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Chapter Nineteen
Ivy and thyme; ivy and thyme; ivy and thyme.
Nimue repeated the words to herself as she made her way through the castle. For a moment, she considered sending a servant to get what she needed, but it was so late at night that everyone was bound to be sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake any of them. Instead, she decided to go out on her own to gather the ingredients.
She knew that there was thyme in the gardens and that she could find ivy just outside the castle walls, so it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get what she needed. She wanted to return to Chrisdean as soon as possible, as leaving him all alone worried her. What if something happened to him? What if he took a turn for the worse, and there was no one there to call the healer?
Nimue rushed out of the castle, navigating her way under the light of the moon. She was unstable on her legs, her knees trembling as she ran around the area within the castle walls, looking for some thyme. For a moment, she had to stop and brace herself against the wall, forcing air in and out of her lungs slowly.
She only remembered one moment in her life when she had been as scared as she was then: the moment she saw her mother die. When she had first laid eyes upon Chrisdean, wounded as he was, she had felt the same fear, the same paralyzing terror that she knew so well. Even at the mere thought of it, bile rose to the back of her throat, and she had to remind herself that Chrisdean was still alive, that he had survived, and that if she had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Pushing herself off the wall, she continued her search for the plant, though she could not stop her hands from trembling. She found the thyme, growing close to the stairs that led to the courtyard, and she picked a generous amount in case she would need to make more of the medicine later. Putting it in her pocket, she then ran toward the back of the castle, where a small door would lead her outside.
Once she found the door, Nimue also found the ivy. It was growing right outside, scaling the wall, and she smiled to herself as she picked it. She was getting the lay of the land, and it made her happy to know that the clan’s grounds were becoming her home.
Nimue was just about to finish picking the ivy leaves when she heard the crunch of a twig behind her. Before she could turn around, there was a strong arm around her waist, and an even stronger hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her from screaming.
Why does this always happen to me?
Infuriated, Nimue fought back, just like she had fought Chrisdean. That night seemed so distant to her then, as though years had passed, even though it wasn’t that long ago.
Nimue kicked her feet out, trying to break the man’s hold on her. She swung her arms, her elbows connecting with the man’s arms a few times, but he didn’t even flinch as he carried her away from the castle.
The man didn’t try to give her any reassurance. He didn’t speak to her at all. He simply dragged her along, ignoring all her efforts to escape, and it soon became clear to her that she simply couldn’t. The man was too strong, tall, and built like a brick wall, and Nimue had no hope of escaping his grip.
Nimue only stopped fighting when they reached a camp not too far from the castle walls. The men that populated it were all English and Nimue couldn’t help but wonder if they had something to do with the men who had ambushed Chrisdean and his party.
“Well, well . . . you have been very hard to find.”
The voice belonged to a tall man with short, brown hair and a thick mustache walking toward her. When he reached her, he trailed a finger down her cheek, much to Nimue’s disgust.
She recognized him.
“George Wentworth,” she spat. “Can ye explain to me why I am here?”
“Gladly,” Wentworth said with a sickeningly sweet smile. “I am here to rescue you from these barbarians, of course!”
Nimue scoffed at that, rolling her eyes at the man. “Ye canna possibly believe this,” she said. “This is me home noo. I am married to Laird MacIntosh.”
“Yes, yes . . . I’ve heard,” Wentworth said. “But you see, your marriage was not sanctioned by the King. So, in my eyes, in the eyes of the law, and in the eyes of God, you are not married to him. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Wonderful?” Nimue raised an eyebrow at that, shaking her head. “It is anything but wonderful, I assure ye. And I dinna care if ye think me marriage isna legal. It is to me. Chrisdean is me husband noo, so ye can keep yer savin’ for a lass that wants to be saved. I will be returnin’ to the castle noo if it’s all the same to ye.”
“I’m afraid it’s not,” Wentworth said, just as Nimue turned to leave. The man’s soldiers blocked her way, and she realized that it wouldn’t be that easy to get away from this man. “Besides, there is someone here that you may want to see.”
Nimue frowned at that, but then she thought that there could only be one person there for her: her father. With a few heavy, determined steps, Nimue approached Wentworth, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If ye’ve hurt him, I will make sure that ye have a slow, slow death. I will make sure that ye’ll suffer, do ye hear?”
Wentworth didn’t seem to be daunted by Nimue’s threats. He simply smiled at her once more, that wide, sickening smile that looked more like he was baring his teeth, and gestured at one of the tents in the camp.
“He’s there,” he said. “You can see for yerself.”
Nimue hesitated for a moment. She didn’t know why Wentworth would have planned a trap for her, but if he had, she didn’t want to step right into it. In the end, though, she decided that it was worth taking the risk if her father was there. She had missed him dearly, and she wanted to make sure that he was unharmed.
With tentative steps, Nimue reached the tent and went inside. Her father was there, just as Wentworth had promised, and when he saw her, he burst into tears.
“Nimue!” he said, rushing to her and pulling her into an embrace. “How I’ve missed ye! Are ye alright? Are ye harmed?”
“I’m fine, Faither,” Nimue said. Her father, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be fine. Nimue could see his sunken cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. His skin was pallid, and his hair was thinning, and he seemed to be hunched over himself like a much older man. “What have they done to ye?”
