Chapter 19 #2
“Up.” He slapped Magda on the side of her hip. “We’re a day’s ride from Gloom, my base in the Lowlands.” He stood and turned to mount his horse, held in stoic silence by a young, filthy-looking boy.
“Tonight you sleep in my castle. A proper wench in my very own bed.” He laughed, trotting off.
She’d ridden the day in numb silence, unable to wrap her mind around all that had befallen her in the past weeks. Born to wealth in Manhattan, could she really be destined to die as the property of a cruel seventeenth-century clan chief?
Campbell’s castle loomed high on a hill in the distance, and the sight of it brought fresh terror pounding through her veins. She refused to believe this. Refused to accept that she’d been sent back in time to this.
The castle wasn’t a pretty one. It emerged, solid and sharp edged, high above a craggy, tree-tangled valley in the Ochil Hills.
Unlike the romantic whimsy of other European castles she’d seen, this one seemed almost to portend a dreadful fate.
Like something out of a fairy-tale nightmare, it featured a large, rectangular tower rising into the gray sky, its stone face and scant windows declaring the impossibility of escape.
Her horse skittered, and a burst of panic brought her back into the moment, her heart thumping to realize how close she’d come to the edge of a gorge yawning below her.
The ravine was steep, and covered by a thick web of moss, leaves, and a few tenacious saplings fighting to take root.
A thin stream of water burbled obliviously at the bottom.
“The Burn of Sorrow, aye?”
“What?” Magda asked, startled.
“That there’s called the Burn of Sorrow.” The anonymous clansman winked at her, as if merrily sharing an insider’s knowledge of her future in Campbell’s care.
"Is that a joke?” Magda tried to sound outraged, and she cursed the weak, warbling voice that escaped her.
“No, lass.” He adopted an informative tone that annoyed her, and she felt a flicker of gratitude at feeling something other than the dread that was permanently lodged like a stone in her gut.
“The Marquis of Argyll, he’s a powerful big man in Scotland, and he’s keen to chill the bones of any who’d think to attack his lands.
He’s holdings aplenty in Scotland, aye? Inveraray Castle is his main seat, but we’re off to his Castle Gloom now, of course.
Oh aye,” he said, seeing her look of astonishment at the name.
“Long ago they’d renamed it Campbell Castle, but our marquis prefers the sound of the old name.
The Campbells have a flair of mystery about them, aye?
We’ve the Burn of Sorrow, Castle Gloom . . .
“Don’t be fashed,” he giggled, “there’s always the Burn o’ Care on the castle’s far side.” Chortling, he kicked his pony and jarred into a trot away from Magda and toward the front of the line.
The castle was as squat and stolid as it had appeared from afar.
A stone wall surrounded the structure, enclosing a large courtyard, what looked like gardens, and a few buildings.
All aspects of it were connected to, and dwarfed by, the enormous stone tower rising high above the rest like a medieval prison.
Once she got within the castle confines, that would be it for her. She knew it without a doubt.
Hearing something, she turned to see a man, about her age, smiling at her, his hand outstretched.
"What?”
“To the stables?” He nodded toward her horse, his shaggy pink-blond eyebrows raised in question. “Shall I take her to the stables? ”
She sized him up. He was short, but he had a wiry look to him, all tendons and thin ropes of muscle from a life spent training horses and hauling hay.
Magda looked around at the mobs of people milling about, some taking their own mounts to the stables, others handing theirs off to disappear into the shadows of the castle.
The men who had been posted as her guard that day were busily tending to their own horses, seeming confident that she’d never leave these gates again.
Her mind worked frantically, scrambling for some final escape plan. But in her desperation, all she seemed to come up with was the hollow echo of defeat. “Um, do you mind . . .” she began, hoping for any excuse to postpone the inevitable.
She dismounted as gracefully as possible given the long day’s ride, and mustered a sweet smile.
“May I please take little . . . little Silver myself?” She patted her horse’s neck, hoping an impromptu pet name might make her request more convincing.
She thought it critical she be allowed to tend to her own horse.
Buy herself just a few more minutes before disappearing into the castle’s black depths.
