Allyson followed the trio into the Great Hall and missed a step when more than a hundred pairs of male eyes turned toward her. Every guardsman and male servant at Chillingham must have been present for the morning meal. Allyson felt like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. She kept her eyes straight ahead as a maid led her to the stairs and to a chamber where she waited for the bath to arrive. She declined the maid’s offer to help her bathe because she needed time alone to assess the situation and begin planning. Allyson looked out of the window to orient herself within the castle and the surrounding land.
The chamber faced the rear of the keep, but it was too great a height for her to leap from the window and hope to survive. She crossed the chamber, and as she suspected, they’d locked the door. She placed her ear against the wood and could hear movement on the other side, even though she couldn’t distinguish what it was. Allyson presumed they posted a guard lest she try to escape when the servants arrived with the tub and hot water. She rushed to lay out a fresh kirtle, chemise, and stocking before the maid returned to direct the filling of her bath. Once she was alone again, she peeled down her stockings and removed the dirks strapped to her legs. She had a knife on the inside of one thigh and the outside of another. If ever a man raised her skirts against her will, she was prepared to defend herself. Part of the reason she didn’t want any help was because she had no desire for anyone to discover where she stashed her weapons. She pulled a sign dubh from its sheath at her waist. It looked like an ordinary eating knife while tucked away, but it was far more deadly. The short blade was razor sharp and pointed. She’d begun carrying it soon after arriving at court and the first unwelcome suitor attempted to accost her in a darkened passageway.
Allyson resolved to bide her time, obey her captors, and tuck away any information that might aid her newest escape endeavor. In the meantime, she would do what she could to get along and be as unobtrusive as possible. She appreciated the plain kirtles she had in her satchel, as opposed to the gowns she would have donned at court.
Chapter Ten
The sun’s first rays poked above the horizon as the Gordon twins prepared to mount alongside the other men in the search party. They would need the daylight to track Allyson. Ewan led the charge through the portcullis, but he swerved toward a copse of trees. His intuition told him Allyson must have stopped there if she hadn’t approached the keep. He reined in before dismounting when he spotted the disturbed earth. He kneeled and swept his hand over a spot where several hoofprints overlapped. He looked around and noticed a spot where something squashed the grass, as though a person sat there for an extended period. Taking the reins of his horse, he followed the hoofprints that separated into individual trails but moved in the same direction.
“Either Allyson’s hiding nearby from whoever came into these trees, or they’ve taken her.” Ewan looked south toward the invisible boundary between Scotland and England.
“Ewan, come look at this,” Eoin called to him. His brother had examined the same spot where the grass was disturbed but moved a few steps away from the hoofprints. When Ewan approached, Eoin pointed to a patch of dirt Ewan hadn’t noticed. “There was some struggle. Look at the footprints. Their pattern is in too much disarray to be men who stood around talking. These boot prints are smaller than the others.”
“Someone’s taken her then.” Ewan suspected he knew who took her and feared where she was being taken.
“It’s those bluidy reivers,” Kenneth proclaimed. “And they’ve dragged her to Chillingham. If they rode through the night, then they will be there. We ride for the border and the pieces of shite who took my lass.”
The party rode south the five miles that separated the Hermitage from England and crossed over. Ewan’s gaze alternated sweeping the surrounding landscape and watching the trail of hoofprints. They hadn’t traveled far into England before Ewan’s brow furrowed when he noticed a brightly colored piece of wool beneath his horse.
“Halt!” Ewan swung down from the saddle and pulled the threads loose from where horse trampled them into the grass. “This is yarn. I can’t imagine a man wearing aught this bright a shade of green, so my guess is it came from a woman’s clothing.”
“Let me see,” Kenneth examined the wool, then clenched it in his fist. “The last time Allyson was home, she helped die several spools of wool then began knitting a shawl that included yarn this color.”
Kenneth only knew of Allyson’s project because he’d had to pay for the expensive dyes and had objected, arguing it was frivolous. He’d hurt Allyson’s feelings and had seen the disappointment in her eyes. She’d offered to unravel the shawl and find a better use for the wool, perhaps making something for the less-fortunate members of their clan. Kenneth had felt so guilty that he refused to allow her to destroy what he could tell she’d worked hard on.
“My laird!” A guardsman at the head of the entourage called out. “I can see another piece of wool up ahead.”
Ewan jogged to where the warrior pointed and discovered several purple threads. They looked like they’d come from the frayed end of a garment, but it was another sign Allyson had passed that way.
“She wouldn’t have dropped these if she wasn’t leaving a trail. She knew people would follow her, but we have answered many a prayer tracking her with little difficulty,” Eoin commented.
The riders pushed on, following the ongoing trail of fabric until Chillingham lay over the next rise, and the remnants of a tattered shawl lay on the ground.
