Dryden's Bride (19 page)

Eventually, they found a fairly secluded spot in the outer bailey. They tied the horses and left the wagon, then headed back to the keep, stopping only once to make a sketchy plan.

“He’s probably got her locked in one of his rooms down below,” Marcus said. “There is the buttery. Beneath it are storage rooms and the quay where the river flows through. Those rooms would be Wrexton’s closest imitation of a donjon.”

“All right,” Hugh said quietly, as a cold sweat chilled him. He’d avoided closed-in spaces for the last two years. Only for Siân, would he go back into one. “Do you know how to get there?”

Marcus took the lead. Walking past the kitchen,
Hugh followed him silently till they reached the buttery, then came to a stone staircase leading down. There was a thick, oak door at the bottom, and neither man knew what they’d find beyond it.

Hugh gritted his teeth, and drew his sword. Marcus did the same. They both knew they had to go down in darkness, otherwise, they’d alert anyone guarding Siân.

Opening the door to what was sure to be a hell down below, Hugh took the first step.

Siân sat in Nesta’s small cottage and tried to pass the time working on the unending pile of mending that was always kept in a basket in a corner of the common room. She gained her strength back quickly under her aunts’ care, and other than a few scrapes and bruises, Siân was none the worse off for all the terrible hours she’d spent as Wrexton’s captive.

All that remained was for her to adjust to life back in Pwll. A life without Hugh, for he was most certainly en route to Clairmont even now, to claim his bride.

Siân tried to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the aching of her heart. Hugh was lost to her forever. He would have no reason to travel to Wales, especially not after his marriage. Clairmont—and Marguerite—would keep him occupied; and Siân would learn to live with the memories of the short time they had together.

Siân let the sewing drop into her lap as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the dismal chill of emptiness that came over her. She would not give in to tears again. They served no purpose other than to make her feel even more miserable. Facing the rest of her life without Hugh, knowing he belonged to
Marguerite, was bad enough without weeping about it every minute.

It was midmorning already, and the sun shone brightly. Suddenly unable to deal with the damp chilliness of the cottage, Siân stood up and put the mending away. She pulled a dark, woolen shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside.

Holding her head up high, she walked through the village, meeting only a few children along the way. None of the adults were out and about, which was just as well. Siân did not think she could withstand a harsh word at the moment, and she knew she was in for some. The people of Pwll had been more than pleased to see Siân leave them to join her Saxon brother. She did not think they’d be overjoyed to have her back.

Even with the sun shining down on her, Siân was certain she’d never feel warm again. After all those hours in the cold, wearing the same torn and soaking clothes, she craved the heat of the sun. She intended to walk out to the western fields, where a few large boulders lay scattered about and she’d be able to sit in warmth and in peace. But she did not get very far. As she approached the church, she heard voices raised in dissension.

There was a gathering of people in front of the little church with the crumbling tower that had been only minimally repaired. Siân wondered what was going on, but she had the sinking feeling it was about her. She searched the crowd, and finally saw the faces of her aunts and several of her older cousins.

“We hide her, that’s what!” cousin Rhodri cried, and Siân knew he was talking about hiding
her
.

She could not tell if the villagers were in agreement
or not, but there was a loud murmur of reaction to his statement.

“No one has to admit to seeing her,” Nesta said with an urgency in her voice. “Just because he lost her does not mean she would come here to Pwll!”

“But where else would she go?” one skeptical man demanded.

“It does not matter,” Bethan replied. “Wrexton does not know
where
they lost her. She could have gotten away miles and miles from here.”

“My sons have already gone out to the woods and seen to it that Wrexton’s men will not find any trail leading back to Pwll,” Nesta said, surprising Siân, who had no idea that the boys had done any such thing.

“We all keep quiet about her, and Wrexton will be none the wiser,” Rhodri said.

“Besides, she’s one of us!” another one of the villagers called. “Like it or not, we must take care of our own!”

“We cannot abandon the lass,” the squire of Pwll said, “not when her father was one of the leaders of the great rebellion.”

