Page 80 of Foolish Bride
The girl only bobbed her head and ran off.
Where was Michael? Why hadn’t he come for her?
It rained for hours. The carriage slipped around in the mud, but they still pressed northward. Elinor prayed for a broken wheel or for the carriage to overturn. She hoped a bridge might wash out, but to no avail. They continued to plod along until the next day, at noon, they arrived at a fortress.
The rain came down in buckets, but Elinor was too exhausted to care. A bridge spanned to the front gate, and the empty moat stank of filth and muck. The walls sprawled upward hundreds of feet. Men walked the tops of the thick walls.
Elinor had stepped into an insane medieval storybook and had to find some way of escaping.
First, she needed rest. It had been a full day since she had set foot outside the carriage, which needed its springs reset. Her body ached from the bouncing of the road. She was sure she had a bruise on her face from where Roxton had hit her. Her throat still ached from the near- strangulation. All of that, and she hadn’t slept in two days.
Escape was her only hope, but nothing came to mind. She had to think of something, since there was no sign of Michael.
Sleep first.
Roxton walked through the keep and inside without a word.
A young woman showed her to a chamber and helped her into a nightgown. She was too tired to ask where the garment came from. The soft bed lulled her, and her aching muscles wouldn’t be denied rest.
* * * *
Warm yeasty bread filled her senses and pulled her from her restless sleep.
Heavy-headed, Elinor pulled herself from the soft down mattress. The room was sparse. The bed, which was exquisitely comfortable, a chair, and a small table filled the tiny chamber. Nothing hung on the walls, and no rug warmed the floor.
A petite red-haired girl in tattered clothes fed the blazing fire, humming.
“Have I slept through to morning?” Elinor asked.
Gasping and clutching her chest, the girl spun.
Elinor held up her palms in what she hoped was a peaceful gesture. “I am sorry to frighten you.”
The girl relaxed. “Oh, ‘tis nothing.” She had a lovely smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose. “You did indeed sleep clear through to morning. I’ve never seen anyone as tired as you were. I scant got your—” She rushed forward and touched Elinor’s cheek. “What on earth happened to your face? Did you fall?”
Pain shot across her face and she pulled back. “Roxton was angry with me.”
Eyes wide, she took her hand away. “His grace did this to you?”
“He is not the duke and, yes, he struck me.”He had nerve to call himself by Michael’s title.
The girl’s eyes welled up, and her face colored bright red.
Elinor changed the subject. “Is that delightful-smelling bread for me?” Smiling brightly, she threw her shoulders back.
Elinor’s mother always said to stay on good terms with the cook so you would never go hungry should the rest go to Hades. Elinor wished she could see her mother at that moment.
“Of course, miss, you must be half-starved. Here, sit.” She pulled out the chair by the table.
Elinor’s stomach rumbled in anticipation of her first food in days. Had it been that long? The light buttery bread melted in her mouth. The mulberry jam’s tart sweetness tasted like heaven. A steaming cup of tea warmed her. If she hadn’t been kidnapped by a madman, it would have been a pleasant morning.
She was so famished that plotting her escape would have to wait. When every scrap of food was gone from the tray, Elinor took the last sip of tea.
Watching, the maid sat on a window seat. If she hadn’t been gaping, she might have been quite pretty.
Elinor blushed. “I was starved.”
“I can see that you were,” the girl said.
