Master of Mayhem (The Enchanted Well #2)

Chapter Sixteen

T he bells began to ring long after supper had finished.

Ruben stiffened. “I must go.”

He rolled away from Sabine, leaving the bed a second later. He jerked his shirt on and belted his kilt into place quickly before he headed out of the chamber.

So that was why he always pleated up the fabric of his kilt before going to sleep.

Sabine wasn’t happy to discover the meaning behind Ruben’s habits. For tonight, she was being reminded that the land they resided on was under threat of attack.

She already felt every moment they had together was precious. Now, there was a chill gripping her heart. She tried not to think that she might have just spent her last intimate moments with Ruben but worry crept past her good intentions.

The bells continued to ring, summoning every able-bodied man to the defense of the stronghold. Sabine hurried through dressing so she might see what the threat was.

When she made it to the ground floor, the illuminated hall was full of men. She made it to the passageway opening, stooping down to see between the maids who were clustered around the opening. The men standing in front of Ruben wore kilts. Sabine had only a moment of relief before she recognized the colors of those kilts.

They were Hay colors. A shiver went down her back. The last time she’d seen those colors had been when her sister was abducted.

“I have called ye friend for a long time, Ruben.”

Ruben stood in the hall, facing off with the man. “There is no reason for ye to be angry, Dugan.”

“No cause?” Dugan Hay demanded. “I trusted ye with a letter for Braylin’s sister, Modesty. Now, I hear ye took her away. It was my doing sending ye down to the Hawlyn home. I cannot turn a blind eye to you taking my wife’s sister.”

“Some soldiers attacked Modesty. I had to take her with me else she might have faced English justice,” Ruben declared. “Sabine and I are going to be handfasted.”

A sound of agreement rippled through the retainers clustered tightly around Dugan and Ruben.

“Handfasted?” Dugan shook his head. “Braylin and Modesty are Puritans. They do nae consider a handfasting respectful. Give the girl to me. I will take her back to Black Moss Tower.”

Ruben appeared unwilling to answer. The tension in the hall tightened. Without a doubt, the two men were edging closer to violence.

“Let me through.” Sabine started forward, determined to prevent Ruben from fighting.

“Nae not.”

It was Aisling who refused Sabine.

The cook turned around, blocking out Sabine’s view. But she heard Dugan let out a clipped word of profanity. A moment later the sounds of a scuffle rose from the hall.

Sabine had her own scuffle to contend with.

Several maids turned around and started pushing her away from the hall. Sabine wanted to resist but there were too many of them. Her feet just slid backwards across the worn stone floor.

“Bring her here,” Aisling instructed her clanswomen.

The group half carried Sabine into the kitchen and then further on to the still room.

“Ye will be staying right here, mistress Hawlyn,” Aisling declared. “The men will sort matters out between them. It is no place for women.”

“I can stop them,” Sabine said.

“Men fight,” Aisling offered in a knowing tone. “Best for ye to stay out of it. No man wants a woman talking for him while his men are watching.”

“But they are fighting because of me,” Sabine argued.

“The cause is irrelevant,” Aisling insisted. “The Hay need to know that our next laird is a good fighter. That the Lindseys are strong. If we allow Dugan Hay to take ye away, the tale will spread far and wide. Others will come here thinking to take what we have. Weakness has a stench that attracts predators.”

There was a murmur of agreement among those watching. But the sounds of furniture crashing from the hall drew their attention.

The maids wanted to get back to the hall. Aisling waved them on. They were quick to take advantage of the cook’s permission, scurrying through the doorway, across the kitchen, and back into the passageway.

“Stay here, mistress. If I have to bring ye back, I shall bar the door.” Aisling issued her warning with a stern look while she fingered the keys attached to her belt. The little jingle of those keys was enough to make Sabine nod.

The cook turned and disappeared while the sound of the fight continued. Sabine took a few steps but then turned around and paced back in the opposite direction because the door of the still room did, in fact, have a latch with a lock hanging from it.

Would Ruben resent her if she tried to break up the fight?

