CHAPTER Nineteen
Anne and the men dawdled a bit the next morning. They changed into trews and linen shirts, opting to stuff their plaids into their satchels. Calum folded the tartan sash he’d given Anne to wear and packed it as well. He wanted nothing to identify the clan. They mounted their horses later than usual, this time in silence, as if they all had an unsavory task to perform. Even Bran frowned and watched the trail in front of him.
The sun had moved to the western sky when Calum looked at his men. “This is the path. Go with God.”
Bran looked at Anne and raised his hand, as did the others. Yet, they said nothing. Anne realized they were in enemy territory now. If spies were lurking about, they’d pick up on any unusual movement.
She reined her mount beside Calum and kept her voice low. “Where are they going?”
“Tis best ye dunna ken.”
They continued on in silence until the sun set and then Calum spoke. “I will take ye to the citadel of Carlisle. Once there, I ask ye to wait and allow me some time to ride away.”
“Will the baron be there?”
“Aye. ’Tis also why I didna want ye in yer gown. He’d recognize ye straight away. Dressed as a man, ’twill take them some time and I’ll be able to ride nearer the citadel with you.”
“Do you think it safe?”
“I cannot leave ye to ride alone. I must see ye arrive unharmed.”
Anne reached her hand out but he shied away.
“Guaranteed, the baron has spies lurking in every dark corner.” His gaze shot to her with a look of longing and defeat. “We said our goodbyes last eve.”
Anne ground her teeth and turned her attention to the dark path ahead. She wanted to turn her mare around and gallop back to Scotland. Lord Wharton was an old man. What would his skin feel like beneath her hands? Would his lips be as tender and caring as Calum’s?
Her stomach clenched. She loved Calum MacLeod. Blast the proxy marriage. How could it be upheld in a court of law when she had not given her consent? Her family was powerful. Surely a botched marriage would be a minor blemish on the Wriothesley name that would soon be forgotten. But what about ruining her younger sister’s chances? Could she stage her death? She moved to rein her horse around when Calum pointed.
“Ye can see the flames atop the battlements of the citadel.”
The nape of Anne’s neck pricked. Could that be the light of her doom?
Calum led her to the edge of the town and stopped in the shadows. “This is where we must part ways.”
Her mouth went dry and Anne swallowed. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Could she change her mind now? “I wish...”
“Ye’ll be fine, lass.”
“How will you get back?”
“Ride like hellfire.” Calum leaned toward her. “I’ll never forget ye, Lady Anne.”
He reached back and slapped her horse’s rump. Before she could object, the mare took off toward the gates. Anne steadied herself against the sudden jolt and slowed the horse to a trot. Looking ahead, her skin crawled as if she approached an executioner. It didn’t help when a rider neared, wearing black, with a gaunt face. Passing, the dark rider eyed her like she was a thief. A group of soldiers clomped behind him.
She gazed at the two rounded towers, joined by a sharp-toothed portcullis. The tall curtain walls around Carlisle reminded her of a prison. She reined her horse outside the black gate. What should she do next? Merchants and people swarmed around her, but no one appeared to be stationed at the wall, waiting for a baroness to arrive. Should she dismount? She wanted to give Calum plenty of time to make good his escape.
Her questions were answered when the gaunt man reined his horse beside her. “What business have you in Carlisle?” he demanded.
Anne jolted in her seat. Hadn’t she seen him leave? She bit her lip and glanced back over her shoulder. She thought to run, but the man grabbed her reins. “I asked you a question.”
“I-I’m looking for Lord Wharton.” She removed her bonnet and pulled the braid out from under her shirt. “I am the Baroness of Wharton.”
Fury flashed in his eyes. He pointed to two men. “Take the baroness to his lordship.” With a thudding into his horse’s ribs, he charged away at a gallop, a dozen men behind him.
A cool breeze swept through loose wisps of her hair, but perspiration stung the creases of Anne’s arms. With a sharp breath, she wanted to flee, but a soldier had hold of her reins. Run, Calum, for hell has just made chase.
