His Bonnie Bride Hannah Howell (e reader comics TXT) 📖

At some point her spirit recovered. She was firstborn to Lord Eldon, a great power in his own right on the border marches and much respected at court. To lie groveling in her own misery and pain was no way for one who had the blood of both the Eldons and the O'Conners in her veins. "Nor," she thought with a slightly bitter humor, "the woman who could be carrying the child of Tavis MacLagan."

Recalling vaguely that another session had been spoken of and probably another after that until they got the answer they wanted gave Storm the strength she needed. Shaking and sweating from pain and weakness, she edged her body forward and worked at the ropes on one wrist with her teeth. She had to rest often, but she finally freed her wrists. The pain caused by chaffing and too tight bonds was nothing compared to the agony in her body, and she easily ignored it.

Dressing was even harder, for several times she nearly fainted. The muscles needed to don her clothes seemed to all be located in her ravished back. A warmth oozing down from her shoulder told her the knife wound had reopened, but she did not pause in her efforts. That was a problem that could be seen to later. Not knowing how long she had been unconscious made her worry about the others returning. Storm felt like weeping when Agnes entered the room.

"Just what are ye about?" Agnes hissed as she put down the tray of broth, ale, bread and cheese she had brought and shut the door. "Ye should not be up and dressed."

"Nay, I should be bound to the bedposts awaiting another flogging." Storm stood, her hand clutching the bedpost as she fought a wave of nauseating faintness. "I think not, Agnes."

"How can ye get out? Ye'll be seen for sure."

"Not by the route I mean to take. I must be gone. They will soon return, I am certain." Storm wavered as she started toward the door. "Hell and the Devil confound this weakness."

Agnes caught her before Storm fell. "I will give ye a hand. Ye are not used to being afoot yet."

"Just why will ye help me, Agnes? Ye are Lady Mary's maid," Storm said, her suspicions plain.

"For myself. I want Sir Hugh. Ye and your fortune are in my way." Checking the hall and finding it empty, Agnes helped Storm out of the room and in the direction Storm indicated. "An I help ye escape, help ye get away from here, Sir Hugh will be mine again. I will get him to the altar yet."

Storm had serious doubts about the sanity of any woman who wanted Sir Hugh, but exercised a little diplomacy and refrained from saying so. Until she could regain her equilibrium, she needed Agnes even if she did not trust her. She had more important things to worry about at the moment. Things such as where she was going and how she was going to get there.

Chapter Thirteen

Damp oozed from the walls as they crept through the bowels of Hagaleah. Tavis had never liked the subterranean chambers of a keep. A glance at the grim faces of Iain, Sholto, Angus and Donald told him that they were none too fond of them either. Phelan, however, strode along with apparent calm, plainly at home within the labyrinth although they had barely quit the tunnel so there was still plenty of time to get thoroughly lost. Tavis wondered if he had been a fool to put his trust in a boy.

Donald was wondering much the same thing and he said, "I cannae like this. The lad could be leading us into a trap. He is a Sassanach after all."

Tavis almost laughed at the indignant look on Phelan's small face. "I am Irish. For Uncle Roden I might lead ye into treachery an he dealt in it, which he does not, but not for the Sussex bitch." He paused as he thought he heard a noise. "I seek to free Storm afore their plans for her can reach fruition. Hark!"

The sound of a door opening echoed clearly in the gloom. Dousing their light, the Scots and Phelan melted into the shadows, tucking themselves into a small, doorless chamber. Being so few in number, discovery was the last circumstance they sought. Swords at hand, they waited for the danger to pass. When the footsteps came their way they tensed, only to start in surprise at a familiar voice.

"Ye can leave me now, Agnes. I have no further need of ye." Storm leaned against a wall, uncaring of its cold, damp feel, rather almost welcoming the sensation against the fiery agony that was her back.

"Aye, I'll leave ye," Agnes said softly, and pulled a knife. "This seems as good a place as any."

Storm eyed the knife with scorn, too tired and wracked with pain to be afraid. "Don't be an ass."

Although tensed to intervene and restraining Phelan, Tavis grinned in the dark, amused by Storm's tone and the maid's surprise.

"I ain't having ye take Sir Hugh. 'Tis no bride ye shall be. I aim to stop that wedding."

"I am leaving, am I not? What more do ye require? There is no need to stain your hands with blood."

"You're leaving because ye're angry. Once ye see that Sir Hugh and m'lady were just acting as they ought, ye'll be back, and I will nay let ye have him. If ye be gone, Sir Hugh will wed me."

"I will send ye a bride's gift. Ye are welcome to the man, Agnes. Go. Take him and be wretched."

"Ye don't fool me. Ye will return and take him to wed. What woman could refuse him?"

"This woman. I would rather take myself to London and spread for tuppence than wed Sir Hugh."

Agnes made a scornful sound. "I suppose ye would like me to believe ye return to the Scot's arms."

Tired and in pain though she was, Storm nevertheless saw the way to end the impasse.