Another glance at his expression convinced her that the less Steffan knew, the better. She saw such malice in him, worse than in his youth, that she feared his reaction if he knew she carried a child.
Considering the plans he'd made for her, plans that included their marriage, she'd not put it past him to try to rid her of the babe somehow.
Or to punish her for its existence.
“Are you better now?” Steffan asked, his gaze narrowed as he stared at her face.
“Yes. I'll be fine, milord,” she assured him. “Please go on. I'll not delay us any longer.”
She scarce dared to breathe until he rode back to the head of the column. “I'm ready, sir,” she told her captor.
He hefted her into the saddle. “I'm no âsir,”' he said, laughing. “Huw is my name, milady, and I make you free of it.”
Huw proved a silent companion, a blessing when it took all her resources to maintain control over her stomach. They left the main trail and followed a path so rugged they had to dismount several times to lead the horses.
By some miracle she survived that jolting, exhausting trek without disgracing herself with further sickness, but she could not fight sleep. They pushed on through the night beneath the light of a nearly full moon; she slept through most of the night pressed against the coarse surface of Huw's mail hauberk.
Two days of this made her so limp she couldn't stand when they finally rode through the gate of Bryn Du. While 'twas not a keep, the large manor house and outbuildings sat in the midst of a fortified wall surrounded by a ditch filled with stakes.
Her desire for independence wouldn't matter here. It didn't appear she'd be able to get herself out of Steffan's grasp without outside help.
She'd considered trying to convince Huw to help her, but after two days in his company, she could see that Steffan held him deeply within his grasp. Huw hated Steffanâhow could he not?âbut he obeyed his every command, no matter how monstrous.
By the time Steffan ushered her into a chamber on the far side of the house from the gate, the effort of pretending to have recovered from her “illness” had taken its toll. Tired past exhaustion, her spirits low, her belly rumbling to be fed, she permitted her cousin to tether her to an iron ring on the bed frame with nary a complaint and settled back against the pillows with a sigh.
At least her hands weren't tied together any longer.
Steffan sat in the chair beside the bed and took one of her hands in his. A frown crossed his lips as he laid her hand on the coverlet with insulting haste. “I see we should have cared for you better on the journey,” he said. He rose, went to open the door and shouted for his maid. “I'll visit you again once you've had a chance to bathe.”
She nearly laughed. Afraid of a bit of dirt, was he? In that case, she'd not wash unless forced into it.
And perhaps the time had come when she could allow her malaise full rein, as wellânot that she enjoyed the sickness, but 'twould be easier for her if she need not pretend to be well.
Anything to keep that expression of distaste on Steffan's face, to keep him away from her a little while longer.
Until help arrived.
Â
Rannulf, Connor and Nicholas made the journey to Gwal Draig, Ian's keep, in record time. Though Rannulf's first instinct was to run Steffan to ground and then do his best to put the bastard
under
ground, he knew he'd never get the opportunity. He couldn't lure Steffan out when he had nothing Steffan wanted.
While Steffan had everything Rannulf held dear within his grasp.
Despite the fact that all they had were a number of half-formed plans for releasing Gillian from captivity, those plans involved Ian. Rannulf could have screamed in frustration when they learned that the Dragon wasn't at Gwal Draig.
Nor did Catrin know where to find him.
“Llywelyn sent for him,” she told them as soon as they were shown into her solar. “Why do you need him? Is it important?”
“Your kinsman, Steffan, took Gillian,” Rannulf said, his voice devoid of emotion. Refusing to permit himself to express his fear for her was the only way he could survive this hell.
He could not lose Gillian again.
The mere thought of herâand their childâin the hands of that madman struck deeper than any other loss in his life. Regaining Gillian's trust, and now the promise of parenthood, gave him a new perspective on many things in his life. His guilt for his father's death was gone. He'd made amends for his unwitting sin, served his country through his work for Pembroke, and vowed to care for his familyâboth Connor and his mother, as well as Gillian and their childrenâfor the rest of his days.
