She would escape. There was no question of that. Mary’s determination had never been stronger.
She had ascertained that Stephen had yet to be informed of her whereabouts; Duncan had told her that he was in no hurry to do so. His amusement had been palpable. Mary hated Duncan even more, for it was plain that he was delighting in tormenting her husband. Stephen must be anxious and worried for her, coveting some word that she was well. But Duncan had no intention of relaying that word, at least not just yet.
Yet even if Stephen knew where she was, it was doubtful whether he would be able to gain her release. Mary thought that Duncan had not lied when he had said that he had Rufus’s approval in this endeavor, that Rufus was not on her side. Only too well, chillingly, Mary could recall the last time she had seen Rufus. He had been staring at her with undisguised hatred.
Mary thought that there was a slim chance that Rolfe and Stephen could persuade Rufus to force Duncan to release her, but that was not enough. Mary had not a single doubt that she would be forced to leave her child behind as a guarantee of Stephen’s continual support for Duncan, just as Malcolm had given Duncan as a boy over to the Conqueror. Children were used as hostages all the time. The idea of leaving her child behind was as abhorrent as death itself.
It was all the more reason to escape.
Now, before the child was born.
Mary was no fool. She was aware that her condition would not make it easy for her. Still, escape would be far more difficult, even impossible, with a tiny newborn. Mary also knew that she might be risking her own life and the baby’s. But she was determined to see them both through the ordeal safely. She thought that her resolve, which had never been greater, and her love for both the babe and her husband, would carry her through to safety. Nothing was going to stop her from being reunited with Stephen again, from bearing her child there in his presence, from rearing their child together. Not Duncan, not anything.
Mary did not need a plan. She had been raised at Edinburgh, and she knew every nook and cranny of the castle better than anyone except, perhaps, her three brothers. Duncan, who was a stranger to his new home, and his soldiers, half of whom were Norman mercenaries, could not know of the secrets the keep held. As with most towers, it had been built with an enemy siege in mind. A secret door let onto a short tunnel that allowed the castle’s residents to pass beneath the castle walls and flee to safety beyond the moat.
Mary waited a week. On the eighth night after her arrival at Edinburgh, she knew the time had come. She was becoming ungainly, she waddled instead of walked, but her strength had returned as much as it ever would. Mary could only pray that her swollen body would not slow her down that night.
No guards were posted outside Mary’s chamber. Apparently it was beyond anyone’s belief that a woman in her condition would attempt to escape. However, the maid slept on a pallet in the hall just outside her door. Mary refused to consider hurting the old woman, who had been nothing but kind to her. Instead, when the Great Hall had finally fallen into silence, when Mary could be certain that Duncan was amused with his latest paramour, she called out loudly for the woman. When Eiric was awakened, hurrying to her side, Mary was sincerely apologetic. “I am sorry, Eiric, I know ’tis late, but I cannot sleep. I fear the babe desires to grow even more, for I am starving! Please, go to the kitchens and bring me beef stew, warm bread, a lamb pie, and some of that salmon we dined on this noon.”
Eiric gaped. “My lady, you will get sick!”
“I am starving.” Mary was firm. “Go, Eiric, but make sure the salmon is heated, for surely I will get sick if I eat cold leftover fish.”
Eiric left with no further protest. Mary was briefly delighted. She would have to rouse other maids to help her with the repast. Mary knew the old serving woman would heat up everything, and as the fires in the kitchens were now out, it would take a long time. Mary thought that she probably had an hour or more of a start on Duncan and his men.
But she had not counted on the dogs.
The night was starry and bright. When Mary first slipped from the tunnel and outside, she was briefly elated. She would not need to light any of the candles she had taken with her, for the half-moon and the galaxy of stars were enough for her to see by. And as she had used the tunnel many times as a child, she knew exactly where she was. So far her escape had been impossibly easy.
But her elation vanished in a heartbeat. The moment she heard the first howl.
Mary stood in the edge of the woods, intending to head directly for town in order to steal some beast of transportation. She froze. The single, solitary wolflike howl chilled her blood and raised the hairs upon her nape. Please, God, she prayed silently, let it be a wild wolf.
And then the braying began.
Mary cried out in terror. Duncan had set loose a pack of wolfhounds. Already she was being pursued. Not a quarter of an hour had passed since she had ordered Eiric to the kitchens. The maid must have returned to her chamber shortly afterwards—Mary had not considered that she might do that. She lifted her skirts and began to hurry—as swiftly as her condition allowed.
Options forced their way through her frightened mind. She had been relying on having an hour or more head start on her enemies. She had hardly any advantage at all. Originally she planned to find a horse in the burgh and ride like the wind for Northumberland. Instead she could steal a boat and row herself across the Firth of Forth to the Benedictine abbey at Dunfermline.
Neither of those plans held out any hope of success now. The wolfhounds were howling with maddened intent. The dogs had been let out of the front gates and had yet to pick up her scent, but soon they would. Mary did not think she could make it to the burgh to steal a boat, much less to the Firth of Forth.
Mary turned and fled into the woods. She was stricken with fear. How could she evade Duncan’s men and dogs while fleeing on foot? She had one slim chance of success. She would use the same trick her abductors had used to escape Stephen’s men.
Bushes, bracken, and thorns beat her legs and hips, tearing at her skin, but Mary ignored them. She rushed forward on a deer trail she knew by heart, one she had used many, many times before. The braying had become more distant. Thank God. The hounds had gone off in the wrong direction.
Mary’s pace slowed. Her heart pumped madly—she could barely breathe. A stitch took her in the side, and for a moment she had to stop, clutching herself, panting wildly. She knew she could not linger now. At any moment the hounds might pick up her scent, and then they would be upon her in minutes.
Mary waited one more heartbeat, to make sure the cramp was only that and nothing more. Then she plunged on down a short, steep incline.
Mary slipped and stumbled and finally dropped to her buttocks to slide down the rest of the way. The ground was wet and damp, as she had known it would be. When she had reached the bottom of the ravine, she was again breathless. How was she going to make her escape if she could not walk more than a few paces without dying for a breath of air?
Her plan had crumbled to dust. Without a horse, she would never make it to Northumberland. Even her will was not strong enough to carry her home; she needed physical strength—physical strength she did not have.
Mary got up. The hounds sounded louder, closer.
But she could tell from their tone that they had yet to find her trail. However, there was no question that the dog handlers had changed direction and were circling back around the keep in the other direction. It was only a matter of time before the wolfhounds would discover her scent—would discover her.
Mary lifted her skirts and stepped into the rushing stream. She cried out at the freezing cold. She had played often enough in the racing stream as a child, but in the warmest summer months of August and early September, for the source of the brook was the far mountains, and the water was always icy cold. She wondered if her fate would be to catch her death instead of being eaten alive.
