Chapter 22 #3
Glenna pulled her woolen cloak more tightly about her as she sat in the boat while Montrose rowed them across a lake toward their swiftly approaching destination.
What was inside that castle ahead of them?
Along its crown were the jagged crenels, looking like a demon’s bite.
She closed her eyes and sought some sense of courage she doubted she had left; but she needed some strength of heart for the unknown she was about to face.
Montrose was silent. For the whole day he had withdrawn again, erected a stone wall around himself, and nothing she could say would break through to him. That hardness, that silence, carried into the night.
The night air went suddenly still, as if someone swallowed the wind and left only silence that was pierced only by the rhythmic slap of oars as Montrose drew them through into the water.
‘Twas odd. She looked around her.
The brush lining the shore was thick and dark and still. Her mind was mad, her instincts affected by her fears. The trees and bushes had no eyes.
She faced forward, calling herself silly. Her heart was affecting her head.
Behind Montrose, the image of the castle was growing larger and more imposing, and with each oarstroke her hands began to shake more.
The wind picked up again, a small gust, then another, bigger and higher.
She could hear a tree bend, the rustling of leaves.
Hair pulled from her braid to cut across her mouth and whip into her eyes, for a moment obliterating what was ahead.
When she tucked her hair back, before her was their destination and the knowledge she was one step closer to the moment she would face her father, her fate, her failure and whatever horrible humiliation her future would bring.
At that moment she would have given anything to be a crofter, a milkmaid, a goat girl… anything but the daughter of a king.
She tried to quell the rising tide of her fears. Montrose’s lack of speech became too much for her. “Will my father be there?”
“I was told to bring you here. Whether it is to await his arrival, or to meet him, I do not know.” His deep voice sounded cold and tight, his words sharp. He’d had a hard time looking her in the eye since he’d left her standing alone by the strange old tree, confused and feeling adrift.
“I merely wondered if perhaps he had come back undercover for his safety, rather than arriving from a ship like before to face his enemies and their arrows.”
If Montrose had heard her, she would never know. He chose to remain stonily silent, but she could not. “I do not know what he expects of me.”
There. She had spoken her fears aloud. She admitted what she was afraid of.
I wonder if he knows that I trust him enough to tell him this. Then she asked herself why that mattered.
The oar locks creaked as he increased his rowing speed, and she could hear the cutting of the water, the draw of the oar and the ripple of the water on the surface, and then his breathing. Not a word from him. There was only an occasional gust of wind over the land and trees.
“Talk to me, Montrose. Please…” Her voice caught a little and sounded as pitiful as she felt and she hated that.
“You are his daughter,” he said heavily after a moment. “No doubt when you do finally meet he will expect to see a young woman.”
“When we do finally meet?” she repeated, almost leaping upon his words. “You know something! You know he is not there.”
“I know nothing,” he said sharply, continuing to row.
“Then why did you say when we finally meet?” She could feel his tension and hear a slight strangle when he said her name aloud. “What is wrong,” she asked.
He shook his head and looked out at the water. His voice was emotionless when he said, “From what I remember of him, you have his looks.”
“I do? Hmmm. If that is supposed to reassure me, it does not. I do not know if having his look is a good thing. They say the queen, my mother, was a rare beauty.” She grew thoughtful about her mother, speaking of her aloud, and she wondered about all those things a girl who never knew her mother wondered and longed for—someone to guide her and explain her feelings and wants and needs, so many things she never could understand.
Her mind flitted from one fear back to another.
“But if I looked like her, I might remind him of his loss and he would ban me from his sight. And of course if I am not beautiful enough, then he might ban me anyway.” She faced him.
“ Do kings not have pride? Many say they have all too much pride--the cause of wars.” After a moment she threw her hands up.
“Oh, none of this matters because once he knows me, he will probably banish me to some tower or if facing a war, he’ll marry me off to an enemy to forge an alliance.
I know little of politics and the power struggles of men. How am I to survive? How?”
I only know how to steal a purse.
Panicking, she blurted out, “What if my husband is old? Or worse?” She paused, then whispered, “What if he beats me?” She wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob.
Instead, another horrific image came to mind, one worst than the closing of a trap door.
“Montrose?” She almost choked on his name.
All her fears and feelings were stuck in her throat.
He was silent.
She lowered her voice and said, “Did you know Germans bury their wives alive as punishment?”
The oars stopped and the oarlocks grated loudly. Montrose cursed viciously. “I cannot do this,” he said, and a moment later he had used one oar to turn the boat.
As the boat spun around, racking raggedly, she gripped the sides. “What are you doing?”
“Be quiet, Glenna.”
The wind picked up and boat moved swiftly.
“Why? We are not hiding. No one is around. I can speak.”
“I am beginning to feel a great kinship with the Germans. “ He pulled the oars through the water a good three times faster than before.
“This is no time for jests.”
“What makes you think I am jesting?”
“But what about my father? Why are we turning back?” She looked around her. “Montrose? What are you doing?”
“I’m going mad. Now do not say another word or I swear I will steal a shovel and make you dig your own grave.”
“Ha! You would not dare.”
“Good. You have stopped your crying,” he said.
“I was not crying!”
The boat hit the bank. Before she could move he pulled her out, gripping her by the shoulders. “I believed I was stronger than I am. I believed I could let you go, could turn and walk away. I cannot. I do not know what you have done to me. You drive me mad. “
“I do?” she asked, suddenly warm. His hands gripped her shoulders and made her feel warm, warmer still from the look in his eyes. He wanted to kiss her. His words to her at the tree came echoing back.
He released her as if she were made of Greek fire. “Despite what I need to do, you are forever in my head, deep inside. Here.” He pointed to his temple, then to his chest. “And here.”
On his face he wore the truth: that he was not pleased about what he had just told her. But she was. “You love me,” she said, trying not to smile.
“Glenna….”
“You love me. ‘Tis true. I shall not argue with you about it, Montrose.”
There were deep furrows in his brow and his hands were in fists. He was battling something strong, and having a great deal of trouble.
She watched him pace the grassy bank like a cat caught in a pen. “Scowl all you want, my lord.”
“I am not your lord. I am not anyone’s lord!”
“Fine but I’m still confused. How does what you feel, Montrose--please note I did not call you ‘my lord’-- have anything to do with your taking me to my father?”
He drove a hand through his hair. “Lord above, woman! I am not taking you to your father!”
“I do not understand. Where are you taking me?”
Torchlight and swift moving shadows came out from the trees, and suddenly a troop of armed men surrounded them. A deep voice came from the midst of them. “He is taking you to me.”