'Twas time to move on with his life, but to do that, he needed Gillian by his side.
Catrin leapt from her chair by the fire.
“What?”
She paced the floor, stopping in front of Rannulf. “The why is easy enough to see, for Steffan has always desired what he could not have. But how did he get her?”
Nicholas explained about the attack, and their hope that Ian would help them find a way to remove Gillian from Steffan's clutches.
They sat in silence, sipping mead while Catrin resumed pacing. Rannulf felt ready to jump up and run from the room. Simply to run, to do
something.
“Is there any way we can find Ian?” he asked Catrin.
She shook her head, then held up her hand to stop him when he started to speak again.
Finally she halted, reached out and took his hand and held it tightly. “I believe I know how I can get you into Bryn Du,” she told them. “You must be patient, for it could take several days to bring my plan to an end, but I thinkânay, I knowâwe can make it work.”
She poured herself a drink and sat down again. “Listen carefully, for this is what we'll do....”
Chapter Twenty-Four
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R
annulf gazed at himself in the mirror Lady Catrin held before him, wondering yet again if he had the skill to carry off his part in this ruse. He believed the scheme could work. He'd had plenty of opportunity to think it over, and they'd discussed the plan endlessly in the two days since Lady Catrin had suggested it. A bit of polishing, and what had sounded completely impossible took on the sheen of a workable strategy.
Despite Ian's continued absence, he was glad they'd come to Gwal Draig. All of his own ideas involved bloodshed and battle, and presented an unacceptable risk to Gillian and the babe.
Lady Catrin's plan might allow them to avoid any of that.
She'd sent several maidservants to Bryn Du with the offer of helping Lord Steffan with some housekeeping chore. As Catrin expected, they'd returned full of gossip about the sickly woman their master had shut away in his manor. Rumor had it that she was to be his bride as soon as she recovered from her malady.
Not if he had anything to do with it, Rannulf vowed, sneering at his brown-stained face in the mirror before handing it to Lady Catrin. “What do you think?” he asked, turning so that Nicholas and Connor could view his disguise.
“Mother would scarce recognize you,” Connor said. “If she hadn't already decided to remain at St. Anna's, without a doubt the sight of you thus would send her there.”
Rannulf scowled at his twin. He'd rather not be reminded that their mother had decided to take the veil and live out her life within the peaceful and safe confines of the convent. He had hoped she might consider coming to live with him and his family, although he could understand her decision.
And he was glad that she'd finally found a peaceful existence.
Nicholas stared from one brother to the other and shook his head wonderingly. “You've performed a miracle, milady,” he told Lady Catrin. “No one will realize that FitzClifford isn't a Saracen in that guise.” He merely smiled when she sent a scowl his way, making Rannulf wonder where Talbot found the patience to endure her continual slights.
“But will I be able to convince Lord Steffan?” Rannulf asked. “I know nothing of how to heal the sick, norâ”
“You won't need to actually treat anyone,” Lady Catrin said dryly. “You can pretend, can't you?”
“Aye.” He'd dare do no less under her watchful eyes, even if Gillian's and the babe's safety didn't depend upon it.
“'Tis time to leave.” She led the way to the stables and permitted Nicholas to lift her into the saddle.
Rannulf felt as though he were watching everything from a distance. He'd never been this nervous before a battleâbut never had the stakes been so high, either.
They rode through the forested land that separated Gwal Draig from Bryn Du, halting beyond sight of Steffan's manor. “You'll be ready for them as soon as they leave?” she asked Nicholas yet again.
He dismounted and handed the reins to Connor. “Aye, miladyâyou've laid out our duties clear as glass.” He sauntered toward her. “Can't you trust, just this once, that I might do something right?”
“You've shown so little skill in that regard,” she said, peering down at Talbot from her perch atop her mare. “This is important. I don't want anything to go awry.”
Talbot stopped beside her and, snatching her from the saddle, kissed her hard.
She slapped him. It deterred him not at all.
He took his time settling her back onto her mount. “Godspeed,” he said, then slapped the mare on the rump, sending her leaping onto the road.