There were rumbles of discussion again, and Siân could not tell whether the consensus was for or against her staying among them. She hadn’t known she would cause such a stir by returning home. Tears burned the backs of her eyes when she realized she was still not wanted. Even if her aunts and cousins and the squire managed to convince the people to remain silent about her return, her presence was just as dangerous as it had always been. She could not stay.

Too overcome to speak to the crowd, to tell them she would leave Pwll, Siân backed away. She felt like a child again, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
She was alone again, but this time she was forced to flee in order to avoid bringing disaster again to the people of Pwll.

“Whoa, there!” called a gray-bearded man from his perch high upon his swaybacked nag. He was directly behind Siân, and she nearly ran into him and his horse. “You’re in a terrible hurry, lass.”

Siân still could not speak. She gave the old man an apologetic look and started to back away, but her desire for escape was thwarted by the crowd of people who were interested in the stranger in their midst.

“Ho, peddler,” Squire Powicke called as the villagers began to gather around.

“Greetings to you fine people of…Pwll, is it?” the old man said as he dismounted. He turned to loose his packs and pull them off the horse. “I bring you fine herbs and potions from my travels abroad….”

Siân did not care to stay and listen. Dejected as she was, she tried to make her way through the crowd, but was stopped in her tracks by the peddler’s words. “I bring comfrey from York, dittany grown in Llanfair, lavender of the Cumbrian hills, and fresh, precious foxglove from Castle Wrexton. Who of you has the dropsy…?”

Siân pushed her way back to the peddler. “What news from Castle Wrexton?” she asked the man.

The old fellow grinned. “Oh…now that’s a pretty story,” he said.

“Tell us!” the people cried, always hungry for news from abroad.

“It can be told from yon public house,” the peddler said as he shouldered his packs and started walking toward the alehouse. A large number of people followed
him, crowding around when he got himself situated comfortably on a short, wooden stool.

“The earl’s got two men imprisoned, both,” the peddler said after a pint was poured, “mighty knights of England.”

“Who are they?” Siân asked, dismayed over the possibilities. If Windermere had sent knights to rescue her, and they’d been caught…

“Never heard any names, but they say the earl was expecting these villains.”

“Villains!” some of the voices exclaimed excitedly. Talk of villains was a good portent of a lively story ahead.

“Of a certainty,” the peddler reiterated. “The two came in disguised.
Disguised!
As wood peddlers, of all things, when all they were after was the earl’s gold.”

Siân breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, no knight of Windermere would go thieving across the countryside. It was no one of consequence to her, and she turned to make her way out of the room when the peddler continued.

“They stole through the castle gates, but the guards had their eyes peeled for just such blackguards,” the peddler said. “You see, the earl had a notion that they were to be invaded, and set the guard to watching for a man with a black eye patch.”

Siân stopped cold. The room swayed and she closed her eyes.

“Wrexton had them bound and taken to the courtyard, where they were whipped and beaten,” the visitor continued, “and he plans to hang ’em on the morrow.”

Siân put trembling fingers to her lips. “Dear
Jésu…
” she whispered, then turned and pushed her
way out of the crowded public room. She did not stop running until she reached Aunt Nesta’s cottage.

“Dear God in Heaven,” Siân said, raising her teary eyes to Nesta, who had followed her home after hearing all that the peddler had to say. “It’s
Hugh
. Oh, why did
he
have to come for me? He should have been safely on his way to Clairmont….”

But Hugh Dryden was an honorable man and a chivalrous knight. Of course he had come for her.

Siân suddenly stood. “Madoc,” she said to one of her young cousins as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll need to borrow some of your clothes.”

“What are you going to do, Siân
verch
Marudedd?” Nesta asked, lines of worry crossing her face.

“I must go to Wrexton,” she replied, following Madoc to his box of spare clothes. “I have to help Hugh.”

“But you cannot go alone,” Nesta said, “Wrexton will—”

“—never even know I’m there.”

“Oh, Siân, how can you—”

“I’ll dress as Madoc,” she said. “No one will know I’m female, and they will certainly never know I am Siân Tudor.”