She was rooted in place while she contemplated that idea. It wasn’t the first time Ruben had fought over her, either. He’d fought with Jasper Hardwin on May Day morning.

Was Aisling right to tell her to leave it be?

The cook certainly knew Ruben better than Sabine possibly could.

There was another crash from the hall. Sabine whirled around and lost the battle to stay where Aisling had put her. She hurried out into the dark passageway, intent on breaking up the fight. Her sister would certainly agree.

Someone grabbed a handful of her dress, dragging her backward.

“Well now, mistress, do nae ye worry about Ruben…I will be letting him know just where to find ye if he wants to rescue ye.” The man holding her chuckled. It was by far the most distorted, evil sound she’d ever heard, filling her with icy dread.

“Aye, ye are fine bait,” he muttered before he released her. Sabine had a single moment of standing free before pain exploded on the back of her head once more. She actually noticed the rush of blackness coming for her like a wave washing up onto shore. It hit her full in the face, buckling her knees and dragging her into oblivion.

*

“Enough.” It was Arland who spoke. “Pull them apart.”

The Lindsey retainers reluctantly stopped cheering. They dived in to break up the fight at their captain’s demand. Ruben glared at the veteran captain opening his mouth to argue.

“Yer father will hear at some point.” Arland crossed his arms over his chest and stared straight at Ruben.

Ruben narrowed his eyes, but he used his shirtsleeve to wipe his forehead and didn’t resume the scuffle. He and Dugan stared at one another for a long, awkward moment while they panted.

“Have some cider and discuss the matter,” Arland suggested.

“There is naught to discuss,” Ruben insisted.

“There most assuredly is,” Dugan declared.

Ruben turned to glare at Dugan Hay.

“I am nae returning to me wife to tell her that it is true. Ye took her sister,” Dugan cut back. He pointed at Ruben.

“Ye do nae know the circumstances, Dugan. I could not leave that lass there to face possible retribution,” Ruben said.

Dugan paused a moment to consider what Ruben had said. But he shook his head. “Sabine can be naught but a mistress in yer house. I am bastard born, Ruben. That is a life that is hard to live.”

Ruben bit back the argument he wanted to make. Instead, he drew in a breath and let it out before responding. “I will handfast with Sabine. Ye can witness the ceremony and the contracts. Sabine has agreed.”

Dugan took a moment to think over what Ruben was offering. “Ye will add a promise to the lass that she is free to leave here and come to Black Moss Tower.”

Ruben’s expression tightened. Dugan didn’t relent. He shot his friend an unrelenting look. “I had a stepmother, Ruben. She went so far as to have me wife torn from her family in a quest to make sure my future was ruined. I have me father to stand on my side, but yer father is old. If something happens to ye, there must be a place secured for Sabine. That place is Black Moss Tower.”

Ruben didn’t like the suggestion. No one in the hall missed the tight set of his jaw. But he nodded, recognizing it was a logical solution.

“Bring some cider,” Arland issued the command.

There was a shuffle in the opening to the passageway. Norrie turned to go see to the chore when two of the older maids pointed her toward the kitchen. The retainers, both Lindsey and Hay, began to right the benches, restoring order to the hall.

Norrie screamed.

The sound gained instant response. Ruben rushed into the passageway along with most of the retainers. Norrie turned her wide eyes toward him. Lying on the stone floor was Aisling. A puddle of blood seeping out from her body.

A sheet of parchment was placed on top of the cook’s body. A single lock of hair on it.

It was Sabine’s.

Without a doubt Ruben knew the hair belonged to Sabine. What made his mouth go dry was the fact that Aisling was dead to prove that whoever had taken Sabine was very serious. He picked up the parchment to read the message.

“If ye want yer woman, meet me within the hour at the mill. Just you or I swear yer woman will be dead like yer cook before ye can do anything to help her. Gareth Gorden.”

*

Someone threw water on her.

Sabine sputtered, waking up with a jolt. The water was frigid. It soaked into her clothing allowing the wind to chill her further. Her instinct was to huddle but her arms were tied.

“I will be insisting that ye stay right there, mistress.”