Chuckling despite his uneasiness, Rannulf urged his palfrey into a jarring trot and followed Lady Catrin toward Bryn Du.
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The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside her chamberâher prison, more likeâjolted Gillian from sleep. Moaning as her muscles throbbed, she sat up and swept the tangled fall of her hair out of her face.
What she wouldn't give for a hot bath and the security to immerse herself in it! She'd held firm to her resolve not to bathe or groom herself since she'd arrived here two days ago, but she hoped she wouldn't have to do so for much longer. It seemed such a petty thing under the circumstances, to wish she were clean, but she felt so miserable from head to toe.... And it gave her something to dwell upon besides the untenable situation she'd landed in.
The footsteps stopped outside her door; she clambered off the mattress and tugged her gown into place as Steffan entered the room.
“Good morning, my dear.” He set down a tray of food on the table next to the bed and nudged the door closed with his hip.
The scent of hot bread and sharp cheese, usually. a welcome aroma, sent waves of nausea hurtling through her. Feeling faint, she sat abruptly on the bed.
“I'd hoped you would feel better today,” he said. He lifted the lid from a trencher, watching her with an intensity she found difficult to ignore. The smell of mutton rose from the dish; hand over her mouth, she dashed off to the far side of the bed and grabbed the chamber pot.
“Whose child is it, cousin? Who dared sully your purity and spoil my plans?”
Her stomach calmer for the moment, she wiped her face on a towel and rose slowly from the floor.
Steffan's face twisted with rage. “Who, Gillian?”
He circled the bed and yanked her close. “By Christâwhy haven't you washed?” he snarled, tossing her aside to land hard upon the mattress. “I'll have answers from you, Gillian, as soon as the servants bathe you.”
He hauled open the door, then spun on his heel to face her again. “Remember one thing, cousinâyou are mine, and I shall have you just as soon as I've found a way to rid you of that Norman brat.”
Frantic with fear, the moment the door closed Gillian forced herself to sit up and examine yet again the shackle locked round her wrist. The chain tethering it to the bed was sturdyâshe knew she'd no way to break itâbut perhaps in time she could loosen the shackle and break free.
Of course, she had no idea what she would do in that case, but 'twas a beginning.
She could not wait for help to come, not if she wished to protect Rannulf's child.
Â
A servant led Lady Catrin and Rannulfâin his guise as a physicianâinto Steffan's hall. “I hear you've my cousin Gillian visiting here,” Lady Catnn said as soon as she'd introduced the “physician” to Lord Steffan. “I came to see her.” She strode past them toward a doorway across the hall. “Since I also heard she was ill, I've brought this esteemed healer to see if he can cure her ills. He's come here from the court of our kinsman, Llywelyn.”
The Welshman scowled at his cousin and said nothing.
Rannulf huddled deeper into the enveloping robes he wore, as much to hide his hatred for the man as to maintain his disguise. This preening popinjay was the cause of the raids? This
fool
stole Gillian away and believed she would wed him?
His mind must be lacking in sense and intelligence, to mislead him so thoroughly.
“Steffan, may I take him to her?” she asked, moving to wait near the doorway. “Ian will be so pleased to know I've seen her.”
At the mention of Ian, Steffan's frown deepened. “A moment,” he said, then motioned forward the maid who'd been standing silently near the main entrance. After a whispered conversation he handed the woman a ring of keys and sent her away. “Catrin, you may go with Maud,” he said. ”But I wish to speak with the healer before I will permit him to examine Gillian.”
They watched Lady Catrin follow the servant, then Lord Steffan turned to him. “What do you know of ridding a woman of an unwanted child?”
Rannulf's hands clenched into fists within his long sleeves as he fought the urge to throttle Steffan where he stood. Rid Gillian of her child?
Their
child!
Never.
Why try to steal Gillian out of the chamber and lock Lord Steffan in, running the risk of his calling in the guard? He could eliminate him now, he thought frantically. He glanced about the hall. They were alone; he could hear no sounds of servants anywhere about. There would be no better time than this.
