Read The Border Lord's Bride Online

Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

The Border Lord's Bride (35 page)

BOOK: The Border Lord's Bride
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She left the window open and walked slowly into the other little room. It contained an oak bedstead with natural-colored linen bed curtains embroidered with deep blue threads hanging from tarnished brass rings. There was a small round candle stand to one side of the bed, and a stool before the hearth. On the wall without the single window in the chamber was the trunk she had briefly opened earlier. It was still open, and looking inside she could see it was filled with colorful garments. She had but gazed into it before. Now she began pulling things out, and to her surprise she found the clothing was very much her size. Dropping the garments she went back out into the day room, as she heard the sergeant stamping back into the chamber.

He was carrying a round wooden tub, and he looked to her. "Where do you want it, my lady? Sir Roger‘s majordomo found it, and said it belongs with your rooms. He does not know why it was still not in them. It is supposed to hang on an iron hook outside your door." He was red-faced from his climb, and puffing with his exertion.

"I think I should like to bathe before a fire if you would be so kind as to start one for me, Sergeant," Ellen told him.

"In your bedchamber," he suggested. "You would have more privacy there, my lady. Sir Roger has given orders that the door to these rooms be locked from the outside. You do not want someone catching you unawares as you bathe." He was most serious and deferential when he spoke to her.

"Aye," she agreed, and he carried the tub past her, setting it down before the bedchamber‘s little hearth.

"I‘ll start the fire for you," he told her, kneeling to arrange the kindling and then the wood, taking the lit candle she offered him, and lighting the fire. He stood up, giving her back the candle. "I hear the menservants coming with the buckets," the sergeant said. "Perhaps you would like to sit in your dayroom while the tub is filled."

Ellen went, doing as he suggested, waiting patiently for some minutes as four serving men came in and out of the room with buckets of steaming water. It took over half an hour for the little tub to be filled, for the servants had to make their way back to the kitchens to get the hot water.

Finally the tub was filled, and two buckets were left for her to wash her hair. Ellen thanked the servants politely.

"I will leave you to yourself now, my lady," Rafe said. "Remember that the door is locked from the outside. It will be opened only by Sir Roger or by me."

"Thank you," Ellen answered him, and watched as he left her tower rooms, hearing the key as it turned and slammed the door‘s lock firmly into its place. She stood for several long moments after he left, growing used to this new silence that surrounded her. In her cell the quiet had been very complete, but here in her tower she could hear the birds outside, and the faint sounds of cattle and sheep in nearby meadows. There seemed to be no wind this late afternoon, but the air was sweet and it was fresh. She opened the twin casements in the dayroom to air out the mustiness, for it was obvious that these rooms had been closed up for several years. Still she had noted that the bed was freshly made.

Ellen went and made a fire in the dayroom hearth. She noticed almost at once that the wood beginning to burn was apple wood, for it had a lovely fragrance. She had almost forgotten such things during her monthlong incarceration. With a sigh Ellen went into the bedchamber and stripped off her dirty garments. Naked, she stood debating with herself for a moment, and then she put them on the fire to burn. There was no salvaging them. Then she climbed into the little tub, delighted to find that a small sliver of soap had been set on its edge, and a washing rag floated in the yet-hot water.

She scrubbed and scrubbed at herself until her skin was pink and tingling. Then she washed her long red-gold hair, relieved to find that despite her fears of nits she had managed to escape them.

A few more days in that dungeon, she considered, and I should not have been so fortunate. She used one of the remaining buckets to rinse her hair free of soap and grime; then she exited the tub and dried herself and her hair thoroughly with the drying cloth that had been laid upon her bed. It felt wonderful to be clean again.

Wrapping herself in a pale blue silk house robe she found in the trunk, she sat down upon the little stool by the fire and began to brush her long hair until it was soft and dry. As she did she considered that she had never before thought of a bath and clean hair as luxuries, but after her month in the castle dungeon she certainly did. Carefully she plaited her hair into a single thick braid. Then she went to the window of her bedchamber, leaning upon the stone sill to look out at the day again.

