Alison swallowed back her panic and pointed to Walter, the large, black-haired warrior who was captain of the guard. When Walter shook his head, she pointed to another.

“Nay,” the second man said. “The Beast of Wedderburn would cut me to pieces and feed me to his dogs.”

Cowards!
She would take a horse and go herself, but she could not leave her daughters.

“Without my brothers’ warriors, we are lost,” she said, desperation clawing at her stomach. “Is there no one brave enough to try to save us?”

Garrett, a stooped, elderly man who tended the horses, came forward. “I’ll go, m’lady.”

Alison glared at the other men. Surely the old man’s bravery would shame one of them into stepping forward. The silence in the hall deepened.

She brought her gaze back to her lone volunteer. The fate of her daughters, her home, and her lands depended upon this old man sneaking past the claws of the Beast of Wedderburn.

“I’m grateful to ye, Garrett,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Don’t fret, m’lady, the Beast won’t catch me,” he said, and winked one filmy eye. “I know all the back routes.”

Old Garrett probably had been stealing cattle since he was twelve, like the rest of these Border men, so he might have a chance. She gave him the sealed parchment and squeezed his hand.

“May God bless ye for your courage and guide your path.”

***

Alison ignored her growling stomach and tried to concentrate on her needlework as she sat with her daughters by the hearth, but each time the outer door of the hall opened, she looked up.

“I’m tired of stitching.” Beatrix slumped her shoulders and gave Alison a pitiful look. “Is it not time to eat yet?”

A rush of guilt swamped her. There was so little food left that she was forced to ration it. Even her daughters had to make do with smaller portions.

“Your uncles will be here soon,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Then all will be well.”

“If your Douglas kin were coming, they would be here by now,” a deep voice came from behind her.

She turned to see Walter standing over her.

“That devil Hume must have caught the old man,” he said.

“’Tis too soon to say that.” She refrained from adding that Walter should have volunteered himself. Poor Old Garrett. If Wedderburn had murdered him, it would be her fault.

“’Tis been a full week since he left,” Walter said, staring down at her with his hands on his hips, as if there was something she could do about it.

“I know precisely how long it’s been.” Her nerves were strained after another week with no supplies getting through. She gave her daughters what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Disguising her ever-present fear from them was becoming difficult.

“They’re here!” One of the guards burst through the doors and his shouts rang through the hall. “They’re here!”

Alison sprang to her feet and clasped her hands together.
Praise God.
Garrett had made it through with her message after all.

“We are saved,” she told her daughters. “We shall have a grand feast tonight!”

Her smile faded when she saw that the men were scrambling for their weapons. She grabbed the sleeve of one of them as he ran past her.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“The Beast of Wedderburn has arrived.”

CHAPTER 4

A week after the siege began, Alison went to the top floor of the tower and climbed the metal rungs fixed to the stone wall to reach the roof. When her head cleared the opening, she saw two guards crouching behind the parapet.

“Any sign of the Douglas warriors yet?” she called to them.

Whether Old Garrett delivered her message or not, her brothers were bound to hear of her plight eventually and come. The only question was whether they would arrive before she was forced to surrender.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” the younger of the two guards said. “’Tis too dangerous. Their arrows can reach this far.”

“You’re here,” she said, and held out her hand for him to help her climb out onto the roof.

Her breath caught as she looked about her. Hundreds of warriors surrounded her castle. Inside the keep, she had been able to pretend the threat was not so grave. But up here she had a clear view of the enemy she faced, and she felt like a doe cornered by dogs.

She had not truly feared for her personal safety until this moment. After all, she was sister-in-law to the queen. Her brother was one of the most powerful men in Scotland. But as she surveyed the armed warriors encircling her home, she understood that a man who would attack her castle in spite of her high connections was not bound by the constraints that would normally protect her.

Her attention was drawn repeatedly to one Hume warrior who sat motionless astride a great black steed. She could not make out his features from this distance. Surely, he could not see her any more clearly than she saw him, yet she felt his gaze piercing her like a shard of ice.

“Is that Wedderburn?” she asked the guard, though she knew in her bones it was.

“Aye, that’s the Beast himself.”

“Do ye believe we can expect mercy from him?” she asked.

“From Wedderburn?” The guard’s expression was grim. “I fear not, m’lady.”

“Then we must hold out as long as we can.” She thought of her daughters and shuddered.

“I pray that your brothers arrive soon,” the guard said.

Alison, too, prayed for deliverance. But she was losing faith that it would come from her brothers.

***

David watched as his archers shot another round of arrows over the walls. How much longer would the damned woman hold out before she gave in to the inevitable? He had hoped to take possession of the castle peaceably, but she did not appear to have the sense to open the gate.

“Shall we set the arrows aflame and burn them out?” one of the younger warriors asked.

“This castle will soon be mine. I don’t intend to destroy it,” David snapped. “We’ll wait them out.”

David stared in disbelief as the figure of a woman appeared on top of the roof of the keep, her wine-red gown flapping in the wind like a banner against the gray stone.

“Halt your arrows!” he shouted, raising his hand.

She was making herself a bloody target, standing up there in that gown. No one but the lady of the castle herself would be dressed in such finery. What kind of fool was she to draw attention to herself when arrows were flying?

He had lost all patience with the Lady of Blackadder. It was time to force her hand.

***

“I’m not hungry.” Alison waved away the bowl of watery broth, though the smell made her stomach growl. She could not recall when she had last eaten.

She watched the rest of her household hungrily spoon their broth, then lift their bowls to their mouths and tilt their heads back so as not to miss a single drop. Which was worse, to condemn the men to a slow death by starvation or to a quick death by the sword? She could not bear to think of what the women might suffer. And so, each morning, she told herself she would wait one more day for her brothers. But they had not come.

