Dryden's Bride

Siân peered into the mist. “Yes,” she said, realizing that he didn’t trust his own sight. “But there are more, with wagons—still making way down the hillside.”

Hugh shot his gaze abruptly to the northward hills and realized Siân was correct about the others. He hadn’t noticed them before. She had a keen eye, even with her sight obscured by tears. Looking down into her guileless face, Hugh gave a fleeting thought as to what had made her weep, and resisted the urge to touch her face, to wipe the tears from her flushed skin.

His spine stiffened with the odd notion. She could find her comfort from her brother, or from one of the courtly ladies back at the castle. Siân Tudor certainly had no need of his kind words, even if he knew any. “We’ll need to get back to Clairmont and alert the men,” Hugh said as he took Siân’s elbow and drew her back to the footpath.

“They seem very well equipped, My Lord,” Siân said. “This will be devastating to Clairmont.”

“Not if we’re prepared,” Hugh replied gravely.

They hurried through the light rain, running through the town and up to the castle. Both Siân and Hugh were soaked through when they reached Clairmont’s outer bailey. “Go and get those wet clothes off,” Hugh ordered her.

“I’m coming with you,” she said defiantly.

Unwilling to waste time arguing, Hugh proceeded to the great hall, where Lady Marguerite and many of her noble guests were gathered around talking, laughing and watching a pair of jugglers, while the queen’s musicians continued to play their festive music.

Hugh spotted Nicholas Becker, standing with Lady Marguerite, and he made his way toward the handsome pair, thinking that Nick was a much more suitable swain than he was.

“Hugh!” Nicholas exclaimed. He glanced at Siân, who stood a little behind Hugh. “You’re soaked!”

Ignoring his friend’s words, Hugh spoke urgently. “There are Scotsmen gathering at the lakeshore beneath the northern hills, preparing for attack,” he said. “The knights need to ready themselves for battle.”

Marguerite blanched white and started to sway. Nicholas was closest, and caught her before she fell, then swept her up off her feet, causing a stir among the guests in the hall. “Sir George will know the chain of command,” he said, “best consult him.” Then he turned and carried the lady out of the hall and up the main stairs.

Hugh’s appearance with Siân in the hall had caused more than a minor disturbance, so they did not have to go looking for Lady Marguerite’s steward. Sir George quickly found Hugh amid the revelers who had stopped their amusements and were already questioning him. Hugh spoke of the developing threat near the lake, and the crowd in the hall quickly dispersed—the noble-women fled to areas of safety, the knights headed for the barracks to arm themselves.

Hugh and Sir George went down to rouse the troops, then headed for the armory where Hugh began issuing orders as he put on his armor.

“Send runners into town to rouse the people,” he said as a young squire helped him to fit his jack over his hauberk. Sleeves and pauncer were added, then sword and dagger.

“But, my lord—”

“Have all able-bodied men remain in the town, but send everyone else up here,” Hugh ordered. “Have the people round up their livestock and herd their animals inside the castle walls. Stress the importance of speed and stealth.”

“But, my lord,” Sir George protested, “we must have a plan. We cannot just—”

“This is the plan, Sir George,” Hugh said. “What did Lord Richard do when faced with an enemy attack?”

“We were never forewarned before, so the earl always met the enemy face-to-face,” the old squire said, “head-to-head on the field of battle.”

“It’s time for a new tack,” Hugh said with authority. He had assumed leadership for lack of another to do so. “We’ll protect the townspeople as best we can by removing them to the castle. Ah, Nicholas,” he said, taking note of his friend’s appearance in the barracks.

Nicholas was stunned by the sight that greeted him. Hugh had shown little interest in anything, his lengthy malaise certainly due to the tortures he’d withstood at Windermere Castle. Yet here he stood now, as formidable as he’d ever been, arming himself for battle and issuing orders as if he’d never lost an eye, a finger, a toe…Never been chained to a wall and forced to witness the atrocities committed against a defenseless old crone.

“Don’t gape, Nick,” Hugh said as he picked up his quiver of arrows. “Arm yourself.”

