what. No one could blame her, surely, but only a mad person would imagine such things in this circumstance.
The day had all but passed when they crested another of what seemed like dozens of identical hills. At the top, Daria gasped softly at the sight of the castle and village in the valley below them. It was a real castle, the sort with turrets and battlements. It looked medieval, as if it had not been touched in five hundred years. It was built on a ledge in the hills, its back against a steep and forested incline. A thick stone curtain wall circled the main keep, anchored by the turrets. A wide bailey with a drive and a tended lawn spread out from the keep, and Daria could see the small shapes of people walking across it.
Outside the castle walls was a quaint little village, around which were parcels of land, divided neatly for grazing and crops. Dozens of shaggy cattle ate their way through fields of green grass. In the distance tiny spots of sheep dotted the hills. There was a large stable, and a dozen horses milled about in the fenced pasture around it, their tails swishing lazily.
They started down the path toward the castle, single file, as if they’d done this a thousand times before. They moved into a deep copse of firs that obliterated the sun,then emerged into the sunlight that bathed the clearing around the castle and village.
As they joined the wide lane that led to the heart of the castle, someone in the fields shouted. With his gaze straight ahead, Duff lifted his fist high above his head. More men began to appear, dropping their tools, moving toward the castle, shouting and running alongside the little caravan of horses that carried Daria and her captors.
Daria’s heart began to skip. She could imagine being dragged from the horse and . . . and what? Beaten? Strung up? Daria tried to push down her fear by reminding herself the year was 1811, not 1611. No one was carrying a pitchfork or scythe. They might be uncivilized here, but they weren’t so uncivilized as to harm a defenseless woman, were they?
Be calm, she anxiously told herself. Be rational. She did the only thing she could do in the circumstance—she lifted her chin and employed the aloofness young women were taught when entering the ballroom for the first time.
The road curved up to the open gates of the castle, which were held back by thick iron chains. As they neared the gates, Campbell lifted himself off Daria’s back, as if he’d found a renewed strength. He was sitting taller, his grip around her tightening. More shouting brought more people running. As the group rode through the gates people began to emerge from the buildings, all speaking the language Daria could never hope to understand.
There was quite a lot of commotion as the horses halted in the bailey. Duff shouted, coming off his horse with surprising grace as he pointed to Daria. Two men hurried forward. Before she realized what was happening, one hadgrabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the horse; the other helped Campbell down. Everyone was talking wildly, their voices rising, crowding in around Campbell until Duff bellowed above them all. In a moment, everyone had quieted.
He spoke again, his voice calmer but firm. And then, as if the Red Sea had parted once more, all heads swiveled in Daria’s direction. The crowd began to step back, clearing a path to the keep. Campbell, whose face bore the deep etchings of his pain, stepped up beside Daria. “Come then,” he said, his voice low.
“Come where?” she whimpered.
He grabbed her wrist in his viselike grip and began to limp toward the keep. When Daria didn’t move right away, Duff gave her a rough nudge that caused her to stumble forward. She glanced uneasily about her at the angry faces, the dark eyes boring through her, and wrapped her robe even more tightly around her. Her hair obscured her vision somewhat, and for that she was thankful. She imagined a sea of angry Scotsmen, all demanding her
The day had all but passed when they crested another of what seemed like dozens of identical hills. At the top, Daria gasped softly at the sight of the castle and village in the valley below them. It was a real castle, the sort with turrets and battlements. It looked medieval, as if it had not been touched in five hundred years. It was built on a ledge in the hills, its back against a steep and forested incline. A thick stone curtain wall circled the main keep, anchored by the turrets. A wide bailey with a drive and a tended lawn spread out from the keep, and Daria could see the small shapes of people walking across it.
Outside the castle walls was a quaint little village, around which were parcels of land, divided neatly for grazing and crops. Dozens of shaggy cattle ate their way through fields of green grass. In the distance tiny spots of sheep dotted the hills. There was a large stable, and a dozen horses milled about in the fenced pasture around it, their tails swishing lazily.
They started down the path toward the castle, single file, as if they’d done this a thousand times before. They moved into a deep copse of firs that obliterated the sun,then emerged into the sunlight that bathed the clearing around the castle and village.
As they joined the wide lane that led to the heart of the castle, someone in the fields shouted. With his gaze straight ahead, Duff lifted his fist high above his head. More men began to appear, dropping their tools, moving toward the castle, shouting and running alongside the little caravan of horses that carried Daria and her captors.
Daria’s heart began to skip. She could imagine being dragged from the horse and . . . and what? Beaten? Strung up? Daria tried to push down her fear by reminding herself the year was 1811, not 1611. No one was carrying a pitchfork or scythe. They might be uncivilized here, but they weren’t so uncivilized as to harm a defenseless woman, were they?
Be calm, she anxiously told herself. Be rational. She did the only thing she could do in the circumstance—she lifted her chin and employed the aloofness young women were taught when entering the ballroom for the first time.
The road curved up to the open gates of the castle, which were held back by thick iron chains. As they neared the gates, Campbell lifted himself off Daria’s back, as if he’d found a renewed strength. He was sitting taller, his grip around her tightening. More shouting brought more people running. As the group rode through the gates people began to emerge from the buildings, all speaking the language Daria could never hope to understand.
There was quite a lot of commotion as the horses halted in the bailey. Duff shouted, coming off his horse with surprising grace as he pointed to Daria. Two men hurried forward. Before she realized what was happening, one hadgrabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the horse; the other helped Campbell down. Everyone was talking wildly, their voices rising, crowding in around Campbell until Duff bellowed above them all. In a moment, everyone had quieted.
He spoke again, his voice calmer but firm. And then, as if the Red Sea had parted once more, all heads swiveled in Daria’s direction. The crowd began to step back, clearing a path to the keep. Campbell, whose face bore the deep etchings of his pain, stepped up beside Daria. “Come then,” he said, his voice low.
“Come where?” she whimpered.
He grabbed her wrist in his viselike grip and began to limp toward the keep. When Daria didn’t move right away, Duff gave her a rough nudge that caused her to stumble forward. She glanced uneasily about her at the angry faces, the dark eyes boring through her, and wrapped her robe even more tightly around her. Her hair obscured her vision somewhat, and for that she was thankful. She imagined a sea of angry Scotsmen, all demanding her
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