He moved closer to Steffan. “What do you mean, milord?” he asked in a low, accented voice.
“She carries another man's child,” Steffan explained slowly, perhaps believing Rannulf hadn't understood. “I would be rid of it before I make her my wife.”
A few more steps, past Steffan, then Rannulf whirled and thrust back the sleeves of his robe to free his hands.
He closed his fingers about Steffan's throat, squeezing hard, ignoring the other man's muffled attempts to speak, to breathe. He grabbed at Rannulf s hands and tried to pry them loose, but he could not budge them.
He kicked at Rannulf's shins, his movements less lively now, so Rannulf lifted him until his feet left the floor. “You craven bastard,” he muttered. “âTis my child you wish to kill, my woman you stole away.” He cast another look about to make certain no one was coming. “Iâdon'tâshare.” He punctuated each word with a shake, until Steffan hung limp from his grasp, unresponsive.
He didn't believe he had killed him, but he wouldn't be chasing them any time soon in his present condition. He tugged a length of rope from beneath his robe and bound Steffan hand and foot, then ripped a strip of fabric from Steffan's elaborate tunic and gagged him with it.
This could work just as well as their original plan, he told himself. And it had the added reward of removing the man from access to his men and weapons.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Rannulf rolled him beneath a long cloth-covered table and hurried down the hall where Lady Catnn had disappeared. Knocking lightly, he slipped into the chamber and closed the door quietly behind him.
Gillian sat on the bed, pale and wan, but her eyes glowed with an emerald fire. He crossed to her in two strides and wrapped her in his arms. “Are you all right, love?” he murmured into her hair. “He hasn't harmed you?”
Gillian clung to Rannulf as tightly as she could, drawing strength from him. “I'm fine,” she assured him. “What of you? I saw you fall during the battle.”
“I'm fine now that we've got you.”
“This is very touching,” Catrin said. “I do mean that, Gillian,” she added when Gillian glared at her cousin's tart tone. “But we're far from safe.” She gestured to the maid, trussed up on the floor on the other side of the bed. “I thought you were bringing Steffan in here so we could lock him up, too.” She stood by the door, listening. “What is he doing while you're in here?”
“I choked him till he swooned,” Rannulf said dryly. “I didn't like what he said, and it seemed the best way to silence him. I left him under a table in the hall for the moment, awaiting your pleasure, milady.”
Gillian looked from one to the other, uncertain what they planned to do next. “Could we leave?” she asked. “My stomach isn't too bad right now, but I've no way of knowing how long my good fortune might last.”
Rannulf bent and kissed her brow. “I'm sorry, love.” He turned to Catrin. “What shall we do with himâtake him with us as a hostage or a shield, or leave him locked up in here?”
“Take him with us, at least to leave the manor,” Gillian suggested, though they hadn't asked her advice. “His men won't harm us if it might put him in danger. If we leave him here, they'll just come after us and follow until they catch up.”
Rannulf nodded. “So be it.”
Another concern rose to mind. “I doubt I can ride far,” Gillian told them. “The journey here was pure torture, I felt so ill.”
Catrin reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Do you believe I'd allow them to drag you through the Marches in your condition? We're taking you to Gwal Draig. You might need to stay there for a bit, until Ian returns and can help smooth over this situation with Llywelyn, but you should be safe from Steffan there.”
“Should we bring him with us to Gwal Draig?” Rannulf asked. He loosened his hold on Gillian and went to open the door.
“Nay,” Catrin said quietly. “'Twill be difficult enough to talk our way out of this, for I warrant Llywelyn won't be pleased. For some reason, he seems to like our weaselly cousin,” she added with a frown. “Though I have no idea why.”
“No one's about,” Rannulf said. “Let's go.”
They strode boldly out of the chamber and into the still-empty hall, where Rannulf collected Steffan from beneath the table and slung his deadweight over his shoulder. They made it halfway across the small courtyard before anyone tried to stop them, but the sight of Rannulf's knife pressed against their master's throat deterred everyone from approaching them.