Stephen turned abruptly, striding for the stairs. In the next second he recalled that Main—no.Princess Mary—had left the tower with his sister. A premonition of disaster filled him. He had not one doubt, not now, knowing of her royal blood, that she was intent on escaping. The stakes had changed. They were far more precious than he had dreamed. She was now the crucial pawn in a war that had outlasted generations. Mary was a great prize could he but win her. A prize that promised hope, and peace.
And he would win the prize. He would take the princess Mary to wife.
She must not escape. He wheeled, running to the door. At that precise moment, Isobel flew through it, weeping copiously. And Stephen knew it was too late.
He grabbed his sister. “Where is she?”
At his harsh, fury-filled tone, Isobel covered her face with her hands and sobbed harder.
“Do not indulge in theatrics now, Isobel!” Stephen said.“Where is she?”
Isobel dropped her hands, wide-eyed and tearless. “’Twas not my fault,” she cried, looking from Stephen to the others. “She was following me, and when I turned around, she was gone! I’ve looked everywhere,” she howled, and then she covered her face again, with more tearful shudders and moans.
“Raise the alarm,” Stephen ordered. Geoffrey was already rushing up the stairs to the ramparts to sound the horn. Stephen hurried through the hall. Brand and Will on his heels, Isobel chasing after him. “You stay here!” he snapped.
“Am I in trouble?”
Stephen did not answer; he was already out the door. “I think you are in a great deal of trouble,” Brand said harshly. “Go to your room Isobel, and await Stephen there.” He followed his brother outside; Isobel fled up the stairs.
His men had already gathered. Stephen gave crisp orders and they began to search the bailey. All work was temporarily suspended, all of the keep’s inhabitants assembled and questioned. No one had seen the prisoner in the bailey, much less escaping the castle’s gates. It had already occurred to Stephen why his captive princess was so invisible. As she was clad in Isobel’s clothes, no one had paid any attention to her, thinking her to be his sister. Stephen hurried to the barbican. One thought filled his mind.She had outwitted him—again.
Within a matter of minutes Stephen had learned that an empty wagon had left the keep not more than half an hour ago, and that prior to that, Isobel had been remarked loitering nearby.
Stephen was already calling for his horse. He ordered the search to continue within the bailey, although he had little doubt that the clever princess was long gone. He galloped beneath the raised portcullis and down the drawbridge, his steed sending clods of dirt flying from its powerful hooves, a dozen knights behind him—in case they should ride into the midst of Malcolm’s men. Above their heads the banner of the rose proudly waved.
She had outwitted him, not once but numerous times. Grudgingly he had to admit that her efforts were admirable. Her sense of honor was more fitting a man. But did she truly think she could escape Alnwick, escape him? Men cringed to confront his wrath, yet she dared to do worse, she dared to provoke it.
His admiration congealed. She was every bit a royal offspring, for only such bloodlines could explain her peerless pride and boundless bravery. Yet with the surge of admiration, there was apprehension. He could not help but compare her to her father. Malcolm was one of the most wily—and treacherous—men he knew. Stephen did not like the thought that Princess Mary was far more like her father than any man or woman should be. A tingle of foreboding ran down his spine.
Such a premonition was best ignored. For it did not suit his purposes.
Within a few minutes Stephen had overtaken the wagon and its lumbering oxen. The carter pulled up at the sound of his galloping approach, visibly frightened. “My lord, what have I done?”
Stephen ignored him, riding his massive stallion over to the wagon and reaching down for the sack. He yanked it from the cart.
She lay huddled in a ball. Quickly she sat up. The defiance he had come to expect blazed in her eyes, but he also saw misty tears of defeat. Despite himself, the hard edge of his anger lost its knifelike sharpness. For one instant, she appeared a helpless and frightened child. For one instant, he felt a strange softness for her.
In the next instant it was gone. She was no child. He had only to recall her sensuous body and her uncanny nature to know that. This sweet facade was only that—there was nothing innocent or helpless about her. Another tingle of foreboding raced down his spine. Would he have to be on guard with her forever after this day?
“Did you hope to beget a war, demoiselle?” he asked coldly.
Mary stiffened.
Stephen jumped from his horse and lined her from the wagon. She cried out, jerking against his brief embrace. Stephen set her down and apart instantly. Still, the feeling of her flesh lingered. There were many facets to his satisfaction, to the victory he must score. His blood was hot with more than anger.
The driver was screeching now that he knew nothing of this circumstance. Stephen ordered him to return to the keep. With alacrity, the carter obeyed.
The wagon moved away. The knights were mounted behind Stephen in a semicircle; Geoffrey held Stephen’s destrier. One and all were quiet, so quiet that Stephen and Mary might have been alone. The endless moor stretched away from them in a ragged pattern of gray and green. The sky above was darkening rapidly. A hawk circled overhead, and a breeze lifted Stephen’s cloak and the trailing curls of Mary’s blond hair. A vast silence settled upon them.
Stephen stared down his prisoner. With some satisfaction, he saw that she was afraid. Yet despite her creeping tears, she stood straight and so proudly; her nobility was unmistakable. “You should be afraid of me.”
“It was my duty to escape.”
“Of course it was,Princess.”
She started, becoming deathly white.
“The carter did not know I was there,” Mary finally said hoarsely. Her eyes were huge, riveted upon his face.