Nesta shook her head and Siân hugged her aunt. “This is something I
must
do,” Siân said earnestly. “Don’t you see, Auntie? When I tried to kill Wrexton for what he did to Dafydd and Idwal, I wasn’t able to carry it out. I’d have been as evil and twisted as
he
is. But I can save another two men from him.

“I won’t let Hugh and his companion hang for me.”

S
iân thought it through, and decided that she could not allow anyone from Pwll to go to Wrexton with her. She would not endanger any more lives than necessary, and Hugh’s was already on the line.

She dressed in her young cousin’s clothes, pinned up her hair and put on a cap, effectively obliterating all femininity from her appearance. For good measure, she rubbed a thin layer of dirt across her nose and cheekbones before setting off for the hills to the east.

She took the higher ground because she could see farther, and the choice of paths soon turned to Siân’s advantage. As she hiked east, toward Wrexton, a company of knights rode past on the lower road. None of them glanced her way, and luckily, there were enough trees for cover, so she was not readily obvious to them.

From her vantage point on the wooded bluff, she turned and watched Wrexton’s knights ride west. There was no doubt in Siân’s mind that they were headed toward her village. No matter where her “guards” had lost her, it was reasonable for them to assume she had somehow gotten back to her old home.

Siân vacillated between going back to Pwll to try
and keep her village from trouble, and continuing on to Wrexton. Finally concluding that the villagers would remain silent about her return—after all, that’s what her family had already proposed—Siân decided she had no choice but to continue on her way.

Returning to Pwll would serve no purpose, anyway, other than to get her captured again, and taken to Wrexton under the watchful eye of a new guard. She could not help Hugh that way. But if all went well in Pwll, the knights might be set to scouring the countryside in search for her—keeping them away from Wrexton and her attempt to get Hugh away from the unscrupulous earl.

It was several miles to Castle Wrexton, and Siân followed the instructions given her by her cousin, Rhodri, who’d once journeyed there. However, she walked quite a bit off course at one point, and did not realize her mistake until she reached a promontory that overlooked the entire valley. And that’s when she spotted the majestic castle, nestled on the banks of a small river, in the distance to the north. It looked as if the river flowed
under
the castle wall, but Siân could not be sure from this distance.

Correcting her course again, she headed due north for Wrexton.

She did not know exactly what she would do once she reached the castle, only that she had to find where Hugh was being held and somehow free him. It broke her heart to think of him going through anything even remotely similar to his imprisonment at Windermere. For all she knew, he was jailed in some donjon beneath Wrexton castle, subjected to some of the same horrors he’d experienced two years before.

Siân would not stand for it. Somehow, she was going to free him.

When she reached the castle, there was plenty of commerce going back and forth on the bridge over the river, but she was worried. If Wrexton had anticipated Hugh’s arrival at the castle, would he not have warned his men to watch for
her
as well?

Ambling like a young boy around the town at the foot of the castle wall, Siân occasionally glanced up at the guards within. Somehow, she had to get in without alerting them to her presence. But how?

She tried to move as if she had somewhere to go, some other children to find, so as not to attract attention to herself. But still, she had no idea how she would manage to gain entrance to Wrexton’s keep.

And then she saw it. Lying on the ground, among the high reeds that grew alongside the river, was the one thing that was going to make her task at Wrexton child’s play.

It was a nice, round leather camp-ball.

Siân looked around. There were plenty of children about—children who could easily be drawn into a game, if only it looked interesting enough. She pulled the ball out of the reeds with one foot, clasped her hands behind her back and started kicking the ball, tipping it back and forth between her own two feet. This was a version of camp-ball that was particularly popular in Pwll, so Siân was quite proficient at it.

She continued maneuvering the ball around her feet as she crossed the drawbridge and moved along to the outer bailey. She showed considerable skill as she kicked the ball around, attracting a small audience of young faces.

One young boy joined her, and they volleyed the ball
back and forth, sizing up each other’s abilities. Then another two came along, and soon there were enough to make a game. They moved to the upper bailey, where there was more open space. Goals were determined and teams quickly chosen. Siân, who was presumed to be an older boy, started the game in the center of the “field,” kicking the ball toward the haywagon goal. Someone from the opposing team intercepted, and the game was on.

