Her maid responded immediately to the command, obviously grateful to no longer be left to her own thoughts. The two pushed trunks in front of the thick wooden door, then piled smaller ones on top.
They had run out of things with which to build the barrier, and together they began pulling on the bed. It was a huge nest for a huge man and they couldn’t budge it. In unison, they gave up and leaned against it to rest.
Between labored breaths, Kenna insisted, “You must promise to do something for me.”
“Anythin’, milady.”
“You must return to Carlisle Folly and tell Aunt Agatha I’m dead.”
“Nay!”
“Aye, Fia, you must. If you care a bit for me, you will do as I bid. Tell her you saw a man cut m’ throat. Have Peter dig a false grave. Tell her I fought back and was killed.” Kenna could feel her blood rise at the prospect of never setting eyes on her aunt again. “That’s it. I fought back. They slit m’ throat.” She grinned. “And don’t forget, I was verra brave.”
Instead of smiling, the younger girl shivered so intensely that her tremors swept down her long hair in waves.
A loud clang rang through the chamber, and it took Kenna a moment to discover the source. A twisted iron hook, the size of a small basket, had attached itself to the inside of the window, and the rope leading from it began to jerk.
Someone was climbing up.
She flew to the window to dislodge the contraption. However, the man’s weight secured it to the ledge, leaving her no choice but to search the room for some type of weapon. Panic allowed her to see nothing. Not even a candlestick. Forcing deep calming breaths into her lungs she looked again. But there was only one thing in the room that she wagered might give a man pause.
An agile devil was walking up the side of the keep as easily as if the wall were level ground. For a moment she thought he might be her dark warrior, but the man had silver hair near his eyes. Looking calmly at Kenna, he carefully closed the distance. He surely never imagined such a fate as having a chamber pot full of warm spew raining down into his sweaty face.
As an afterthought, the pot followed.
For a moment, Kenna thought she might have lost her wager. The man clung tenaciously to the dripping rope and glared up at her. Then to her relief, he began a slow descent, all the time keeping a wary eye on her face above him, his mouth pinched in displeasure and defense against her noxious weapon.
“Well, it may not have scared him, but it did the deed.”
When the disgusted man had his feet back on the ground, he flicked his wrist and the metal hook detached itself, flew past Kenna, and returned to its master like a faithful pet.
She took heart. In the past hour of her life, she had nearly become a bride, nearly a widow, and soon she might be killed. All three had seemed likely, but none had yet transpired, so she took heart.
Laughter like she’d never known bubbled through her.
Perhaps she was giddy to still be free of her aunt. After years of wishing, followed by years of resignation, she had been shocked three days ago when Agatha informed Kenna she was to be wed.
She had hoped her new husband might aid her in seeking revenge for her brother’s death, only to have that hope shattered at the first glimpse of Laird Gowry. His eyes had held that same flame of menace as Agatha’s, proving the older woman had found a perverse way to maintain the hell in which Kenna had lived.
But no more.
Her maid now clutched the bedpost like a mast on a stormy sea. The misery on the girl’s face stated clearly that she was in dire need of another pot.
“Fia, if they get inside, I’ll not let them touch you. Better still, if you are threatened, just empty your belly on them. It seems to work well enough.”
Another glance at the massive bed gave Kenna a chilling thought. “They must not think I am the Lady Gowry,” she hissed as she ripped at her lovely gown.
“No, milady! What are ye thinking?”
“I mustn’t look like the lady of the keep! If these men came to wipe out The Gowry, they may wish to wipe out his seed as well. They mustn’t believe I might carry such a scourge.”
“We must find me simpler clothes!”
Together they ransacked the trunks, weakening the barrier against the door. After no success, Kenna stood before the last chest and muttered a prayer. She wiped an arm across the lid to clear it of candle stubs and a basin that shattered when it hit the floor. She threw the lid open and there, on the top, lay a pale tunic and bliaut of virgin wool, just as she’d worn for twenty years.
Agatha’s idea, she was sure. Would Gowry have forced her to wear them? To deny her life of any frivolity? Her cruel aunt must be laughing to herself, imagining the look on Kenna’s face when she first gazed upon the things.
At the image of Agatha’s twisted touch reaching all the way to Gowry land, Kenna was grateful the man had not been kind, nor lucky in battle. Once she caught sight of Agatha’s jest, she wouldn’t have been able to stay with even a generous man, living within reach of her aunt. A day’s ride was apparently not distant enough.