“I’ve become so attached to her. I’d love to wipe her down myself. Maybe even steal a bit of oats.” She shrugged her shoulders and grinned, praying it looked more coquettish than the grimace she feared she was producing.
Disarmed, and probably more than a little puzzled by her strange accent, the groomsman flashed her a ragged smile and, nodding frantically, gestured broadly to the stables.
She forced her shaking legs one in front of the other, keeping her clenched smile frozen on her face. She shot a sideways glance at the stableman. He wasn’t leaving her side. “Alright then,” she mumbled, thinking that would’ve been way too easy.
It was much quieter inside. Unbidden memories of her parents burst to the front of her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. They’d loved horses, loved visiting the stables at the track.
Stop it. She didn’t have time to get sentimental now. She had to find a way out before they locked her inside Campbell’s preposterously named Castle Gloom. While she still had a chance.
Her body moved mindlessly as she slipped the saddle from her horse, replaced the bridle with a rope halter, and tied her off once again, all the while eyeing the far end of the stable where a slash of sunlight cut through the dimness.
An exit? Motes of hay floated in the air like sparks, beckoning her as if promising the last warmth of freedom.
Clouds of dust puffed from the animal as Magda flicked a stiff brush along neck and belly.
There had to be a way to get over there without detection.
She felt the heat of a body close in behind her and her mind slammed back into the present. She was Campbell’s prize, and she was crazy to think she wouldn’t become fair game for the rest of the men of the keep. She needed to escape. Now—or not at all.
The groomsman pressed his groin in at her back as he reached over her shoulder, making like he needed to instruct her on some element of grooming. She heard the rasp of his breathing.
Her eyes scanned around her, alighting on brushes, a bucket of water, stretches of rope and leather. She’d led her life with such formality, had worked to cast herself with such reserve. But reserve wouldn’t save her now.
She choked out a coy giggle, bumping gently back into him. He was hard already, his stubby cock stiff at her rump. She caught his eye and forced a pouting smile. “Now, now.”
She ducked under the horse’s neck, popping back up to gaze at the groomsman from the other side.
Magda tried to hold his eyes so she could scramble for anything usable as a weapon, her hands just out of sight.
She felt ridiculous summoning all manner of pouts and winks and simpers, but her efforts seemed to have shocked him into rapt attention.
She sensed the bench behind her and spun to grab a brush and a length of harness from it.
The man moved to walk around to her, and Magda stopped him, redoubling her efforts, teasing his fingers with little touches as she smoothed the brush down the horse’s back in as seductive a manner as she could muster.
She had a lead line in her other hand. Carefully, she let it slide down the length of her palm until she felt the cold steel hook at her fingers.
Magda gave him a brilliant smile then, even flicking a bit of tongue at the corner of her mouth.
Circling her wrist, she wound the length of rope around her hand, securing the hard metal clip at the end in her grip.
She stepped back then, sliding her hand slowly from the horse’s back, raising her brows in her best come-hither look.
The groomsman licked his lips and bobbed quickly under the animal’s neck to join her. As he stood, Magda slammed the blunt end of the hook into his temple, left hand at her right wrist to bolster her strength, and he fell at once.
The horse reared, spooked, and she quickly patted her, settling her back down.
Magda looked back to that ray of light cutting into the far end of the barn.
Turning, she walked slowly down the corridor, horses in stalls on either side chuffing and whinnying quiet greetings.
She came to the source of the light. Magda realized that what had looked from a distance like the far wall was actually a half door.
Though the bottom was clicked shut, the top half was cracked ajar and the source of her sunbeam.
Pulling the latch, she stepped through to an outdoor paddock, its resident horse grazing intently on a well-manicured lawn.
He heard her approach and glanced up, chewing and blinking at her lazily. He was a magnificent animal, tall— at least seventeen hands high, she thought distantly—and his chestnut coat gleamed, the late-afternoon sunlight picking out shades of red and yellow silk.
She walked to him, and he stood alert, not afraid, but simply focused on her presence. Magda couldn’t help but reach her hands up to tangle her fingers in his deep orange mane, and she leaned her weight onto him, his solidness reassuring her.
The horse whickered quietly, nudging her with his powerful head, and Magda felt her breathing deepen and her pulse slow for the first time in days.