One of the servant’s babes began crying again, and that was the last straw. She could not bear it anymore. One more day, one more hour, what did it matter? Her message had not reached her brothers, and the Douglases would not come to save them.

She gripped the table as she stood up and waited for the lightheadedness to pass.

“We shall surrender,” she announced to her household. “May God and Laird Wedderburn have mercy on us.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The walls reverberated with a pounding like thunder. Shouts and screams erupted in the hall. Beatrix and Margaret flung themselves at Alison and clutched at her skirts, wailing.

“What is it?” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the noise.

“A battering ram,” one of the men said before he raced for the door.

After waiting so long to starve them out and force a surrender, why was Wedderburn attacking now?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The floor vibrated beneath her feet, as if Thor himself were beating his anvil in the castle yard.

What should she do?

If the Humes stormed the castle, there was sure to be a bloodbath. If she gave up peaceably, perhaps some of her household would be spared. She turned to the nursemaid, who was looking about the room wild-eyed, and clasped the woman’s hands around her daughters’ hands.

“Flora, take the girls to our bedchamber and bar the door,” she said. “Open it to no one but me.”

She ran out of the keep and stood at the top of the steps. The courtyard was in chaos. Castle defenders were rushing to the gate to help those who were already piled against it, attempting to use their weight to hold it against the ceaseless pounding.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Tell him I surrender!” she shouted. “Open the gates!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She shouted again, but no one heard her. She ran down the steps. She must make the men heed her. “Surrender! Open the gates!”

The sickening sound of splintering wood reached her ears.

“They’re breaking through!” someone shouted. “Run for your lives!”

It was too late. With her heart in her throat, Alison picked up her skirts and ran. She had to reach her daughters before the attackers burst through the gate intent on murder and mayhem. Jostled by her own men, who were also running for the keep, she nearly fell twice, but she managed to make it inside.

The noise in the hall was deafening. The shouts and screams followed her, echoing off the stone walls of the stairwell, as she raced up the stairs to reach her daughters.

“Let me in!” She pounded on the bedchamber door with her fists.

When the door flung open, Beatrix stood in the doorway, with her sister just behind her. Flora sat on a stool in the far corner moaning and rocking herself.

Alison slammed the door behind her and threw the bolt across. When she whirled around, her daughters were staring at her, their eyes wide in their pale faces. She fell to her knees and caught them in her arms.

“There, there.” Alison never lied to her daughters, but she lied to them now. “Everything will be all right.”

Another glance at Flora, who had been old when she was Alison’s nursemaid, told her the poor woman would be no help.

The clank of swords and shouts of men came through the window and filled the bedchamber, sending panic coursing through her veins. The enemy was inside the castle walls now. Alison prayed that the doors to the keep would hold. She buried her face in her daughters’ hair, breathing in their familiar scent, and wondered if it would be the last time she held them in her arms.

There was a loud crash, and a roar went up. Suddenly the sounds of fighting were coming from the hall below as well as from the courtyard. She must protect her daughters. But how?

Alison remembered her husband’s sword, which she’d placed in the trunk at the foot of the bed for safekeeping, and forced herself to release her daughters. With trembling fingers, she fumbled with the keys tied to her belt until she found the right one.

She heard boots on the stairs as she unlocked the trunk. She tossed aside blankets and gowns to reach the sword.

Click, click.
She jumped at the sound of someone lifting the door latch. Her heart pounded in her ears as she lifted the sword from the trunk and struggled to pull it from its scabbard. When she jerked it free, she stumbled backward.

Bang, bang.
A fist pounded on the other side of the door. The bolt held, but for how long?

“Stay behind me,” she ordered her daughters.

She stood in front of them and faced the door with the sword in her hands.

***

David strode through the battle raging between his men and the castle defenders in the courtyard and headed straight for the keep, intent on his goal.

The castle would fall quickly. The defenders lacked leadership and were in disarray. His only concern was whether the castle had a secret tunnel for escape. During the siege, he had spread his men out through the fields surrounding the fortress to keep watch. But he had concentrated his forces for the attack and most were now inside the castle. If there was a tunnel, he must secure the widow and her daughters before they had a chance to escape. He did not relish the idea of having to chase them down through the fields with dogs.

The defenders had foolishly waited too long to withdraw to the keep, and most were caught in the courtyard when David’s men burst through the gate. He barely spared them a glance as he ran up the steps of the keep.

With several of his warriors at his back, he burst through the doors brandishing his sword. He paused inside the entrance to hall. Women and children were screaming, and the few Blackadder warriors who had made it inside were overturning tables in a useless attempt to set up a defense.

“If ye hope for mercy, drop your weapons,” David shouted, making his voice heard above the chaos.

He locked gazes with the men who hesitated to obey his order until every weapon clanked to the floor, then he swept his gaze over the women. Their clothing confirmed what he’d known the moment he entered the hall. Blackadder’s widow was not in the room.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the closest Blackadder man.

“Who, m’lord?” the man said, shifting his gaze to the side.

“Your mistress!” David picked him up by the front of his tunic and leaned in close. “Tell me
now
.”

“In her bedchamber,” the man squeaked, pointing to an arched doorway. “’Tis up the stairs.”

David caught a sudden whiff of urine and dropped the man to the floor in disgust. The wretch had wet himself.

“Take him to the dungeon,” he ordered. The coward had given up his mistress far too easily.

David started up the wheeled stairs to the upper floors with his sword at the ready. He expected to encounter Blackadder warriors, protecting the lady of the castle. But there were none on the stairs and none guarding the door on the first floor.