* * *
Allyson forced herself to swallow another spoonful of porridge. It looked and tasted more like sludge, but she understood she needed the sustenance, or the lightheadedness she experienced as she stepped out of the tub would leave her unable to protect herself. She kept her head lowered as she ate, but her gaze shifted among the people gathered on the dais and at the tables below. The only women she noticed were the servants, and many of them looked haggard, sporting bruises on their faces, necks, and arms. Allyson could only imagine what their clothing hid. She shuddered as a warrior grabbed a young woman’s arm and pulled her into his lap before squeezing her breast. Allyson saw more than heard the responding whimper, but what concerned her the most was the woman’s acceptance of the poor treatment. She tolerated being manhandled even when she flinched as the man’s hand wandered up her leg beneath her skirts. Allyson used all the restraint she possessed not to order the man to cease, realizing making a scene would endanger her and the servant.
“I propose that tour is in order, my lady.” Allyson jumped at Sir John’s menacing tones, but she could do little more than nod. She laid her spoon on the table and rose, hesitating before placing her hand in Sir John’s. He guided her off the dais and toward the doors of the Great Hall, leading her outside. “You had the opportunity to see the bailey when you arrived, but there is much that lays around the keep that might hold your interest.”
Allyson managed a nod while fighting a cringe as Sir John’s hand clasped hers in what appeared like a lover’s hold, but crushed her fingers. She held her head high and her back straight as Sir John led her from one building to another. She didn’t understand his interest in showing her so many storage rooms until she realized he was offering her places to hide as he taunted her with a game of cat-and-mouse. He wanted her to attempt to flee, and he wanted to be the one to find her. They returned to the keep through a side door before Sir John pushed her toward a descending set of stairs. Allyson was certain the dungeon laid at the bottom, but Sir John crowded her, denying her any chance to turn back. Lest she tumble down the steps and injure herself, Allyson had no choice but to walk down them. When they reached the base, Sir John’s breath tickled her ear as he reached past her to unlock a door. As he retracted his arm, his hand pressed against her breast before sliding down the front of her gown. Allyson could feel the metal of the keyring as Sir John used his other hand to open the door. He’d used his body to cage her in, attempting to intimidate her with his size and proximity. He intended her to understand that he remained in control, since he possessed the tool that could free her or lock her in.
Sir John was in no rush to reach their destination, making it appear as though they were strolling through a park rather than a dungeon. When they reached the end of the corridor of cells, many of which contained battered and broken men and women, the knight swung a large door open and nudged Allyson to enter the pitch-black chamber. She waited for what felt like an eternity before light flooded the room from the torch Sir John placed in a wall sconce. She recognized his tactic of trying to terrify her by leaving her alone in the unknown. Like an unpredictable wild animal, Allyson wouldn’t allow him to smell her fear. She’d intuited he’d brought her to his torture chamber, but she was unprepared for all the devices intended to create pain. Her eyes traveled over whips, cat-o'-nine-tails, metal cuffs, and wooden paddles before settling on the enormous stretching rack that appeared to take pride of place in the center of the floor. Allyson smelled the stench of death as much as she noticed the blood that stained the floor, parts of the walls, and was ingrained in the wooden table.
“I conduct most of my business here. You might say it’s my solar,” Sir John mused as his hand rested on her lower back, precariously close to where her bottom began. “It’s my favorite place within this entire castle. Lord Grey may rule the keep and surrounding land, but here, I rule the underworld.”
Allyson turned her head enough to look over her shoulder at the man. His expression held pride and anticipation. Once more, Allyson reminded herself that predators pounced when they sensed their prey was most vulnerable. If she cowered or protested, it would encourage him to mistreat her. Instead, Allyson chose a different tactic and stepped away from Sir John. She wandered near a set of metal restraints that she brushed her hand over. Moving on to a set of whips, Allyson glanced at the knight, offering him a seductive but curious expression. He nodded once, and she lifted the whip with the shortest handle from the rack. She ran the leather tail through her hand before cracking it through the air. She transformed her mien into one of satisfaction before moving on to swipe her hand over a portion of stones discolored from blood that had long since dried. Every so often, she canted her head to glance at the knight who observed her with intense interest. At last, she stood at the stretching rack, running her hands over the surface and bending forward to not only extend her reach but to offer the man an enticing view of her cleavage.
“My chamber of horrors intrigues you, my lady.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ve seen naught like it.” Which was far from a lie. The room disgusted Allyson, but she was committed to the charade.
“The whip you selected was not only the perfect size for a woman to hold, but is the perfect size to flay a woman’s bare back.” The man leered at her before adding, “Or bare breasts.”
“And you have someone to whom you do that?” Allyson inquired as she attempted nonchalance while she cranked the handle and watched the mechanisms separate the planks of wood.
“I do, but there is no reason for me not to find someone else.”
Allyson swallowed as she noticed a bulge at the front of the torturer’s breeches. She understood their visit to his dominion aroused him. She’d heard of women who enjoyed a man’s dominance, but she never suspected that it could be so extreme. The knight made it obvious that he enjoyed such interludes, and Allyson grew terrified that not only would he torture her for the sake of the pain, but that he would find a different form of pleasure than she expected.
