“I’ll do what I must,” he said, his voice steely. “But our first problem is how to get inside the Keep.”
“I think I can help with that, son.”
Brendan’s blood turned to ice in his veins at the unfamiliar voice. Color drained from Noah’s face, and the hope from his eyes. Brendan turned slowly, hearing the rustling in the undergrowth for the first time, and saw exactly what he’d expected to see.
Laird Grahame stood behind them, half-hidden in the trees, with a dozen warriors, all aiming arrows at Noah and Brendan. He gave a tight, cold smile when he met his son’s eyes.
One of the warriors took a step forward, clearly gloating.
“Remember me?”
Brendan eyed the man dispassionately. “Fergus. Turning up like a bad penny.”
He turned his back, and Fergus gave a gasp of outrage.
“Hello, Father,” Brendan heard himself say, his voice surprisingly calm.
Laird Grahame sneered. “Welcome home, son. Ye are just in time for the wedding.”
Chapter 18
What A Touching Reunion
Freya threw her whole weight against the ropes binding her wrists, but it did no good.
“Stop that!” chastised the matron assigned to watch her. “Ye’ll scrape yer wrists.”
Freya didn’t bother to point out that her wrists were already chafed raw, and her arms littered with bruises from her rough journey here.
She didn’t recognize the matron, a sullen, hulking woman of middle-age, and nor did she recognize the room they’d put her in. It was not her original room, of course. To her horror, the room was decorated like a bridal chamber.
A huge, square bed dominated the space, laden with silks and expensive satins, with gauzy material hanging in wafting strips around the bedposts. There was no fire in the hearth, so the room was chilly and silent. She had been deposited unceremoniously on the bed, and her wrists tied to the newel of the bedpost. She could slide off the bed, if she wanted, but could go no further.
Trapped,she thought, for the hundredth time.I’m trapped.
There’d been no sign of Laird Grahame’s squat figure, for which Freya was grateful, but she’d be a fool to think that it would last.
This is it. All my plans have come to nothing. I know that there’s no way out of this.
There was a tap on the door, and the matron huffed impatiently.
“Come in, lass! What took ye so long?”
The door creaked open, and a maid with a slopping bucket of water staggered in. Freya’s chest tightened.
Maggie.
Maggie didn’t risk looking at her, not under the sharp eye of the matron. She hobbled across the room, putting down the bucket. When the matron crossed the room, picking up a bowl and a clean cloth, Maggie leaned forward, whispering urgently.
“They’re setting up the wedding ceremony for ye,” she hissed. “But there’s some commotion going on down in the courtyard. I don’t know what.”
Freya swallowed hard. “I need to get out of here, Maggie.”
“I know,” the maid kept her eyes aimed downward. “They never found out that I was involved, but only because I’m so unimportant that nobody thought of me. I’m sorry, m’lady. I cannot help ye now.”
Freya closed her eyes. “It’s all right, Maggie. Ye have done more than enough for me.”
Then the matron turned back, and their opportunity for conversation was over. Advancing, the matron dunked the cloth in the water.