The castle stood upon a cliff overlooking the sea. Ellen had never seen the sea until the day she had come to this place. There seemed to be no end to the vastness of the water. It appeared to stretch forever. Today in the late-afternoon sunlight the water sparkled bright blue, and above it great white gulls soared on the almost invisible wind. And the air—it had a clean tang to it. She could see no boats in the sea or upon the bit of stony beach she could but glimpse. In the distance she saw a river emptying into this sea. But there were no other people. Colby Castle was obviously very isolated.

How on earth was Duncan going to find her there? Was he even searching for her after all these weeks, or had he given her up for dead? He had not been unhappy as a bachelor gentleman.

Perhaps, having an heir, he was content without a wife. But he loved her! He had said he loved her, and he had said it before she had said it. Suddenly Ellen found herself crying silently. Aye, she was better off as the day ended than she had been when it began, but she was so alone. She had not even a rat to talk to now, not that she had really talked to the creature, but he—or perhaps she—had been company.

Flinging herself down upon the bed, she wept herself into a slumber. When she awoke the late-summer sun was sinking down into the far reaches of the sea. Getting up, she went to the window once again and reveled in the magnificent colors on the horizon. When had she last seen such beauty? She didn‘t understand why, but watching it strengthened her. All the sorrow and weakness she had experienced earlier vanished. If Duncan Armstrong couldn‘t find his wife, then she would find him. Of course, there was the small matter of escaping from Colby Castle to be considered. Ellen chuckled to herself. But she would escape no matter what it took to do so.

A knock sounded upon the door that led from her dayroom into the hallway outside. Ellen went to the door, tightening her house robe as she did. "Yes? Who is it?"

"It is I, my lady, Rafe, the sergeant," came the reply. "I have brought a serving woman with your meal. May she enter?"

"Of course," Ellen answered him, and as she stepped back she heard the key turning in the lock.

The door opened, and the sergeant stepped into the room, holding the door to allow the servant carrying the tray inside. The woman scuttled quickly in, her eyes averted from Ellen, and set a tray upon the table. Then she hurried out, and Ellen heard her footsteps as she went down the stairs.

"Is there anything else I may do for you, my lady?" Rafe asked her.

"Could the tub in my bedchamber be emptied?" Ellen asked him.

He nodded and, going directly into the room, picked the tub up—to Ellen‘s amazement, for surely it must be heavy—and carefully dumped it out of her chamber window. Then he brought the tub out through the dayroom and, stepping out the door into the hall, hung it on the iron hook that stuck out from the stone wall. "Will that be all, my lady?" he asked politely. "I believe you have plenty of wood for your fires, and while the night will be damp, for we are by the sea, it is not cold."

"I shall be fine, Sergeant," she answered.

"Sir Roger wishes to know if you have everything you need," Rafe said.

"Tell him I would like my freedom," Ellen replied, and the sergeant grinned.

"I shall convey that message to him, my lady," he responded politely with a small bow. "Good night, my lady." Then, backing through the door into the hall, he drew the door shut and locked it.

She heard his footsteps as they echoed down the staircase, and sighed. Having someone to talk with even briefly and on mundane matters was very nice. She would look forward to his visits.

Walking over to the table, she looked to see what nourishment had been given her tonight, and was pleasantly surprised. Her fare in the dungeon had consisted of either vegetable pottage or oat porridge in a small, stale trencher of bread. Neither had had a great deal of flavor. But there in a large fresh bread trencher had been laid a slice of ham, a little haunch of rabbit, and a piece of cold meat pie. There was a small bowl with some new peas with two leaves of braised lettuce; a wedge of cheese, and a peach. There was also a small silver goblet of sweet wine.

"What a great improvement," Ellen said aloud, and, pulling one of the chairs to the table, she ate it slowly, but she ate it all. She savored the peach in particular, devouring it as she once again leaned upon the stone sill of one of the casements and watched the bright twinkling stars popping out in the blue-black sky. The juice from the fruit ran down her hands, and she licked them clean before taking the napkin she had been given, dipping it in the remaining bucket of water, and wiping the stickiness from her skin.