She was in!

Siân scored the game-winning point of a spirited game, making her a favorite among her new young friends. The boys were in awe over her skilled foot-work in this game of camp-ball that required the use of feet only to move the ball toward the goal. She’d played fairly, passing the ball and making sure to include all of the others, even the smaller boys who had little experience and even less ability at the game.

Children were gullible. Siân knew it and had counted on that fact when she gave her explanation of who she was, and where she’d come from. Not for one minute did they doubt that she was an orphaned Welsh boy named Madoc, who’d left home to come to Wrexton to serve the earl. They saw it as a great adventure.

Luckily, several of the young boys also saw it as their chance to show their new acquaintance around. Siân was able to explore every nook and cranny within the walls of Wrexton Castle, and listen to their talk of the two prisoners who were being held in the tower, at the top of the keep.

Siân was relieved to hear that Hugh was not chained in a dark dungeon, but wondered how she would ever be able to get him out of the high tower. It was likely
to be filled with Wrexton’s guards and Siân could not imagine how she would ever get past them. She shaded her eyes with one hand as she gazed up at Hugh’s prison.

Somehow, she would have to gain entrance to the place, disable the guards and free Hugh, without getting herself caught in Wrexton’s web.

It was impossible, she thought, completely discouraged now that she’d seen the place. How would she ever get up there, let alone get Hugh out?

Refusing to give in to despair, she forced herself to assess the stronghold as well as she could, notice every possible entrance, evaluate every weakness. Unfortunately, there were few.

The boys stopped at the well for drinks of water, and one boy, Robby, offered to go filch a bite for them all to eat from his mother, Wrexton’s cook.

“Might I come along?” Siân asked abruptly, handing the ladle to the boy next to her.

“Suit yerself,” the lad replied as he ambled off toward one of the doors that faced the rear of the bailey. “She’s liable only to have a bit of bread, but the lads will like it. She’s a good cook, my mum.”

Siân didn’t care how good a cook the boy’s mother was, only that this was a way to gain entrance to the keep, and perhaps manage to take a look around. She did not think she’d be able to slip away to wander freely about the stone fortress, but it was worth a try, as long as she remained cautious.

The kitchen was hot. But it smelled heavenly to Siân, who had not had a bite to eat since leaving Pwll. “Where is that jackanapes, Raulf?” one of the women demanded.

A huge joint of meat cooked on a spit over an open
flame in the center of the kitchen. A burly-armed woman turned it, and Siân’s mouth fairly watered with the savory smells of the cooking meat. There was a lot of activity in the kitchen, with the comings and goings of servants preparing to serve the evening meal, and Siân blended right in with Robby.

“Raulf’s gone, Mum,” Siân’s companion said as he slipped an apple to her. Siân shoved it into her pocket. “Have ye any wafers for the lads?”

“Go away, Robby, I’ve my own work to do,” the mother said as she put a flask of water and two crusts of bread on a tray, “and now Raulf’s work, to boot.”

“We can help you, Mum,” Robby said. “Just tell us what you need.”

Robby’s mother handed him a bucket and told him to fill it with water. She directed Siân to the buttery for ale.

When the two “boys” returned, Robby’s mother was still as flustered and overworked as before. She blew a strand of hair from her face as she picked up the tray that was now ready. Handing it to her son, the woman spoke quietly to him with one hand partially covering her mouth. Robby took the tray and headed toward the hall. Then he stopped and winked conspiratorially at Siân. “Come on!” he said quietly.

Siân did not wait to be invited again. They went to the far end of the hall, then exited the keep and walked around the corner of the buttery, where the stone building was built low over the river. She could hear the water rushing underneath, and wondered where they were headed. “Where are we going?” she whispered as she followed him around to an outside stairway leading down.

Robby admonished her to keep quiet and started down the long flight of stone steps.

Hugh sat on the cold, damp stone floor and watched Marcus sleep. Their little prison was a small storage room, closed in by a thick wooden door with a stout iron lock. It was a stuffy little room with no windows, and a sweet-sour smell permeated the place, like over-aged ale. Hugh was grateful it did not smell like the dank and rotting cavern where he’d been held prisoner at Windermere.