A foot soldier grabbed her horse’s bridle. He led her into the city. The world spun. More soldiers surrounded her. Leading her to a lime-washed inn, they pulled Anne from her mount. With a guard on either side, Anne followed them inside and up the stairs. A sentry opened the door and someone shouted, “Lord Wharton, the baroness has arrived.”
Perspiration sullied her palms. The soldiers ushered her through a chamber door and closed it behind her. A bald man dressed in red velvet with white hose peered at her through squinted eyes. His chubby jowls jostled around his chin and he folded his arms across his rotund frame.
He eyed her with a dour frown. “You could not possibly be the beautiful maid I watched from across the aisle at Westminster Abbey.”
Anne curtseyed and swallowed her revulsion. “Lord Wharton. I’ve been traveling on horseback for weeks. I have a gown in my satchel. Please allow me a moment to compose my person.”
He walked around her with an appraising glower. “You certainly don’t sound like a guttersnipe.” He sniffed. “Though you smell as foul as one.”
Anne dug in the pouch tied to her waist. “I have the decree of marriage if you do not believe me.” She held it out, wondering if she should have excused herself and said it was a hoax. No. He would undoubtedly throw her in gaol for breaking sumptuary laws.
Wharton snatched the paper from her hand and held it to the light. When he lowered it, he pursed his lips and faced her. “Well, wife. We meet at last.” He tossed the decree on the table and rang a bell.
A grey-haired servant appeared from a side door. “Simon, show the baroness to her quarters, and see Mrs. Crabapple draws her bath.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The servant beckoned to Anne, but Lord Wharton stopped her before she reached the door. “Remain in your dressing gown. I will have the physician attend you.”
Anne turned. “I am in good health, my lord.”
“We shall let the doctor attest to that.” He folded his arms. “And when you next address me, I expect to see a woman fitting for the title of Baroness.”
He did not have the decency to ask about her person, or how she had been treated during her captivity. Of all the pompous old men she’d met, he had to be the most insufferable. She cringed. He also had to be the most unpleasant to the eye.
***
When Calum saw the man reach for Anne’s reins, he knew she would have no choice but to reveal her identity. Watching her go, a part of him died.
He galloped his horse northward, but he’d cut the timing too close. The man on the black steed chased after him, a parcel of soldiers in tow. Calum’s mount was tired from a full day of riding but he spurred him on, running for his life.
He got his wish and clouds shrouded the sky with darkness. Trees whipped his face, and he could not see far. Calum’s mind raced. If he turned west toward the ship, they’d send scouts to trail him for certain. If he stayed on his course to the north, with fresh horses, the English would eventually catch him, unless he encountered a miracle.
Calum glanced over his shoulder. Their outlines neared closer against the dark sky. If he rode all night, he might reach Lockerbie. There, he could ask for protection from the Douglas. As far as he knew, Ruairi hadn’t done anything to land on their bad side. The Douglas Clan had been hit hard in the battle of Solway Moss as well. They hated Wharton even more than the MacLeods.
The thundering of a dozen horses neared from behind. Calum leaned further forward in his saddle. He could not stop. He would not look back again.
He galloped into a forest and darkness enveloped him. Heels dug deep, he pushed harder. The horse under him lurched and stumbled. Calum flew from his saddle. Instinctively, he tucked his body and prepared for the crushing fall. His back hit first. Air whooshed from his lungs. Straining to gasp a breath, he looked back to see a gaping hole dug in the path. A trap. His horse lay across from him, rocking and trying to rise. His leg is broken.
The soldiers surrounded him. Calum panted, still struggling to reclaim his breath. A gaunt, darkly clad man walked up beside him with a tsk of the tongue. He swung his foot back and kicked Calum in the gut. With sharp gasps, Calum curled into a ball to protect his innards from another assault.
The ugly man crouched down beside him. “You thought you could escape from the likes of Baron Wharton?” He drew his fist back and slammed it into Calum’s jaw. “I’d kill you now, but that would spoil the baron’s fun.”
The iron taste of blood spilled across Calum’s tongue. Rolling to his knees, he surveyed the copse around him, seeking his best chance of escape.
