Promise of the Rose by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page B

body. His words quelled any protest she might have made.
    “You have lost, mademoiselle,” he stated. “For we are here. Look. Alnwick.”
    Dread rushed over her and she was heedless of how harshly she gripped his thick forearm, cutting her fingertips on his chain mail. They had arrived—and she was lost. Ahead lay Alnwick—ahead lay her prison.
    The sun was setting. Partly obscured by gloom, Alnwick’s stone walls appeared dark and unbreachable. The fortress lay on a huge natural motte with impenetrable man-made ditches surrounding it. The thick brown outer walls of the bailey were interspersed with watchtowers, tall and imposing; beyond them, the taller, crenellated tower of the keep could be seen, drenched in fading apricot-hued sunlight. Mary felt an acute dismay.
    If she failed to escape—and escape was unlikely—and if she was not set free or ransomed, she would have little hope of ever seeing home and kin again, because no attack could be sustained for long against such a place as this, not even an attack by Malcolm.
    They rode across a drawbridge and through a raised portcullis into the outer bailey, saluted by a dozen armed guards. There were a dozen buildings within—stables for the horses, shops for the keep’s craftsmen, quarters for excess knights, and pantries and supply sheds. People were everywhere—women with hens underarm for the cook pot, children herding pigs, carpenters working with their apprentices, farriers and grooms and horses, servants and bondsmen. An oxcart laden with barrels of wine had entered ahead of them; other carts were being unloaded near the wooden stairs at the entrance to the keep. The noise was deafening. Amidst the human cacophony was the barking of hounds, the squawking of hens, the whinnies of horses, the ringing of the smith’s anvil, and the banging of the carpenter’s hammer. There was scolding and laughter, terse shouted commands. Mary had never been inside such a large fortification before—it was larger than most Scottish villages and larger even than her home, the royal fortress at Edinburgh.
    They reached the steps at the front of the keep, and the Norman easily swung her to the ground. Mary stumbled a little, her legs stiff from the day’s long ride. Stephen slipped to his feet beside her and began to guide her firmly to the stairs. Mary jerked her arm free. “Do not fear. There is obviously nowhere for me to run even if I wished to.”
    “I am glad you have the sense to think so.”
    “You would not be so pleased if you knew what I
really
think.”
    “To the contrary, I would be very pleased if I knew your innermost thoughts.”
    Mary looked away, goose bumps creeping up her arms. She feared his tenacity would be greater than hers.
    They entered on the second floor into the Great Hall. Two large trestle tables dominated the room, at right angles to each other—one elevated and empty, where the earl would sit with his family, no doubt. A number of household knights and men-at-arms sat at the lower tables, partaking of a supper repast, served by kitchen wenches quick to evade the more amorous men and overseen by the keep’s chamberlain. Other retainers gambled, drank, and diced. Beautiful, vivid tapestries hung from all the walls, and a fire curled in a massive stone fireplace. Fresh rushes, sweetly scented with herbs, covered the floors. Mary realized with surprise that there was not a single hound in the place. Two large, carved, cushioned chairs sat in front of the hearth, identical to the two at the head of the elevated table. For a moment Mary froze, thinking the Earl of Northumberland was in residence as she spotted the back of a golden head in one of those chairs.
    But it was a young man only a year or two older than herself who sat there alone. He rose to his feet with unusual grace when they entered and strolled towards them. He was golden-haired, blue-eyed, and very handsome, his fair skin tinged faintly golden from an excess of summer sun.