The Prisoner Bride. Susan Spencer Paul

the rood!” Bostwick exclaimed, laughing as he gazed down at the small, smooth white stone in Kieran’s palm. “’Tis the truth you speak, Kieran, my friend. They’ve naught of value upon them if the flame-haired wench carries rocks about. A tiny little rock, by God!” He laughed again, and the crowd laughed, as well, regaining their loud merriment.

      Kieran turned to Glenys and set the stone in her trembling hand. She was faint with gladness that it hadn’t begun to glow, and quickly shoved it back into her pocket to join the druid queen. God help her, but what would have happened if anyone had seen the stone glowing, or the ancient chess piece, with its lively eyes? How could she ever have explained to these thieves—aye, most especially to Kieran FitzAllen—what they were and why they seemed to possess such magic?

      The touch of Kieran FitzAllen’s warm hand upon her cheek caused her to look back up at him. He was gazing down at her, his blue eyes possessing a measure of concern.

      “You tremble,” he stated. She could scarce deny it. “There is naught to be afraid of. I’ll let no one bring harm to either you or your maid.”

      “No one save you,” she muttered, then was sorry for it. He was a knave and a fiend, but he was their only protection in this hellish den, and he had meant to reassure her. “We are cold and weary,” she said more calmly. “The fire here smokes far more than it gives heat, and these people…these friends of yours…”

      “Aye?” His eyebrows rose. All about them the noisy crowd chattered and laughed and jostled one another.

      “Is there no place where Dina and I can be left in peace?” she asked more softly, lest one of them should overhear and become angered. Already she could see Bostwick striving to get close enough to listen to what they said. “You mentioned that a room may have been readied. Can we not go there now, Dina and me?” She would plead with him, if she must.

      “You should sit by the fire for a while first,” Kieran told her, “and dry yourselves. And eat.”

      Glenys shook her head. “’Twould do us far more good to lie down, if we could but have some blankets to warm us. And cannot some food and drink be brought to us there? Please,” she said, searching his face for some measure of softening, “I beg this of you. You cannot think we would be comfortable here.”

      He glanced about at his comrades, clearly unable to understand such a sentiment. It occurred to Glenys that Kieran FitzAllen and his servant, Jean-Marc, were looking forward to spending the coming hours drinking and eating and making merry with these people.

      “You need not come with us,” she said quickly, touching his arm. He looked down to where her fingers rested upon his sleeve. “Dina and I will be content with our own company. You and Jean-Marc must stay here and be as merry as you please with your…your good fellows.”

      His eyes were fixed upon her hand for a long moment, then he at last lifted his gaze to hers.

      “But I do not know if I can trust you, Mistress Glenys, not to try for an escape while Jean-Marc and I take our ease. Though ’twould be foolish indeed for you to make such an attempt, for ’tis wet and muddy without and you know not where you are. But I do not doubt you would try to rid yourselves of us even by such means.”

      He was right, of course. Glenys did plan to escape as soon as she might, but even she wasn’t so foolish as to try such a thing in the dead of night and in the midst of a storm.

      “If I give you my oath that we’ll make no attempt to escape this night, will you allow us to retire?”

      He looked at her consideringly. “You would make such a vow?”

      “Aye, and readily.”

      Nearby, Bostwick boomed, “What keeps ye there in conversation, Kieran, lad? Ye have many a day to speak to yer lady prisoners. The ale has been brought. Come to the fire!”

      Kieran was obliged to shout above the din in answer. “A moment, Bostwick!”

      “What’s amiss?” Jean-Marc’s blond head suddenly appeared, at about the same height as his master’s shoulder. The younger man held a tankard of ale, which he offered to Dina, but the maid silently shook her head and turned away.

      “Naught,” Kieran replied to him, holding Glenys’s gaze. “Go and tell Bostwick that our prisoners wish to retire now, and that we will take them to the chamber that has been readied for them if he’ll but lead the way.”

      Glenys released an unsteady breath. “I am grateful, Master FitzAllen.”

      He smiled and gave a shake of his head. “Wait until you see the chamber that has been prepared for you before saying such as that, Mistress Glenys,” he advised. “If I know Bostwick, he has cleared away the small room that his whores use to be private with whoever pays for their skills. ’Tis like to be such a place that you may pray to be here beside the smoking hearth, instead.”

      “It could not be worse than this,” Glenys said, then grew hot with embarrassment to think that she had spoken the same words earlier.

      Kieran laughed as Bostwick arrived at his side to escort them to the chamber.

      “We will pray it is so, mistress. Come.” Kieran set a hand beneath her elbow. “Let us see for ourselves.”