A boot to the arse laid him out flat. A soldier hopped down and tied his wrists with hemp rope—so tight the bindings cut into his skin.
The darkly clad man stood, drew his knife and ran his blade across the lame horse’s throat. “Drag this traitor back to Carlisle, but make sure he stays alive. The baron will want a word before we hang him.”
Calum focused on controlling his breathing. His jaw throbbed but he steeled his mind against the pain. A mounted soldier yanked on the rope. Calum had no choice but to run to keep up with the fast trot. If he fell, they would drag him for certain. The more they battered his body now, the less his chances were he’d survive once they got him inside.
***
Though Anne had longed for a bath, this one was anything but soothing. She wondered where Lord Wharton had found the crotchety old matron with a cadaverous face who scrubbed her down with the roughest piece of sackcloth imaginable. “I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”
“I beg to differ. I could smell you from the passageway.” Mrs. Crabapple took one more turn, scrubbing Anne’s back. “My lady.”
“I’ve been traveling for weeks. There was little opportunity for a bath.”
Mrs. Crabapple stood back and inspected her work. “How could you appear before the baron in a pair of trews? He will not soon forget that. His status is of utmost importance.”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter. After all, I was a hostage.”
“You should have begged for a bath before you were presented to him.”
Anne glowered into the water. As she remembered it, she was pulled off her horse and marshaled up to Lord Wharton’s chamber without so much as a word.
Mrs. Crabapple ground soap into her hair. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t request an annulment.”
Anne folded her arms across her breasts. If Lord Wharton wanted an annulment, he was welcome to proceed. But she wasn’t going to say another word to the old biddy. Anne had tried to explain, but the nasty woman countered everything she said—as if Anne had kidnapped herself. She would send for Hanna at her first opportunity.
Once she had scrubbed Anne’s skin raw, Crabapple held up a drying cloth. Anne snatched it from her hands. “I’ll do it myself. I’d like to keep the skin that remains.”
“His lordship is displeased.” The old woman wrung her hands. “Very displeased indeed. He instructed me to insure you were cleansed of all Scottish filth.”
Anne reached for the dressing gown the woman had brought in with the wooden bath and tied the sash around her waist.
Mrs. Crabapple picked up Anne’s clothes and headed for the hearth.
“You burn them and I will tell his lordship of your deplorable mistreatment of my person.” Two could play at her game.
The woman dropped the clothes in heap and shook her hands nervously. “Please do not disparage my actions before his lordship.”
Anne stepped forward. “Has he been unkind to you?”
“Ah, no.” Mrs. Crabapple’s eyes shot to the door. “Dear blessed Jesus, spare me his wrath…But those clothes should be burned.”
“They need to be washed.”
“Heaven help us all.” She cowered from the pile of clothing as if it were alive. “Are you planning to wear them again?”
“Presently, they are the only set of clothes I have aside from the dress in my satchel. The Scot kept my trunks.” She didn’t want to speak too harshly against Calum and honestly, she had no idea why she didn’t want Mrs. Crabapple tossing her trews in the fire, aside from the fact they were hers and they had been Calum’s. Her heart squeezed. They were the only things she possessed to remind her of him.
A sharp rap sounded at the door.
A creaky voice resounded from the corridor. “Doctor Smallwood at your service, my lady.”
Crabapple scurried to open the door. Stepping aside, she let him pass. Holding a candle, his black robes whooshed against the floorboards. Pulled low over his brow sat the black coif of a physician. He turned to the matron. “If you don’t mind, I am to examine Lady Anne in private.”
Crabapple frowned, and Anne inclined her head toward the door. She hoped she’d never see the dour servant again. But she swallowed hard when she faced the physician.
He gave her a nervous smile and cleared his throat. “The baron has asked me to validate your virginity.”
Anne felt the blood drain from her face. “You can do that?”
“With some level of effectiveness, I have read it has been done.”
“But you’ve never done it yourself?”
He pushed up his sleeves. “No. However, that shouldn’t worry you. I’ve read extensively on the subject.”
