Betrayed (6 page)

Amber came to an abrupt stop before the closed door. She was dressed, and hunger was an excellent excuse to seek Krayne out. Tentatively she reached for the knob. To her surprise and relief, it opened. In the dark passageway, she waited until her eyes adjusted. The wall was racketed with evenly spaced torches, all unlit at this time of day. There was only one way to go. To the right, the passage appeared to come to an abrupt end.

Shoulders back, chin high, Amber strode down the passageway, looking for the world as if she belonged. No one stopped her. She hardly dared believe it.

When she reached the top of a winding stairway, Amber hesitated. Krayne would not hear her out. He’d just haul her back to that infernal chamber and slam the door in her face. More likely lock her in this time. Was she missing her last opportunity to escape? Then she recalled Krayne’s face when he’d informed her that he
would
catch her again, and she started down the steps.

The sounds and aromas from the great hall reached her long before she turned the last spiralling bend. The castle was taking its midday meal. Keeping to the wall shadows, Amber walked slowly as she scanned the rows of trestle tables for Krayne. Serving women strode up and down the aisles, bantering with the men as they went. Everyone else was too busy eating and talking to notice Amber. Or so she thought, until she reached the end of the hall and turned to find Krayne right behind her.

“Going somewhere?”

Amber swallowed her startled gasp and smiled at him. “I was looking for you.”

He watched her carefully, saying nothing.

And suddenly Amber didn’t know what to say either. She should have planned this conversation beforehand. How could she make him hear her this time? She considered softening him with a seductive smile, but only briefly. She already knew he wasn’t interested in her feminine charms. So she set her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “We must talk. I know you hold no faith in a Jardin’s word, but I was born and raised in England. My uncle sent my father away—”

“I’m well aware of yer family’s politics.”

“Then you must know my uncle despises me.”

“He brought ye back ta Applegarth.”

“He believed I could break the curse!”

“Curse?” Krayne grabbed her upper arm, keeping her pressed to his side as he walked them both back down the length of the hall. “I can hardly wait ta see what ye come up with next.”

“My uncle will never exchange Stivin for me.” Amber dug her feet in, but Krayne simply pulled her along. “He wants me dead!”

“The exchange is tomorrow, Amber.”

“He won’t give you Stivin.”

“Yer stories grow more colourful by the second.” Krayne sighed his annoyance. “’Tis one day. One more day ta suffer confinement fer the sake of yer beloved Stivin.”

“Are you deaf?” shrilled Amber. “Or just plain stupid?”

He yanked her arm. Amber lurched forward, and then forgot all about convincing him as she saw they’d reached the foot of the spiral stairway.

“Wait,” she said as he hauled her up the first step.

Krayne looked down on her with stony eyes. “What is it now?”

She arched a brow at him. “I’m hungry. Am I not too valuable to starve?”

“Forgive me, lass. I must have assumed ye too distraught ta eat after the hardships I’ve put ye through.” Krayne turned and led her back into the hall.

“Are your assumptions always so far off the mark? For a man supposedly shaped by the land, I’d not expect your natural instincts to be this blunted.”

His grip on her arm tightened. “Ye have a clever tongue, Amber, I’ll give ye that. But might I suggest ye learn to recognise defeat?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she retorted. “In your eyes.”

Laughing his contempt, he pushed her down onto a rough bench, causing a stir as two men shifted to make room for her at the crowded table. When she checked over her shoulder, Krayne was gone. She cast a narrowed glance over the sea of heads and saw him take a seat at a table all the way across the hall.

He caught her eye and stared at her until Amber turned forward to the trenchers of warm bread, cheese and cold meats.

“Allow me,” came a voice to her left.

The man seated there held out a piece of meat spiked on his dirk.

With a decisive shrug, she cast off her scowl and smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

The food was excellent, the meat well spiced and the bread freshly baked.

“Ye be young Stivin’s friend?”

She returned her gaze to the orange-bearded man. He was of middle years, and had the broadest shoulders and a short neck. Despite the beard that seemed at odds with the yellow of his hair, he was not unattractive. “I’ve not known Stivin long, but he has a gentle nature that is easy to love.”

