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Chapter Two
Roselyn managed a nod. “Yes, my lord, that is correct. I usually manage unaided, but I confess I am feeling a little disoriented, so if I might just take your arm… only to the foot of the steps…”
She flinched at the obscenity he breathed, but was glad enough when he grasped her numb fingers and wrapped them around his elbow.
“There are four steps down, though I daresay ye know that. Two paces ahead.”
“Thank you.” Roselyn tightened her grip and allowed him to lead her down the steps, then hung onto his sleeve as he continued across the cobbled bailey.
“Ye will remain here until I deem it otherwise.” Her captor’s words were curt and delivered in a soft Highland brogue. He disengaged her hand from his arm. “See that she does.” The final words were presumably addressed to one of his men.
“Aye, Laird,” came the response, as the heavy footsteps of the conquering lord receded.
He was gone, and thus far she still breathed. Roselyn did not dare to believe this happy state would continue for long. His sister… Dear sweet Lord, what had she done?
“Milady, are you injured? That brute did not hurt you, did he?”
The voice came from her left and Roselyn recognised the worried tone of Betsy, one of her brother’s servants. The woman normally took care of linens but sometimes tended the fires in the lord’s chamber and Roselyn knew her to be a kindly enough sort. She turned in the direction of the voice.
“No. No, he just startled me, is all. His horse…”
“Aye, the rampaging devil looked as though he would gallop right through the hall itself. Let us pray that is all he intends this day.”
Another voice broke in, this one shrill, on the edge of panic. The words came from close behind Roselyn’s shoulder. “Nay, there will be more. Much more. My cousin was at Mortain. He told me what happened there. Dead, all of them, an’ this lord’ll be wanting vengeance for his kin. He means to kill us, I know he does.”
“Now Martha, we don’t know that.” Betsy’s own tone faltered but she seemed intent upon calming the younger maidservant.
“We do. They be murdering scum, all of them. The Scots are heathens, barbarians, everyone knows what they be like.”
“How many of our men died defending us? Was it very bad?” Roselyn reached for Betsy’s arm, interrupting the gloomy conversation.
“No, milady. None are dead that I know of. Mind, there was hardly any left here to put up any resistance. The castle fell almost at once.”
“No guards? None at all?” Roselyn could hardly believe they had been abandoned, left defenceless by her brother.
“Sir Alan took all his able-bodied men with him when he fled last night, leaving behind but a handful of old men or young lads, as well as the injured. Maybe it was for the best, I don’t think we would have stood much of a chance even if fully garrisoned. The Scots attacked so quickly…”
“We shall be murdered, just like those poor souls at Mortain. I need to find my Edward. Have you seen him?” It was Martha again, her shrill tone betraying her mounting panic.
“Nay, lass, but I think the lads were set to work loading carts over by the stables. He’ll be here soon, you’ll see.”
Martha was not reassured and her voice rose again to a near-hysterical shriek. “No, he’s dead, I know it. I want to go to him, he might need me, He’s but a boy, not yet twelve summers…”
Roselyn was jostled from behind and stumbled forward as the distraught Martha shoved her way past in search of her missing son. Roselyn clutched at thin air and would have fallen to the ground but for a strong arm encircling her waist.
“Steady, my lady. And you, get back with the others.”
Roselyn regained her balance and murmured her thanks to the soldier whose quick action had saved her from ending up sprawled in the courtyard. Meanwhile Betsy seemed to be taking charge of the weeping Martha, ushering her back past Roselyn.
“Now Martha, calm yourself and stay still. You do not need to attract that guard’s attention again. I can see your Edward. He’s over there with my brother, John. They are both on their feet, look.” She sounded exasperated, but her words seemed to penetrate Martha’s rising panic. Roselyn could hear the woman’s dejected weeping which had replaced her frantic screeches.
“He’s only a baby,” wailed Martha. “Our Rodney told me they killed even the little ones in Scotland. What’s to become of any of us if this lord wants blood in exchange for those he lost?”
“He won’t. I shall tell him it was none of your doing, any of you.” Roselyn hoped her words would reassure her companions, though Martha continued to whimper her predictions of doom.
“Let us hope this Scottish warlord is in a mood to listen to reason then, milady,” was Betsy’s final comment on the matter.
* * *