Anne pulled the dressing gown tighter across her body. “I can assure you, I have been touched by no man.”
The physician’s eyes dropped to her midsection. “I would dearly love to take your word for it, but his lordship is paying me quite handsomely to perform the test.” He glanced back toward the door. “I could ask the matron to come back in if you prefer.”
“Absolutely not. She’d wallow in my humiliation, that one.”
The doctor chuckled, as if he understood exactly. In other circumstances, Anne might have found a fondness for the man.
“I’ll need you to recline on the bed.”
Anne looked toward the canopy bed with green silk drapes. She rubbed the back of her neck. If she refused, Crabapple would no doubt be overjoyed to come in and hold her down. Worse, if she refused, it would be reported to the baron. What would he do? Seek an annulment? She could live with that. However, the thought of the matron, and possibly a soldier or two muscling her down cemented her decision.
She clenched her fists and walked to the bed. “I cannot believe the extent of my degradation.” She faced the physician. “I’m the one who endured a terrifying attack with cannons blasting the ship upon which I was a passenger because the baron had not the time to accompany me. I’m the one who was forced to live as a captive amongst the barbarians.”
Doctor Smallwood bowed his head. “I understand you must have experienced a terrible ordeal.”
Anne sat on the edge of the bed. “You are the only person who has made any such sympathetic comment since I arrived.”
“I’m sure his lordship is occupied with the urgent pursuit of your captors.”
Anne put her hands up to her face and pressed cold fingers to her hot cheeks. The physician would not know she feared for Calum more than she feared his exam. Let him think what he liked. Run for your life, Calum.
“Please recline.”
Anne exhaled and scooted back against the pillows.
The physician tottered up to her and set his candle on the bedside table. He had her sit forward and removed two pillows from behind her back. “Now if you’ll be so kind as to allow me to slide these under your hips.”
Anne pushed her heels into the bed and raised her bottom while holding her dressing gown closed. She’d longed for the comfort of a bed but never had imagined this.
“If you’ll spread your legs, I need to shine a light between them make an examination.”
“You cannot be serious. I have never…”
“I’m sure you have not. None the less, I am conducting this procedure exactly as it was written by the royal physicians.” Smallwood cleared his throat and lifted the candle.
Anne opened her legs and stared at the green canopy above. She gripped her arms tightly across her chest. She would never forgive Lord Wharton for this. The man hadn’t even inquired as to her health. Had he no compassion? Was she to be treated as chattel for the rest of her life?
Doctor Smallwood bent down. His icy hand pushed her thigh open wider. She clutched the edge of her robe, desperately wanting to pull it across her exposed and very private parts. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and slid to her ear. The heat from the candle started to burn. She inched back with a gasp. The doctor straightened, taking the candle away. Anne slammed her legs closed and tucked them beneath her. “I believe you are quite finished here.”
He pursed his lips, as if he needed to gawk at her privates for a moment longer, but Anne would have none of it. He’d had the look he requested, and she’d be damned if she’d let him peer at her a moment longer.
He set the candle back on the bedside table and pushed down his sleeves. “You said the barbarian’s didn’t touch you improperly. How was their treatment otherwise?”
Anne bit the inside of her cheek. She must be careful. “They were rather taken aback when they found me on the ship—unsure what to do with me, actually. I was well fed and given a comfortable chamber until they could arrange my ransom.”
The doctor nodded. “Smart of them, though I don’t know if that will make any difference when they’re caught.”
Anne rubbed her shoulders as if a cold wind burst through the chamber and she watched the doctor take his leave. Once the door clicked shut behind him, the tears trapped in her eyes drained down her cheeks. Through bleary vision, she glimpsed her shirt and trews, crumpled in the corner. Staggering across the room, she doused them in the tepid bath water. Her hands still trembled as she wrung them out and then draped them over the fire screen. She would wake early and hide them someplace where Crabapple would keep her meddlesome hands off them.
Once they returned to Alnwick, Anne would insist Lord Wharton send for Hanna. Yes, Hanna would help her to forget both these past weeks and her bleak future.