His head bent her way, a half-chewed bone resting on his lower lip as he spoke, “Yer taken with the lad, then.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.”

But hadn’t she contemplated a betrothal only two days before? It felt like a lifetime ago. And maybe it was. A fire had been lit inside her between then and now, a glimpse of what could be between a man and a woman.

What
should
be between a wife and husband.

If this unwanted desire that Krayne had stroked in her was good for one thing, it was that she now understood that Stivin deserved more from a wife than she could ever give him. “I could never do that to Stivin.”

The bemused chuckle caught her off guard, and she realised she’d spoken aloud.

“Ah, lass. Ye’re nae a hardship ta be endured, I assure ye. A mon could be that lucky.” His gaze rested on her for a long moment before he went back to his food with renewed interest.

Amber disagreed. Stivin deserved someone who’d melt at his kisses, as she did at…She tossed her head back indignantly. What nonsense. Krayne had never kissed her.

“Yer no eating. Forgive my hasty tongue, lass, I wouldna put ye off yer food.”

“Please, you’ve nothing to apologise for,” Amber told him with a quick smile. “I assure you that I’m ravenous.”

To prove it, she took a large bite of the cold pork, ripping the tender flesh from the bone with dainty teeth. She
was
hungry and she needed her strength if she were to attempt another escape. A plan would be nice as well, she thought, and mayhap a miracle or two. She continued the meal in silence, listening to snatches of the many conversations around her, all the while primed for the hand on her shoulder that would lead her back to her prison. It didn’t come.

Each time she looked up, it was to catch a set of eyes from one or another of the men sitting across from her quickly dropping away. The hall gradually emptied as the men went back to their duties.

Her unintentional eavesdropping had bought her vital information. The barmekin wall on the east side was being repaired, requiring many hands that would be taken from men usually deployed inside the bailey. There was also a training session planned in a field beyond the outer walls, which meant the portcullis would remain open.

Amber glanced casually about. The serving women were now collecting empty trenchers and ale pitchers. She was relieved to see Krayne had left. Two men stood just inside the archway leading to the stairs, heads bowed in serious talk. A lone man standing at the next table downed ale straight from a pitcher, then strode toward the castle door. Two women were still seated at a smaller table further down.

Had Krayne truly left her here alone and unguarded?

She looked to her left, to the orange-bearded one who’d long since finished eating and now patiently stared into the distance. Ah, yes,
he
was still here. One of the few who didn’t seem to have urgent business to attend to.

Unless
she
was his business.

“Are you my watchdog?” she demanded without preamble.

The man shifted uncomfortably. “I’m but ta keep an eye out fer ye, lest ye find yerself in trouble.”

“Lest I make trouble, you surely mean.”

“Nay, lass, after last night I’m no expectin’ ye ta run agin.”

“Of course not! That would be foolish and whatever else I might be, I’m no fool.”

“Och, lass, yer nobbit but an angel, sure ye are.” His enormous, scarred hand covered her hand. “My name be Red John.”

Amber fought the instinct to jerk her hand away as she caught the look of admiration in his eye. Mayhap she didn’t need a miracle after all. She licked suddenly dry lips, her heart beating at twice the normal speed. “Red John, that’s a bold name. How come you by it?”

His hand, so large his palm alone engulfed her hand, squeezed gently. “Nay, lass, ’tis no a story fer a fragile beauty such as ye.”

Amber leaned in to whisper close to his lips, “You
are
bold, a trait I find incredibly enticing in a man.”

His blue stare flared with unbridled lust. “If ye come wi’ me ta a private alcove, I’ll show ye just how bold.”

Her courage dimmed and Amber drew away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

But she did. And half her mind screamed to continue what she’d started, that this might be her only chance.

“Dinna fear, lass, fer I’ll nae hurt ye.”

Amber saw the truth in his eyes, felt it in the lightness as his fingers stroked hers, heard it in the softly spoken promise. Red John wasn’t nearly as tough and fearsome as he looked. She had no brewed potion to knock him out, but his gentle nature would work, as well.

She managed a sultry, “Not inside the castle. Take me to a secluded spot down by the river.”

