herself. The repetitive motion of the cart and sounds of hooves made her drowsy, and she kept slipping in and out of consciousness.
She awoke with wet cheeks, realising she had been weeping in her sleep. Now her mind dwelt further on the people she had left behind. When would anyone even know what had befallen her? It could be hours before Dickon returned to the city with his lies.
As much as that, however, she could not stop dwelling on why she had been taken. But for the gag in her mouth the lack of knowledge would have made her scream. Was she a hostage? The notion seemed ridiculous. There had been peace for many years, so why would the Duke of Roxholm risk disrupting it? But it had to be that, she told herself. Any other alternative was far too horrific to contemplate.
The movement of the cart stopped abruptly and Aline became alert once more. It was colder now, and the muted light coming through the curtains told her night was beginning to fall. They had been travelling for hours, so it was little wonder her body ached from lying on the rough mattress. Her throat felt rough and sore and she would have begged willingly for a drink. Her fingers were cold and numb, though wriggling them caused sparks of pain to shoot up her arms from where the ropes bit tightly into her wrists.
From outside the cart came voices and the clattering of equipment as the men set up camp for the night. Aline tried to twist her body round to see what was happening but all she succeeded in doing was covering her face with her hair and catching her skirt on a loose piece of wood. After minutes of fruitless attempts she gave up and lay still. Her throat tightened at the prospect of being left like this all night and she forced herself to breathe slowly. Finally, as her composure began to crumble, she heard somebody climb inside.
The person came closer and Aline gave a muffled cry as hands touched her shoulders. She was lifted briskly by the arms and pulled to a seated position against the side of the cart, with her legs curled underneath her. Loose strands of hair fell in front of her face, tendrils sticking to the saltwater tracks on her cheeks. The itching irritated her. That it was evidence she had been crying infuriated her even more. She wiped her cheek across her shoulder to move the hair from her eyes and saw who had lifted her upright.
The man in black sat back against the opposite side of the cart, too tall to stand upright. Aline studied her captor properly for the first time. He was well built, and she estimated no more than ten years her elder, though lines were starting to show on his brow and round his eyes. He sat silently, elbows on his knees and chin on his hands, returning Aline’s gaze.
Eventually he cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Forgive me for not introducing myself before, Lady Aline. I am Hugh of Eardham, Captain of the Guard of Roxholm.’
He paused, as though he expected a response, though what did he expect her to do, given that she was bound and with a gag in her mouth? Aline thought scornfully.
When no reaction was forthcoming he continued. ‘I think it is important that we reach an understanding that will make the journey easier for everyone, so let me explain your situation. A message was sent back to Leavingham with your horses and the body of your groom. It states very strongly that the High Lord must take no action until he receives further communication or you will forfeit your life.’
He paused to let his words sink in, watching Aline closely.
‘If we have an easy journey it will take us several days before we rendezvous with the rest of my men. Now, I can untie you, and let you travel the rest of the way in comfort, but only if you give your word not to make things difficult for us. Otherwise you will remain as you are. The choice is yours.’
Aline glared at him, any number of sharp responses coming to mind. But her arms and shoulders ached from the unnatural position they had been forced into, and the gag dug into the sides of her mouth. Knowing she had little choice, she nodded. The Captain leaned forwards and removed the cloth from Aline’s mouth. As he came close she caught a mixture of scents: horse, leather, and something musky that made her catch her breath.
Drawing his dagger, the man reached around and cut the bindings on Aline’s hands and feet. Red weals stood out on her skin, stark against the pale flesh. She rubbed her arms to dull the pain as feeling came rushing back into them in sharp bursts.
The Captain stuck his head out of the cart and called for wine. Presently someone passed a wineskin through to him and he held it out to Aline. She tried to take it but her hands were numb and she winced in pain, her fingers unable to grip properly. Seeing her discomfort, the Captain knelt next to her and held the wineskin to her lips. It was an unexpectedly kind gesture and Aline paused, suspecting trickery of some sort.
‘It is only wine, I promise you. See?’ the Captain said. He took a deep draught himself, then held it so she could drink. ‘Here...not too fast.’
Aline sipped the cool liquid slowly, conscious of his eyes on her and unsettled at the way his gaze made her heart thump.
‘You knew all along I had gone,’ she said accusingly. ‘Were you just toying with me?’
The Captain shook his head. ‘Not toying,’ he said. ‘I was curious to see what you would do. I meant it when I said I was impressed. It took courage to do what you did. No one is coming for you, however, so while I commend you on your ingenuity in leaving this—’ he drew Aline’s necklace from the pouch at his waist and let the chain dangle between his gloved fingers ‘—it was futile.’
Until that moment Aline had held on to the hope that she might be rescued. Now that hope vanished completely. Everything she had tried to do had been in vain. Her eyes began to prickle and she blinked furiously, determined not to let the tears spill once more.
With his eyes never leaving Aline’s, her captor gathered up the chain and slipped it away. His eyes travelled downwards to take in the state of her clothing. Aline blushed at how dishevelled she must look: her bodice was still unlaced from Dickon’s attack and her shift had slipped to show more of her flesh than was seemly. The telltale heat of a blush coursed over her neck and cheeks. She hoped it was not noticeable in the fading light.
‘Take a few moments to compose yourself, then join us,’ the Captain said. ‘Duncan can find you some salve to ease the pain in your wrists and Jack is cooking dinner. He makes a better cook than he does watchman. If you have any need to attend to that which you did not take care of earlier you can use the bucket round the side of the cart. You will have your privacy, but don’t even think of sneaking off or I’ll truss you like a chicken and leave you in here until we get to the citadel.’
With a curt nod of the head he left her.
Aline quickly relaced her bodice and pushed a stray comb back into her hair, then climbed from the cart to locate the bucket. They had stopped in a clearing close to the river. Aline knelt on the bank, washing her hands and face in the cool water and rubbing salve over her wrists. Standing up, she noticed the Captain watching her and she frowned. Did he think she was about to jump in and swim for freedom?
The men continued to set up camp while Aline watched from the low step at the back of the cart. The older man, Duncan, produced thick blankets from one of the boxes in the wagon. Wordlessly he passed one to Aline as she sat hugging her knees to her chest. The night was cold, and she shivered in spite of the warm blanket. Though she had been asleep or unconscious for most of the afternoon she felt fatigue start to creep over her and she stifled a yawn.
The Captain strode over and Aline eyed him coldly. Before she could protest he had taken hold of her hands. He pushed her sleeves up, running his thumbs lightly over the flesh.
‘Is this less painful now?’ he asked brusquely.
Aline
