Free The Scotsman by Juliana Garnett Page A

memory … soon, no one would remember her.

5

    Storm clouds bunched over Warfield keep in ominous shades of gray and black. A brisk wind blew over the bailey and the two men standing alone in the muddy center. Nicholas Worth, Lord Devlin and heir to the earldom of Warfield, swore harshly at the crumpled parchment he held in one fist.
    “Damn that Scottish bastard!” He looked up to meet his father’s steely eyes. “We can stop scouring villages and fields for Catherine. Alex Fraser, laird of Castle Rock, has taken her. He offers an exchange of hostages—one for two. His brother and de Brus for Catherine.”
    “Does he. How vexing.” Lord Warfield did not flinch from his son’s suddenly narrowed gaze, but stared back calmly. “I cannot do that, of course. He will have to offer different terms.”
    Nicholas held up a shorn curl of coppery hair. The silky strands wound around his fingers as if seeking comfort, so soft and satiny smooth, reminding him of all the times he had affectionately ruffled his sister’s hair. “This time it is a lock of hair. Next time, it may be her head.”
    “Do not be so dramatic. Do you think even an ignorant Scot would so quickly harm a valuable hostage? He will not.”
    “Dare we risk it?” Nicholas’s hand closed on the lock of hair. “He has her. Even if he does not kill her, there are worse fates for a maid in the enemy’s camp.”
    Lord Warfield blew out a heavy breath of irritation. “We must be discreet. Curse her, she has managed to jeopardize her betrothal to Ronald of Bothwick with this trick.”
    “Is that all you care about?” Nicholas stared at his father with rising anger and disgust. “She is your daughter, for Christ’s holy sake! Can you not spare a bit of honest concern for her?”
    “Aye, I could if she had not been so foolish as to leave the castle unguarded. She is no longer a child, yet behaves as the most foolish infant. Now she has endangered a merger with Bothwick, from a fit of pique and absurd notions of chivalry and romantic love.” The earl snorted. “’Tis the very reason I forbade her access to the library and discouraged her ability to read, yet she defied me on that score as well. Nay, my concern lies now with how it will be explained to Bothwick. His envoy will not long be fobbed off with that ridiculous tale of maidenly modesty and a pilgrimage to a nunnery as the reason she has not appeared. We must be prudent.”
    Drawing in a deep breath to curb the vicious words he wanted to fling at his father, Nicholas said only, “I wish to reply in person to this bastard Scot. Perhaps I can persuade him that he has chosen the wrong way to gain the freedom of his brother and countryman.”
    “There will be no freedom for de Brus or the boy. They will be sent to King Edward when he desires it, and he will decide their fate. I have already sent a messenger to inform him of their capture.”
    “And Catherine?”
    “If her capture is kept secret, I will offer a hefty ransom—but only if she is yet undefiled. I can hardly wed her to Bothwick if she has been well used by Scottish vermin.” He stroked his chin with a thoughtful gesture, then shrugged. “Though perhaps it might be done if she is wise enough to pretend intact virtue.”
    Bile rose in Nicholas’s throat. There were moments he hated his father, despised him as a coldhearted bastard, but this was not the time to bring up old resentments. Stiffly, Nicholas persisted: “I will go to Castle Rock and offer whatever it will take to free her.”
    “Not yet. Wait until I have consulted—”
    “No!” The single word burst out so furiously that Lord Warfield halted and stared at his eldest son with narrowed eyes. Nicholas struggled for composure. “She is my sister. I am overly fond of her, and will not risk her life or her virtue any longer than is necessary. To protect her I will keep her situation quiet, but I go to Scotland for her, whether you will it or no.”
    “’Tis not too