Verily, her father had noted her disappearance by now. That realization gave her some ease. If anyone could rescue her, her father could. All Maris had to do, she realized, was delay Bon’s intent—for it didn’t make sense that he’d plan to hurt his intended bride—until her father could get there. He’d besiege the keep, take it apart stone by stone, brick by brick, to get to her.
Maris drew in the first easy breath since her abduction two days ago. She must stall and delay and play along with Bon de Savrille and his game.
Agnes helped her out of the tub and to a stool that sat before the fire. Maris, wrapped in a woolen blanket, stared into the flames as the maid tugged a wooden comb through her hopelessly snarled hair.
“Yer hair is beautiful, my lady,” said Agnes, breaking the silence.
Although Maris did not feel inclined toward conversation, she responded, “Many thanks, Agnes. ”
“My lord wishes for you to sup with him this eve,” Agnes told her. “Do you wish for me to say you are still ill?”
Maris was silent for a moment, considering. How she would love to remain ensconced in this chamber, away from the prying, greedy eyes of her kidnapper…yet, the start of a plan had already begun to formulate in her mind, and she needed more information to know if ’twould work.
“Nay, Agnes,” she replied after a moment. “I shall sup with Lord Bon, as he wishes. It does not seem prudent to anger him, aye?” Hoping to learn more about her captor, and as yet unsure whether Agnes would be a help or a hindrance to her, she craned her head to look back at the maid.
“Oh, aye, my lady, my lord has a brutal temper,” agreed Agnes. “An’ one ne’er knows when ’twill break. ” She could not suppress a shudder. “Yet, my lady, he seems overly fond of you…in fact, I have heard stories that when he is in his cups, he sings love ballads in your honor. ”
“Indeed?” Maris could not hide the shocked expression on her face.
“My lady,” began Agnes, hesitating. She took a deep breath and began again, “My lady, you did not come here of your own will, I trow. ”
Maris gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. “Nay, Agnes, of course I do not. I would wed with no man under my own will. Yet, I have a betrothed of my father’s wishes that I have been snatched from…though he is hardly no more a prize than is Lord Bon. ”
“My lady, I would—I would do all I may to help you…an’…. ” Agnes swallowed, trembling, her eyes fearful as she looked up at Maris. “I would ask a boon, my lady. I know ’tis unseemly to ask, my lady,” her words now tumbled out as if she could not stop them, “but I would wish to leave here in exchange for—for helping you. ”
Maris turned a cool gaze on the frightened maid before her. A prickle of mistrust niggled up her spine. “How might I help you leave as I am my own prisoner here?” she asked.
“My lady, you are the daughter of a powerful lord, ’tis certain that he or your betrothed will come for you,” Agnes whispered, yet cowering as if waiting for a hand to strike her face. “An’ I would go with you when they come. ”
“You are mistreated?” Maris asked mildly.
Although she’d never been approached by a servant requesting aid, it was not an uncommon occurrence. The serfs that were bound to a land were also bound to its master, and even though she may escape with the help of her father, stealing a serf was another matter entirely. “I cannot take you from your master. ”
“My lady. ” Agnes swallowed heavily, then continued, “I am a freewoman, my father a merchant near York, when I was taken from him. I wish only to be free from Lord Bon. ” She unconsciously touched the purple scar. “’Tis but a reminder of his anger. ” Tears welled in her eyes, and despite her misgivings, Maris felt sympathy washing over her.
“As you shall help me, I vow repayment in kind,” she told the other woman, who, by mere misdirection of the Fates, was serving her rather than living the life of a merchant’s wife. Ofttimes, the family of a merchant was even wealthier than those of the nobility, whose wealth lay in the land rather than commercial goods. She could not leave Agnes here.
“Thank you my lady!” Agnes fell to her knees, the tears tumbling forth. “Praise God and thank you!”
“Now, then. ” Maris became business like and drew the maid to her feet. “We must have a strategy. You must tell me all that you know about my lord and his plans, and we shall decide how to proceed from there. ”
As the women plotted in the abovestairs chamber, taking care to keep their voices at a low level, a different scene unfolded below.
Dirick had not missed the look of shock, and then loathing, that had flitted across Maris’s face when she saw him. Fortunately, she’d slumped to the floor before announcing thus to the entire great hall, and he considered that not a small bit of good fortune.
And though no one else seemed to notice her reaction, he felt her anger slice through him, followed by a stifling fear when Bon de Savrille gathered her up in his arms to carry her above. Dirick almost started after them, determined to do whatever he had to in order to protect the lady’s virtue.
He would have, in fact, done so if he’d not noticed Edwin Baegot watching him carefully. Despite his urgent desire to protect her, Dirick forced himself to remain still. He would be no help to Maris of Langumont if Bon learned his true reason for being there.
When Dirick heard the lord of the keep bellowing for hot water to be brought to the above stairs chamber, and then the heavy footsteps of Bon himself returning to the hall, he realized he had some time yet before Maris and her maidenhead were in danger—assuming that Victor d’Arcy hadn’t already helped himself to it.
Sinking onto a short stool, Dirick stared into the fire that snapped viciously in its enclosure.
First, he must send a message to Merle of Langumont. Finding someone in the village that could be trusted would be a battle in itself, but a healthy palm of coin would ease the way.
Then, he mused, plucking at a string on his tunic, he must find a way to delay the imminent wedding while protecting Maris’s virtue: all without arousing his host’s suspicion.
Dirick was just returning from his sojourn to the village—ostensibly to visit a whore—when the keep’s inhabitants were shoving and jostling for place for the evening meal. He’d paid a heavy coin to a young man to carry the message to Langumont, as well as promising him that Merle would place him in his household as reward for defying Bon de Savrille.