Wildewood Revenge (13 page)

As she paused at the bottom of the stairs
,
the little boy looked up.
His eyes sparkled when he spotted Fly, who wagged his tail furiously in welcome. Drawing the child’s attention, she lowered Fly to the floor and beckoned him over. He ducked his head
,
giggling
,
as Fly tried to lick his face. Taking his hand she walked him back across the room to where the two men sat.

*  *  *

Miles watched her progress across the room, freshly scrubbed and
pink-
cheeked. Was this really the scrawny scrap he’d pulled from the woodland bog? To say she was beautiful was not entirely true. He’d known many beautiful women and
,
in fact, that was entirely the wrong word to describe her.

No, she wasn’t a standard beauty. Her hair, though the colour of spun gold and fine as a babe’s
,
was streaked with a peculiar shade of pink. Perhaps she’d unwisely strayed next to the dyers vat. It was worn far too short and had a mind of its own, sticking up where it shouldn’t. In fact she was altogether too short with a quirky stubborn look, no acquiescence there,
no willing compliance. And yet
the gown
,
though a little long, fitted her body in all the right places
,  the
colour brought out the golden streaks in her hair,
and  played down the pink,
and despite the unlikely pairing of beautiful gown and muddy boots, she looked just right.

Miles swallowed and the giant who sat next to him said something which caused Miles to smile and shake his head in denial. He rose and stepped around the table to take Grace’s hand which he brought to his lips. Grace tried to pull her hand back but he simply smiled and breathed against her skin so his companion could not hear.

“Humour me. I’m bewitched by your transformation, my lady.” He held her at ar
m’s length and turned her round.
“You transform particularly well.”

Grace smiled sweetly. “As do you, my liege.”

Miles narrowed his eyes, immediately alert. There wa
s something different about her
other than her attire. Was she up to something? Was he to withstand another of her outbursts? Was the ransom really worth the effort?

“Let me introduce you to a good friend of mine, John the Mason. John is a master of the stone and has agreed to help me renovate the estate.” He gestured to the child.
“
This is Linus Meek, his son.”

“Meek?”

“Meek and mild,” offered Miles by way of explanation.

Grace turned her attention from the tiny child to his father and smiled warmly at the man who now rose before her.

“My lady, I am pleased to be at your service. Linus will be honoured to know you.”

“I’m very glad to meet you and your son, John. He’s a delightful child.” She ruffled the boy’s curls and he smiled shyly and gripped his father’s leg. “Edmund will also be delighted to meet you. His father was a mason too. He worked on Lincoln Cathedral. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”

“Of course, my lady.”
The huge man tipped his head again. “I will speak with the lad.”

“I hope I’ve the chance to speak with you again before I leave,” continued Grace.

“You’re leaving?” He glanced at Miles questioningly.

“Just as soon as Miles
arranges it.”

Miles interceded smoothly
.
“John, thank you for coming.
W
e’ll speak later. If you take Linus to the kitchen, Martha will get you both something to eat and arrange lodgings. Thomas of Blackmore should be with us in a matter of days and then we shall begin.” He shook the man’s huge hand and the giant hoisted the child on to his broad shoulder. “It has been a
long time in the planning, John.
I’m sure you’re as anxious as I am to see this through.”

“Cautious is the word I would use, my lord,” replied the giant and with a nod to Grace he took his leave.

Miles returned his attention to Grace and considered her once more. “A word
,
if you please,” he said and Grace smiled sweetly. “For your own safety please do not discuss with others the circumstances of your stay here.”

“You mean the fact you kidnapped me and are holding me for ransom?”

“I did not kidnap you, I rescued you.”

“Okay, you rescued me, then you kidnapped me and now you’re holding me to ransom, yes?”

He sighed;
she was off again.

“Why should I not discuss it? Why is it a secret? Are you worried your reputation will be damaged?” She faced him, hands on hips.

The size of her, squaring up to him.
He had the urge to wrap his hands around her throat just to silence her noise. He kept his hands by his sides with considerable effort.

“No, I’m concerned, however, that yours might suffer. You will be here for some time before we get a message to the bishop and an answer back. It’s safer for you if people think you are under my protection.”

“Under your protection?
W
hat does that mean? That no one will
think to steal me out from under your nose and sell me to the highest bidder?”

Miles sighed impatiently as if she were a small child, slow on the uptake. “There are those who would like nothing better than to thwart any plans I may
have to reclaim this demesne. T
hey would think nothing of using you to get at me.”

“I see,” said Grace slowly. “So they would use me?”

“Yes
,
exactly.”

“And is that not what you’re doing?”

Miles cursed under his breath. She was correct, he was using her, but she had no idea of the danger she would be in if she got in to the wrong hands.

“I suppose it depends on your definition of the word
‘
use
’. I will not hurt you.
I’ve already told you that. But others would not be so honourable. Just remember the sheriff and his bodies. Let people believe that you are with me until we decide otherwise.”

“With you?”
She took a step back and Miles shook his head with exasperation.

“Mademoiselle, you flatter yourself. I admit you look surprisingly tempting this morning and you smell particularly fragrant. Under any other circumstances I could think of far more satisfying things to do with you than argue, but you have the tongue of a harpy. I am worn out with you already.”