Red John was on his feet before she finished, holding out his hand. “Aye, I know the very place.”

Amber rose, giving him her hand. “And if I change my mind, swear on your honour that you will not force me.”

“Och, lass, what beast do ye take me fer?”

Amber stood firm. “Swear.”

“On my honour,” he relented, then gave her a confident wink. “But ye willna change yer mind.” He pulled Amber closer and led her out the door. “We’ll ride together and ’tis no far ta go.”

“The farther the better,” Amber mumbled.

“What’s that, lass?”

Amber pasted on a smile. “Your boldness must be rubbing off on me.”

Krayne found Isla directing the sorting and washing of linen in the wash house, an outdoor chamber built up against the barmekin wall next to the forge. He called her aside and asked, “Did ye not send the midday meal up ta the Jardin lass?”

Isla snorted. “Aye, that I did. She’d have none o’ it. Said she wasna hungry an’ threw the trencher back in my face.”

The lie came easily. Isla had lost her father and two older brothers to Jardin skirmishes over the years. The Jardins had no honour, starting with the laird’s brother who’d run from his duty to Krayne’s widowed mother back then. That the girl had run last night, on Isla’s duty, kindled an already well-stoked fire.

“That woman’s a hornet nest of trouble and deceit,” Krayne muttered. “One day she’ll find herself caught in a web of her own making and I pray ta God I’ll be there ta witness it.”

Isla smiled at her laird. He’d never question a Johnstone over a Jardin. She’d keep an eye out for any further opportunities to ply misery on the Jardin spawn.

Krayne stepped out from the stifling air of the wash house into the cool May afternoon breeze. He strode across the nearly deserted bailey and passed through the gate.

That Amber was obviously up to her elbows in another scheme didn’t overly worry him. He’d decided to give her a taste of freedom, regretting his foul mood this morning and still hoping to lure her into a sense of security that would ease everyone’s minds until tomorrow afternoon. Red John was a trusted friend and battle-wise warrior who could teach Krayne a few war tricks. Amber was in for a sore surprise if she tried anything on him.

Krayne rounded the back of the castle walls to find the training under way. The men were duelling in the meadow that ran halfway up the west slope of Dundoran, forming a natural passageway bounded by dense woodland.

Alexander called a halt to the practice and gathered the men to him. “Break inta two teams and choose a leader.”

A roar went up as grown men squabbled like children for places. Krayne strode into the middle of the chaos with a broad grin. Alexander had introduced these mini battles to stroke the fever of war for more effective training. The winners were allowed to extract a forfeit from the losers, pushing the stakes so high, the game had to be strictly regulated.

Krayne seldom participated, but today the idea of thrashing through the woods with a broadsword held much appeal. He was far too restless lately and he’d like as not be forced to put a name to that horded energy unless he exhausted both mind and body. He waited until his men-at-arms had divided into two groups, then joined the weaker team. The crowd about him cheered, the men further down the field fell silent.

Alexander’s scowl reached Krayne across the field. Krayne grinned and saluted the captain. “Never eliminate the element of surprise, good friend,” he called out, enjoying the fact that Alexander obviously believed he’d chosen the wrong side.

When the men looked to him, Krayne shook his head. “Ye chose Gervis ta lead ye.”

Young Gervis sweated. At seventeen, he was more infamous for leading the lasses of Lochmaben astray than anything else, and now he was expected to give orders to his laird.

Krayne lifted a brow, waiting.

“Bare ye chests,” Gervis shouted, deciding on their identifying mark.

Krayne stripped his shirt from his britches and flung it over a branch. Most of the men wore plaid with nothing else anyway. At the end of the field, the other team had found a muddy patch and were drawing brown streaks across their cheeks.

“Now listen ’ere.” Gervis gestured his men closer so he could lower his voice. “Spread out through the woods, but keep in packs o’ three. They’ll come runnin’ straight fer us, I ken, but dinna get separated an’ wait ’til ye trap a mon alone afore attackin’.”

He looked to his laird for reassurance and took courage from Krayne’s wry grin. “The cocky bastards each be out ta prove he won the day single-handed. We’ll take them down one mon at a time.”