When she had finished eating she sought about the apartment for a pitcher, and, finding it with its matching brass basin, she poured water into the vessel and set it into the hot ashes of her bedchamber fire so it would be warm for her morning ablutions. Then, being sleepy once again, Ellen left the dayroom and climbed into her bed. The bedding smelled of lavender, and was far more comfortable than her cell pallet had been. She was quickly asleep after burrowing into the featherbed and drawing the coverlet over her.

Her life settled once again into long, dull hours made slightly only better by the fact that she could look out of the windows of her new prison to watch the sea and the birds. After a few days Ellen said to the sergeant, "Tell your master that I am bored with no one to speak with and nothing to do."

He nodded. "I shall tell him, my lady."

To Ellen‘s surprise Rafe returned shortly after he had left her. He carried a small basket and several garments. "What is this?" she asked him.

"My master says if you are bored then perhaps you would not mind mending some of his

garments. He has no woman to do it for him. I have brought his late mother‘s sewing basket." He set the items down.

Ellen was at first outraged, and then she laughed. "Thank your master for providing me with something for my hands to do, but tell him I am still without lively conversation. Perhaps he could send me a serving girl for a companion."

"I will convey your request," the sergeant said with a little bow, and then he was gone again, locking the door behind him.

"One day you will forget to lock that door," Ellen muttered to herself. And then she looked through the garments she had been brought. There were three shirts, all the worse for wear, a velvet jerkin, its trim worn, and a brocade surcoat with a torn pocket. Ellen laid the clothing on the dayroom table and opened the small basket. Inside she found thread and needles, along with scraps of fabric and bits of ribbon. Sir Roger, Ellen decided, might own a castle, but he had no wealth, as his garments indicated. She set to work repairing the items in question, mending the tear in the surcoat pocket first, then replacing the trim on the velvet jerkin with some contrasting ribbon she had found in the basket. Then she mended the cuffs and collars on the shirts.

When her late meal was brought that day, Ellen returned the clothing to the sergeant. "Tell your master that if he will supply me with the fabric and return one of the shirts to me for a pattern, I will make him some new shirts. These have seen better days, and can be mended or repaired no more."

Following her custom, Ellen ate her lonely meal and then retired to the window to watch the sea.

The horizon was dark today, and she thought as the darkness seemed to be coming toward her that there might be a storm soon. Her ears caught the sound of faint thunder, and the gulls were screeching noisily above her. Since she had been brought up from the darkness of the dungeon she had been able to keep track of the days. August had gone, and it was now early September.

She had tried not to think of why her husband had not yet found her. Admittedly Sir Roger‘s ancestral home was not well-known, and it was certainly isolated; but surely someone knew where the Englishman would hole up with his captive, and had been able to help Duncan seek her out. Yet no one had come. And what of her baby? She knew Peigi would have known enough to find a wet nurse for Willie immediately, but had her son thrived on another woman‘s milk? Or had he died? If Duncan‘s heir were dead she would kill Sir Roger herself, even if she went to hell and burned for eternity for the crime. As the dark thoughts began to take hold of her, she heard to her surprise the key in the door being turned. The door swung wide, and Sir Roger stepped into the chamber.

"Good evening, madam," he said pleasantly.

Ellen tensed. "What do you want?" she demanded of him.

"I am told by my sergeant that you have complained of a lack of company," Sir Roger told her.

"Do you play chess? I have brought a chessboard and pieces," he said. He held the board out and showed her a box that he carried.

"I do play chess, my lord," Ellen said slowly.

"Excellent! Then we shall have a game or two," he replied. He immediately set the board and box upon the table, drawing the two chairs on either side of the table to the ends of it, and moving a footed candelabra near for light.

Ellen sat down and opened the box. She spilled the pieces out, admiring them as she did so. They were beautifully carved figures of ash wood and ebony. They were hand-painted, green being the predominant color for one set, the king and queen of which had gold crowns; and red with silver belonging to the other grouping. She set the figures up carefully, and when she had finished he turned the board about.

BOOK: The Border Lord's Bride
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