“Then let me go home.
I’ll take the pony and be gone before anyone has the chance to use me.”

“The pony is lame, do you not remember?”

“Then I’ll borrow your horse
or you could just take me back yourself.” She tried her most winning smile.

He took her face firmly between his palms and looked her directly in the eyes. “No, Grace and that’s an end to it.”

“Edmund has told me all about you,” she continued. “Yes, about the bad things you do.”

“Has he indeed?”

He turned on his heels and left her before she could respond and force him to show her the full extent of his badness. She was not going to be an easy captive. She had bewitched Edmund already, and if she continued to charm those in the household
,
how could he be sure they would
keep her safe in the grounds?
Only Edmund knew of his purpose for her. He needed to maintain a constant watch if he were to
prevent her leaving
Wildewood
. U
nfortunately he had far more important things to do.

Chapter Fourteen

Retracing her steps to her room, Grace crossed to the door in the corner. Instead of the expected cupboard she found a steep set of stone stairs leading both up and down. She wondered where they led. Her curiosity took her upwards.

The stairs were narrow, dark and wound in a tight spiral. She cou
nted the steps and after twenty-
two had been trodden and her leg was about to give out, she found a door set in the inner wall. She felt in the dark and found the latch. The door opened with a creak of neglected hinges. The room beyond was surprisingly large, though smaller than her own, and took up the entire floor of the tower in which it was situated. It was furnished simply with a large bed, writing table, and a chair aside a small fireplace. On the back of the door hung a cloak she recognised. This was Miles’ room.

There were three windows
,
one set on each of the walls not containing the chimney. They allowed sunlight to warm the room. She crossed to the bed and ran her fingers gently across the linen, wrinkled where he had slept. She lingered at the writing table where a parchment map was laid open to view. Perhaps this could help in her escape. The chart showed
Wildewood
and its surroundings, but she recognised nothing. The text was French and the lettering far too ornate to read. She guessed the river must be the Coquet, but as there were no roads drawn she could make no real sense of where she was. She remembered what Edmund had said about the v
iew from the top of the tower. If she
could see Scotland in one direction maybe she could work out
where she was by the topography -
surely that couldn’t have changed.

Leaving the room, she closed the door behind her and proceeded up
the steps to a smaller door opening out onto the roof of the tower. Although fearful of heights, she had to look. Carefully she made her way to the parapet and surveyed th
e view. Edmund had been correct - the panorama was indeed magical -
and by ensuring she didn’t look straight down
,
she was able to enjoy i
t without fear. On three sides
woods stretched for miles
,
and beyond them lofty crags taller than the one on which
Wildewood
was built. To the side where they’d entered the day before, parkland
was
bounded by a much thinner belt of woods. Beyond that
lay the snow-
covered moorland they’d crossed with care. Realistically there was only one way in or out. They’d travelled towards the setting sun, so to return she must keep travelling east. There were no other landmarks to be seen.

Could she do that, she wondered, as she left the roof and descended the stairs. Would she have the nerve to set out on her own and cross those moors alone? She’d laughed at the thought of horse-eating bogs, but Miles was correct, the moors were dangerous.

She followed the stairs to the bottom and found a small door which was locked, much to her annoyance. No matter, she thought, as she climbed back up to her own room. She’d have plenty time to discover the secrets of
Wildewood
. Her leg protested and she rested a while, sitting on her bed. If she were to escape she would have to plan carefully. It had taken them two full days to get here, partly due to the bad weather, but Miles also knew where he was going. It would take her much longer, so she would need warm clothes, supplies and a pony.
She also needed to be fully fit
if she was on her own at the mercy of the weather.

She would wait one week. She would use that week to ensure she had everything she needed.

*
 
*
 
*

Miles s
pent the day out on the demesne
assessing the state of his holding and visiting the folk who’d stayed loyal through trying times. His shepherd, Berryman
,
had tended sheep for the last forty years and continued to do so in Miles’ absence. So despite the weather and the lack of adequate estate manageme
nt, he’d retained a small flock
due to lamb in the spring. There’d been a problem with rustling, Berryman told him, mainly from over the border, but he’d kept the flock safe by moving them onto the high moor where it was difficult for horse and rider. The cattle had all but gone to rustlers. Martha and Tom had retained a milking cow and calf
,
and a couple of oxen for pulling the plough
,
but the main herd had gone and would have to be replaced at market in the spring. The woods however were teeming with deer
,
according to Tom
,
and there were fish a plenty upstream, so they would not starve. The kitchen garden was overgrown
,
and although it could be dug ready for spring
,
they needed labour to dig and seed to plant.

Miles mentally totted up the cost of restocking the demesne and repairing the buildings. In addition to
Wildewood
Hall, there were a dozen or more cottages scattered throughout his holding and at least one stone bridge had fallen to winter floods. The folk who worked the land and maintained
Wildewood
had not been paid since he’d left. The total cost was massive. He shook his head with frustratio
n. E
ven if he wanted to release Grace
, he couldn’t afford to. H
e needed the ransom.