Sabine recalled that voice. He’d called her bait. Her arms were secured behind her, some cord biting into the skin of her wrists. She pulled against the binding, but the pain became too intense.

Gareth was amused by her struggle. Or her pain. Perhaps both. The sound of his amusement made her shudder.

He struck a flint. In the blackness surrounding her, suddenly there was light.

“I hope ye find yerself very securely bound, mistress,” Gareth continued. There was a hint of true amusement in his tone that sent a chill down her back.

This was a man who enjoyed toying with those less fortunate.

He held a candle over the small fire he’d started in a bowl of tinder. It caught, offering her relief from the darkness but she decided she wasn’t relieved to see what the darkness had hidden from her.

Gareth had bound her to a beam holding up the second floor of the woolworks building. Around her there were fresh fleece pelts. Only a few for the spring were new but even so, her eyes widened in alarm.

“Ye see yer circumstances…do ye nae?” Gareth moved the candle back and forth in front of her face.

Flames were strictly forbidden in the wool works building. A few pelts were stored near the walls but there were little tuffs of wool on the floor. On one side, a pile was sitting next to a broom, but the nature of wool was that the fibers scattered easily. Hence the rule of no open flames.

A fire here would spread quickly.

She pulled again on her bindings.

“I hear ye are a Puritan.” Gareth mocked her efforts to free herself. “And that yer father refused to recant now that the English queen demands a return to the Roman Church.”

Gareth sat the candle in a simple pottery stand in front of her. He looked over at a pelt and smiled grotesquely at her.

“Tell me, would yer father be pleased to hear ye went to the stake rather than lived in dishonor?”

Sabine shook her head.

“Are ye sure?” Gareth continued. “I doubt he’d enjoy knowing ye have played the slut to a Scotsman.”

He moved off toward the wall. He hooked one of the pelts, pulling it over to lay it against her legs.

“However, the opinion that matters is Ruben Lindsey’s.”

Gareth placed a second and third pelt around her. She looked at the distance between herself and the candle.

“Do nae worry. This candle is nae for ye.”

Gareth walked toward her. Slowly. Giving her time to shiver in dread before he covered the last few paces.

“If ye were nae Ruben’s, I’d enjoy using ye.” Gareth spit on the floor, disgust drawing his lips thin. “I won’t be reduced to tasting his leavings.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Perhaps it might have been wiser to remain silent. Sabine couldn’t seem to duck her chin and be meek.

Gareth smiled at her. “Ye have some spirit. Hmmm.” He leaned close, looking down at her cleavage. Sabine jerked on her bindings.

“As I said. I will not lower myself to Ruben’s leavings.” Gareth walked behind her, tugging on the leather binding her. He grunted approval before he leaned down next to her ear and whispered.

“My archer is waiting for the signal on just where to aim his fire arrow. Yer lover will have a choice. He can save ye or keep the dowry from the Douglases. I know what I’d choose.”

“Dowry?” Sabine couldn’t help but ask. “But why did you give up Neilina if you wanted to keep the dowry?”

Gareth walked around her to the candle. “Business is done between men. Women are practically useless. Now that Ruben has had ye, the only thing ye are good for is being bait. He might decide to let ye burn.”

Gareth pinched out the candle, casting her back into darkness. She heard him cross the floor. There was a scratching sound and then one of the window shutters was opened. Sabine blinked, trying to restore her night vision so that the starlight would be enough for her to see with.

But it would take time.

Gareth opened the other shutter and left. She heard his steps receding before they were gone altogether.

Time tormented her. Every breath she drew might be her last.

No.

She wasn’t willing to wait for her fate. There was so much of life left to live. She’d been a fool to worry about what might happen in the future. Life was lived in the moment. Even if she’d married Eleph Cressens, there was no certainty of her future being free of calamity.

She had love. It was a beautiful, wonderful gift. Gareth Gordon wouldn’t destroy it. Not while she still drew breath.

Sabine sealed herself against the pain of the bindings before she began to rub the cords against the beam she was bound to.

She was much more than bait.

She had to be!