Hugh stood and paced the small chamber, thankful that at least there was one torch to burn. He knew he would not have been able to endure complete darkness. It was all he could do to bear this confinement—the stone walls around him and the low ceiling above him.

Worse, though, was not knowing what had happened to Siân. He had not seen her since their arrival at the castle, nor had Wrexton said anything about her. The earl seemed particularly gleeful, however, to have captured Siân Tudor’s two champions, and Hugh had a sinking suspicion that history was about to repeat itself. A fool like Wrexton would know only one trick, which he was likely to repeat at any opportunity.

From everything Siân had said about Wrexton, Hugh should have foreseen the trap at the castle gates. Obviously, Wrexton had surmised that someone would come after Siân, even going so far as to anticipate that it would be Hugh himself. He’d had his guards looking out for any strangers, especially a man with an eye patch. Now, he and de Grant were locked up in an impregnable little room where they could not help themselves, much less Siân.

Where was she now? Did Wrexton have her locked
up, only to bring her out when he was ready to execute her would-be rescuers? What was Wrexton waiting for?

Hugh knew he had to get de Grant and himself out before Wrexton had a chance to repeat his vicious stunt for Siân’s benefit.

But how would he manage it?

One of Marcus’s eyes was bruised and swollen shut, and the other was damaged almost as badly. He’d taken a lot of vicious blows to the midsection and Hugh suspected the young man had some cracked ribs, although he was a strong, well-conditioned knight. He would recover. The question was—how soon?

Hugh’s back and shoulder wounds were painful, as well. The stitches in his upper arm had torn out, but that was the least of his problems. He did not know whether he’d be able to wield a sword, even if he could get his hands on one.

They were a pitiful pair.

Muffled noises were audible outside. “Marcus,” Hugh said as he crouched down next to his companion, touching his shoulder gingerly.

De Grant tried to open his eyes, with only partial success. He groaned and pulled himself painfully to a sitting position, leaning his back against one of the large wooden casks that lined the walls of their cell.

“Someone’s coming,” Hugh said. “Do you think you can—”

All too quickly, there was a key in the lock, and the door slammed open. They’d missed their chance to act.

“Stay back, now!” the turnkey demanded harshly as a young boy entered the chamber, carrying a tray laden with coarse, brown bread and drink. An archer stood just behind, with his bow at the ready, an arrow knocked and ready to fly.

Hugh stood still, keeping his eye on the archer, knowing that one untimely move could get either himself or Marcus killed. A small cough from the doorway distracted Hugh momentarily, and he glanced at the second boy who’d come to look at the prisoners.

Then he glanced again. Siân!

Sweet
Jésu
in Heaven! Hugh was not high in the tower, but here! Down
below
the keep! And still, there was nothing Siân could do! She could not overpower the burly turnkey as well as the archer. She’d managed to push her way through with Robby, and gotten Hugh’s attention, but what now? At least Hugh could rest at ease somewhat, knowing she was not in Wrexton’s clutches.

But
he
still was!

Her eyes drank their fill of him, taking in all the new injuries, the new damage to his arm. He was battered and filthy, a few days’ growth of beard shaded his jaw, and his eye patch was gone, so the scar was fully visible. But the sight of him had never been more appealing. She could not have loved him more.

Siân would have to get him out. Somehow, she would figure a way to return to free Hugh and the man imprisoned with him. Catching his eye again, she silently mouthed the words, “Soon. Be ready!”

With no idea whether or not he understood her message, Siân took the tray from Robby as the jailer shoved her back. She turned of her own accord and went back through the passageway with the boy and the two guards. Discreetly studying her surroundings, she realized that this would be her only chance to get a good look around, to come up with a plan for getting Hugh out.

Beyond the room where Hugh was being held was another short flight of steps that led down to the water, and with the waning sunlight streaming into the tunnel below, Siân could see that there was a small boat tied there.

This would be the only way to get back in, she thought dismally, though she needed more information. Where did that tunnel lead? Would she have to swim to get back here again? Somehow, she had to get a better look at the jetty where the boat was tied.