Page 18 of Warrior’s Lady

She tucked the thick woolen blankets tight against Violet's sides and slipped off the little bed. In her own room she picked up a candleholder above the hearth and lit the candle with flames.

She had never been in a castle before. Her family's holdings were nothing elaborate when compared to the grandeur of Lee Castle. But castles, because of their size, were drafty and cold, she'd discovered. She grabbed a woolen shawl she'd found in the room and winding it about her shoulders, she entered the corridor. The long hallway was quiet and eerie, bathed in a glow of golden light, as she headed for the stairs. Moving slowly down the corridor, she paused at each of the portraits displayed there. Male Lockharts, in the traditional dress of their countrymen, stared down at her. The candlelight illuminated their faces, most notably their eyes — eyes that seemed to mirror the same anger and revulsion she'd seen on Camden Lockhart's face.

With a frown, Rhiannon quickened her pace, her eyes no longer on the portraits, but the floorboards beneath her feet. She did not seek their approval.

Belowstairs, she stepped into the great hall that despite the late hour was filled with the castle's residents. A group of women huddled before the overly large hearth. They each held two large wooden combs that they used to card raw wool from one side to the other, preparing the material for spinning.

Men gathered around the long tables, drinking from wooden mugs as they played a game she recognized as Merrills. Orrin and several other men who had escorted her and Violet to the castle, looked up when she entered the room.

Orrin broke away from the others, walking toward her. "Is there something you need, milady?" Orrin asked.

"Lady Violet needs a new gown," Rhiannon said, noting that the women's gazes had shifted to her, gazes that were none too friendly. "Is there somewhere I might find a length of fabric in this castle to make her one?"

He nodded toward the women at the hearth. "Mistress Faulkner or the other woman can help you with that." He returned to the other men, leaving her to stand alone.

The muscles in Rhiannon's shoulders stiffened before she forced herself to relax. Violet needed the fabric, not herself. That fact might bring their cooperation. Rhiannon pressed forward, coming to a stop before the older woman she'd met earlier. The woman raised her gaze to meet Rhiannon's. She read inquiry there, but nothing else. No welcome, no warmth. Rhiannon cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. "Mistress Faulkner, might you have a length of fabric I can use to make Lady Violet a new dress?"

Before the woman could respond, one of the other older women stood and tossed her carding combs to the floor. Her face contorted in disgust. "Your family killed my dear Harold."

Another of the younger women to her left murmured "Scot killer," just loud enough for Rhiannon to hear.

A young redheaded maid next to her giggled. "More like Mistress Plague."

Other women joined in the laughter. "Mistress Plague," they repeated, and continued their laughter until a sharp gaze from Mistress Faulkner cut the merriment.

"That is enough," Mistress Faulker reprimanded. "Sophia, you will show Mistress Ruthven to the storeroom."

"Me?" the maid whined. "I'd rather—"

Another lethal gaze from Mistress Faulkner halted her reply. With a grunt of disgust, she stood. "Follow me." Without waiting for Rhiannon to catch up, she hurried down the hallway on the opposite side of the great hall. The corridor twisted to the right several times before they came to stairs, leading down. "Watch your step, Mistress Plague," Sophia giggled over her shoulder as she disappeared into the dimness ahead.

Rhiannon stumbled in her haste to keep Sophia in sight. Catching herself before she tumbled down the stairway, Rhiannon slowed her pace. And Sophia vanished.

A blast of cold, mold-laden air washed over Rhiannon at the bottom of the stairs where a short hallway led to two doors. She peered in the first doorway, extending the candle ahead of her. The weak flame pierced the darkness for only a few yards before her.

Rhiannon stepped farther into the room. The scent she had first thought was mold shifted to that of pungent wood mixed with something else she couldn't identify. She took another step into the darkness only to reveal stacks of wooden barrels in neat rows across the room.

Suddenly, the door slammed behind her. An instant later, she heard the screech of metal as a bolt slid into place, barring the door. A soft laugh followed, then nothing.

A shiver went through Rhiannon, and she braced herself against the impulse to pound on the door. Who would let her out? None of those women would help her. She frowned into the darkness. She'd experienced this kind of torment before from her brothers. The trick, she'd learned, was not to play the game. They wanted a reaction, some response that would confirm their suspicions of who they thought she was.

The candle flickered as she stared into the darkness. She had to find a way out without help and without fuss. But how?

She clutched the candleholder tightly, watching the flame sputter. Again she held her arm fully extended before her, searching her surroundings. She was in some kind of cellar room filled with wooden barrels. Now that she'd become accustomed to the overwhelming scent, the air in the room smelled pungent with just a hint of spice.

Rhiannon ignored the barrels, and blocked out the scent, concentrating on the darkness. No, not complete darkness. She could see a dim glimmer of light in the distance. Another door on the opposite side of the room?

Only one way to find out. She strode forward, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness outside of the ring of light cast by the candle. As she wound her way between the rows of barrels, the small line of light grew bigger, brighter, until she could see torchlight coming from beneath the bottom of a door.

A few steps more, and her fingers closed around the door latch. One pull and the heavy door opened easily into yet another corridor. The temperature on this side of the castle was colder, most likely closer to the outside wall of the keep. The door at the end of the hallway proved her assumption as she stepped out into the softly lit night air. The door to the courtyard had enabled her to escape the trap. No sooner had the thought formed, than a dark shape appeared before her.

"What were you doing in that storeroom?" Camden Lockhart stared down from atop his horse with his usual look of displeasure.

Rhiannon couldn't tell him the truth. He would never believe his people capable of such deviousness. She also couldn't lie because that's what everyone expected her to do. Lie, cheat, steal, murder. She was capable of none of those things, yet damned by them all. "I couldn't sleep," she said, truthfully enough.

He dismounted and as he did, something in his gaze shifted, softened. Torchlightflickered over his dark hair and his light blue eyes, making the startling contrast even more pronounced. "You should not be out of the keep at night. Alone," he said emphasizing the last word.

She was always alone. But what did that matter to him? "Thank you, milord, for your concern." She ducked her head, shielding herself from his appraisal, and set out for the castle's entrance.

She heard him behind her, but kept walking until a hand on her arm stalled her. "Why were you out here?" he asked, his gaze intently on her face.

"You might say I was given no choice." She gave him a cool smile and continued toward the door that would take her back into the keep.

He fell in step beside her. She suddenly wished she did not feel so dwarfed by his presence. The man exuded confidence and power with his every step, a fact that made her knees unsteady. She grasped the door latch that would take her back inside his lair.

What did he want from her now?