Still Mary clung. In disbelief she glanced over her shoulder. She saw the countess racing after her on foot, hopelessly. The din behind her was deafening, but Mary thought she heard someone cry, “They’ve stole his lordships’s wife!” And then the two knights emerged from the crowd, running for their steeds.
Mary collapsed against the mare’s neck, beginning to shake.Dear God, sweet Mother Mary, she had been abducted!Coldly, calculatedly abducted! Where were they taking her? Who was responsible? And how, sweet Lord, how would she and her baby survive?
Chapter 28
Stephen was livid. “What do you mean, you did not see any harm in an outing?” he roared.
The countess shrank away from him. “She was so anxious …”
Disbelief contorted his features. He could not speak. Rolfe moved between his son and his wife. “Your mother is sick to death with distress. The abduction was not her fault,” the earl said harshly. “If anyone is to blame, it is Will and Ranulph.”
Stephen’s jaw tightened. What his father had said was obvious, yet he could not, would not, forgive his mother. He had left explicit orders that Mary remain within the keep. He turned from her coldly, uncaring of her hurt. Dear God, if anything happened to Mary …
Sheer, sickening terror clawed at him. Never in his life had he been afraid, not like this. Even now she was out there somewhere, with her abductors, perhaps hurt and in pain. Or worse. Abruptly he pulled himself together. He had no time to dwell upon the possibilities, he must act. Stephen turned his frozen stare upon the two knights who had failed in their duty to protect Mary. “Tell me again what happened.”
Word of Mary’s abduction had reached him some five or six hours ago in Edinburgh, where Duncan now held court. He had been roused from his pallet at midnight by his mother’s messenger. Stephen had immediately left for Alnwick, pausing only to inform his father of where he was going and why. Rolfe had decided to come with him instantly. Both men had been wished well by Scotland’s new King; Duncan had also been roused by the news.
It was now dawn. Stephen had practically killed his horse in order to return so swiftly; he had arrived just a few moments ago. He had quickly learned that Mary had been abducted the afternoon before. She had literally been stolen out from the two knights’ midst by two horsemen. His men had tracked the duo into the forest, but once there, they had lost them.
“My lord, they were dressed as common freemen, but they rode like seasoned knights,” Will was saying. “’Tis clear the entire event was planned well before yesterday. I think the men must have been waiting for any opportunity to arise in which they could seize her ladyship.”
Stephen already knew it was no common abduction. No lout would dare to abduct his wife, or even be capable of such a feat in the face of his own vassals. The fact was that one of his enemies had captured Mary—and Stephen could only think that it was an act of revenge. And he was sick again with fear.
All denial, all protestations, were useless now. He loved his wife to the point of madness; he would do anything to get her back. And once he had her back, he would give her all that she wanted—he would deny her nothing.
Yet there was little that he could do other than beat a bloody trail across the countryside searching for her. So be it. Once he determined what madman was responsible for his wife’s abduction, all those in that lord’s domain would suffer as never before. There would be no mercy. In his mind Stephen ticked off those who might hate him enough to dare such a feat. He had a half dozen sworn enemies, but not one of them, he thought, was stupid enough to commit such an outrage.
“We ride now, back to the forest, back to their last sign. Will, Ranulph, you shall lead the way,” Stephen commanded tersely.
Stephen and two dozen fully armed knights rode out just after sunrise. But by the end of that day, they had made no progress. The trail had disappeared when the two riders, one overburdened with his captive, had ridden into a stream. Stephen and his men could not find a single sign of them again. Mary had been whisked away without a trace.
Mary knew that they were traveling north into Scotland. Despite her terror, she managed to think. Her wits were all she had left, and she knew she must keep them about her. This made no sense. The Scottish people were her people—who among them would do such a thing as kidnap her? Or was it a ruse? Was her destination Scotland only because Stephen would never think of looking for her there?
Stephen.Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of what he must be going through—and at the thought that she might never see him again. “Stephen,” she whispered, unaware she spoke aloud, “I need you, how I need you—please help me now!”
They did not use the Roman road, following one deer path after another deep in the hills, using terrain that no man, other than a Scot, could be so acquainted with. The horsemen stopped twice, first to water their mounts and move Mary from the one horse to the other, and then to change their mounts at a prearranged spot, a small thatch cottage, apparently deserted, where two fresh horses were tethered out back. When some of Mary’s courage returned, she tried to question them, hoping to team who had sent them and where they were taking her, but they refused to speak with her.
They rode well into the night. Mary fell asleep. It was a restless sleep in which she dreamed of Stephen, begging him to come to her and rescue her. She dreamed of the baby being born. It was a boy, whom she held tenderly, and he was so small and defenseless in her arms, but it was not a happy dream, for she fought to protect him from an unseen threat. When she awoke she was more frightened than before.
The night was pitch black, and Mary could not decide where they were or precisely where they were going. The two men kept their horses at a brisk walk now.
“Where are we?” she asked, her mouth parched.
The man riding with her handed her a skin bag of watered ale. Mary drank gratefully “Not far from Edinburgh, lassie.”
Mary froze. Her heart began to pound painfully. Edinburgh? Once that had been her home, but no more. Now it was home to Duncan, Scotland’s new King. He might be her half brother, but she was sick with fear.
For she knew now that Duncan was behind this. She could not guess at her fate. If he intended to kill her, he would have already done so. So what did he want with her? Fearfully Mary clutched her belly, praying that she should be so lucky as to find Stephen still at the Scot Court.
Mary was taken to the castle. It was the dead of night, and travelers at such an hour were more than rare and certainly suspect. It was obvious to Mary that her arrival was expected, for when one of her captors called out a code word, the heavy gates were instantly thrown open in order to admit them. Her captors rode swiftly to the keep. A knight and a serving maid were waiting on the front steps for them.
Mary was lifted down from the horse. She found that she could barely walk after the long ordeal, and the knight quickly swept her up into his arms. Mary peered up at him as he carried her inside, hoping to recognize him and thus appeal to him for aid. But she did not. She was taken upstairs and laid abed in a small chamber that had, not so long ago, been shared by her younger brothers.
Mary was grateful for the bed, but that was all. Holding a hand to her forehead, which throbbed, aware of the baby kicking inside her, her body stiff and aching, she watched the knight leave the room without so much as another glance at her. She turned her gaze on the maid. She was a thin, older woman, busy now poking the fire. Even in June, the nights in Edinburgh were cool. The elderly woman turned and approached. “I’ll be bringin’ ye some hot food, mistress, an’ some good ale. I won’t be long.”
Mary was too exhausted to move; she lay absolutely motionless. “I want to speak with my brother.”
“Yer brother?”
