Morag gave a little snort. “Ye fought Stephen long and hard when ye first met him.”
“It wasn’t the same,” Bronwyn insisted. “Miles calmed her but only after a long time of shaking her. Did you know she broke Sir Guy’s toes?”
“And I heard the two of ye quarreled,” Morag snapped.
Bronwyn straightened defensively. “She dares to defend Roger Chatworth to me. After what he has done—”
“He’s her brother!” Morag spat. “Ye would expect her to be loyal yet ye seem to think she should see your way at once. Bronwyn, there is more than one way of things in the world.” She bent and spread a large blue and green plaid over Elizabeth’s quiet form. “Let’s leave her in peace. A messenger has come from Stephen’s eldest brother.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bronwyn said, angry at being treated as a child and more angry because she deserved the treatment.
Elizabeth lay perfectly still after the door had closed, listening for anyone’s breathing. Sometimes men had pretended they’d left a room but in truth they were actually only hiding in dark corners. When she was sure she was alone, she turned over and cautiously opened her eyes. She was indeed alone.
She sprang from the bed and went to the window. It was just growing dark outside, the moonlight beginning to silver the steep walls of the gray stone castle. Now was the time to escape, now before a routine was set, before all the MacArrans were informed she was a prisoner.
As she watched, on the ground below, four men walked past, their bodies sheathed in plaids. With a smile, Elizabeth began to form a plan. A quick, silent search of the room revealed a chest of men’s clothes. She pulled up the silk skirt of her gown, tied it about her waist, then pulled on a voluminous men’s shirt and slipped into heavy wool socks. For just a second, she looked down at her knees, blinked at the idea of appearing in public so very bare—nude almost. There were no shoes so she had to make do with her own soft shoes, her toes tightly jammed with the added bulk of the socks. Rolling the plaid about her so it formed a short skirt and could be tossed across a shoulder took several attempts, and she was sure she still didn’t have it right when she tied a belt about her waist. It was much too long to buckle.
With her breath held, she cautiously opened the door, praying that as yet no guard had been posted outside her door. Her luck held and she slipped through a narrow opening and out into the dim hall. She’d memorized the way out of the castle when Miles had led her to the room and now, as she paused to get her bearings, she listened for sounds.
Far away, to her left and below, she could hear voices. Slowly, melting into the wall, she glided down the stairs toward the main exit. Just as she was moving past the room where people were gathered, she heard the name Chatworth. She glanced toward the door to the outside but at the same time she wanted information. With no more noise than a shadow, she moved to where she could hear.
Stephen was speaking. “Damn both of you, Miles!” Anger permeated his voice. “Gavin has no more sense than you do. The two of you are helping Chatworth accomplish what he wants. He’s coming close to destroying our family.”
Miles remained silent.
Bronwyn put her hand on Miles’s arm. “Please release her. Lady Elizabeth can return to England with an armed guard and when Gavin hears she’s released, he’ll let Roger Chatworth go.”
Still Miles did not speak.
“Goddamn you!” Stephen bellowed. “Answer us!”
Miles’s eyes ignited. “I will not release Elizabeth. What Gavin does with Roger Chatworth is my brother’s business. Elizabeth is mine.”
“If you weren’t my brother—” Stephen began.
“If I weren’t your brother, what I did would have no effect on you.” Miles was quite
calm, only his eyes showing his anger.
Stephen threw up his hands in despair. “You talk to him,” he said to Bronwyn. “None of my brothers has any sense at all.”
Bronwyn planted herself before her husband. “Once you fought Roger Chatworth for what you believed to be yours. Now Miles is doing exactly the same thing and yet you rage at him.”
“It was different then,” Stephen said sullenly. “You were given to me by the king.”
“And Elizabeth was given to me!” Miles interjected with great passion. “Bronwyn, am I welcome here? If not I and my men will leave—with Lady Elizabeth.”
“You know you are welcome,” Bronwyn said softly. “Unless Chatworth is prepared for war, he’ll not attack the MacArrans.” She turned to Stephen. “And as for Gavin holding Chatworth prisoner, I’m glad for it. Do you forget what Chatworth did to your sister Mary or that he held me prisoner for a month?”
Elizabeth slipped away after hearing those words. They were going to find that she wasn’t the docile captive they assumed she would be.
Outside, a fog was rolling in from the sea and she smiled in secret thanks for the Lord’s help. Her first necessity was to get a horse because she could not walk out of Scotland. Standing still, she listened, stiffly intent, trying to ascertain where the stables were.
Elizabeth was quite good at stealing horses; she’d had a great deal of practice in her short lifetime. Horses were like children. They needed to be talked to quietly, simply, with no quick movements. There were two men at one end of the stables, laughing, talking in low tones about the latest women they’d bedded.
With great stealth, Elizabeth eased a bridled horse from the far end of the long stable. She pulled a saddle from the stall wall and waited until she was outside before saddling the animal. She thanked heaven for the relative noisiness of so many people living together on a few acres of land. A creaky cart went by; a man leading four horses tied the animals not far from the stables and two of the horses started nipping each other. As a consequence, three men began shouting and cracking whips. None of the people milling about even glanced at the slight figure in the shadows, a plaid covering the person’s head.
When Elizabeth mounted, she lazily followed the cart out the open gates of Larenston and, like the cart driver, raised her hand in silent greeting to the guards above her. The guards were there to keep people from entering; people leaving were of little interest to them.