And as Nicholas began putting on his armor, it crossed his mind that it was unfortunate they hadn’t found a war in which to involve themselves before this.

“Is it possible the Scots know that Queen Catherine is here with young Henry?” Hugh asked Sir George, his astute mind quickly calculating all possibilities, and surprising Nicholas yet again.

“It is doubtful, my lord,” the aging knight replied pensively. “Her Majesty has been here less than a week—not nearly enough time for the Scots to muster a force of fighters such as you have described.”

Hugh let the matter rest, although he was far from satisfied that Sir George was correct. Whether or not the Scots knew Catherine was here, it was up to Clairmont to see that King Henry’s heir and his mother were kept safe. “How many archers have you?”

“Twenty-two, my lord,” George said, answering Hugh’s question.

“And foot soldiers?”

“Thirty-five…give or take,” George replied.

The attack would likely come at midnight, since that had been the Scots’ most common strategy, though Hugh learned that the Scottish raiders were an unpredictable lot. Nothing was certain, other than the fact that haste was essential.

As the men made ready for battle, activity within the castle walls increased. Siân had disappeared some time before, and Hugh assumed she’d gone to find dry clothes. Instead he found her standing in the rain in the inner bailey, amid wheelbarrows and small coops, wagons and livestock, directing the newly arriving towns-people to shelter, along with their children and animals.

Vexation possessed him as he observed her dripping, wet hair, the sopping blue gown that fit her like a second skin, the shivers she couldn’t conceal. She looked small and vulnerable. “Fool woman,” he muttered, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. He turned her toward the stone steps of the castle and gently guided her up, ignoring her objections all the way.

“There is work to be done, my lord,” Siân protested as they moved through the hall to the castle stairs. “The people do not know where to go. Children are frightened and—”

“You are going to catch your death,” Hugh interrupted, escorting her down the gallery where his own sleeping room was located. “Which of these is your chamber?”

Siân stopped in her tracks, a single bleak wall sconce lighting her angry face. “You cannot bully me so, my lord.”

“You need a keeper, my lady!” he said, raising his voice for the first time in recent memory.

Shocked by his insult, Siân’s chin began to quiver. “I do not!”

“Then behave as if you do not!” Hugh bellowed with irritation. “Get out of those clothes!”

“No!” Siân crossed her arms and stood toe-to-toe with him.

“God’s Cross, woman, you try my patience,” Hugh said, exasperated. She’d also wrenched more emotion out of him than he’d allowed in the past two years. Annoyance, aggravation. An idiotic sense of protectiveness. “What could possibly be so difficult about changing into dry things?”

She dropped her hands to her sides and glanced away self-consciously. Then she spoke truthfully. “I…I have no others.”

“Surely you…” He let his words fade as he saw the truth in her wary eyes. “Nothing presentable?” he asked gruffly.

She shook her head.

Owen had arranged for two acceptable gowns to be made for his sister when she’d arrived in London, but had seen no need for any more since she was to be pledged to St. Ann’s. Siân would soon be wearing the rough, brown woolen tunic of the convent nuns, so any more fine gowns would be a waste of Owen’s rare and precious coin.

Refusing to be thwarted, Hugh put his hand on Siân’s back and ushered her into his own room, kicking the door shut behind him. Siân, taken by surprise at first, began sputtering protests, but Hugh disregarded her words as he threw a few sticks on the smoldering fire. Then he pulled her over to the hearth where he turned her roughly and began untying the wet laces that fastened up the back of her bodice.

“My lord!” Siân cried, trying to pull away from his touch—the very touch that sent strange and wild tendrils of heat through her chilled body. “This is un-seemly! You cannot—”

“I most certainly can,” Hugh said. “I’ve already saved your foolish life once today, I’ll not see you take ill and die of fever and let my efforts of this morn go to waste.”

“Then I’ll find someone to help me,” she snapped. “Someone more…suitable!”

“Be still, Siân,” Hugh said, ignoring her. “These wet laces are the very devil to open and I have little time.”