Julie Garwood - Honor’s Splendour

She took another step back. Then she slowly shook her head, denying Duncan 's assistance. Her decision was made; she'd force him to kill her if that was his inclination, but she wasn't going to get on the stallion.

Without a thought as to where she was going, Madelyne turned and walked away. She was trembling so much, she stumbled several times. Panic was building inside until she was almost blinded by it, yet she kept her gaze directed on the ground and continued on, one determined step at a time.

She stopped when she came to the mutilated body of one of Louddon's soldiers. The man's face was horribly disfigured. The sight proved to be Madelyne's breaking point She stood there, in the center of the carnage, staring at the dead soldier, until she heard a tortured scream echo in the distance. The sound was soul-wrenching. Madelyne put her hands over her ears to try to block out the noise but the action didn't help. The horrible sound went on and on.

Duncan spurred his horse forward the moment Madelyne started screaming. He reached her side, leaned down, and effortlessly lifted her up into his arms.

She stopped screaming when he touched her. Duncan adjusted his heavy cloak until his captive was completely covered. Her face rested against the steel links of his hauberk, yet he took time and attention to pull some of her own cloak forward so that the side of her cheek was cushioned against the soft sheepskin lining.

He didn't question his desire to be gentle with her. The picture flashed before him of Madelyne kneeling in front of him, taking his near-frozen feet under her own gown to give them warmth. It had been an act of kindness, that. He could do no less for her now. After all, he was the one solely responsible for causing Madelyne such pain in the first place.

Duncan let out a long sigh. It couldn't be undone. Hell, it had started out as such an easy plan too. Leave it to a woman to confuse it.

There was much to reevaluate now. Though he knew Madelyne wasn't aware of it, she had certainly complicated the issues. He'd have to sort it all out, he told himself. The plan was changed now, whether he liked it or not, for he knew with a certainty that both amazed and infuriated him, that he'd never let Madelyne go.

Duncan tightened his hold on his captive and finally gave the signal to ride. He remained behind to form the end of the long procession. When the last of his soldiers had cleared the area, and only Gilard and the young squire flanked his side, Duncan took precious minutes to stare at the destruction.

Madelyne tilted her head back so that she could see Duncan 's face clearly. He must have felt her looking up at him, for he slowly lowered his gaze until he was staring directly into her eyes.

"An eye for an eye, Madelyne."

She waited for him to tell her more, to explain what her brother had done to cause such a retaliation, but Duncan just continued to stare at her, as if willing her to comprehend. He wasn't going to make any excuses for his ruthlessness. Madelyne understood that now. The victorious didn't need to justify.

Madelyne turned to look at the ruins. She remembered one of the stories told to her by her uncle, Father Berton, about the Punic Wars of ancient times. There were many tales handed down, most of them frowned upon by the holy church, but Father Berton had repeated them to Madelyne all the same, educating her in the most unacceptable fashion, punishable in fact by severe discipline if the church leaders had any inkling as to what the priest was doing.

The carnage she'd witnessed now reminded her of the story of Carthage. During the third and final war between two mighty powers, the victorious had thoroughly destroyed the city once Carthage had fallen. What had not burned to ashes had been buried beneath the fertile ground. Not a stone was allowed to top another. As a final measure, the fields were covered with salt so that nothing would grow there in the future.

History was being repeated this night; Louddon and all that belonged to him was now being desecrated.

"Delenda est Carthago," Madelyne whispered to herself, repeating the vow made so long ago by Cato, an elder of ancient times.

Duncan was surprised by Madelyne's remark. He wondered how she'd ever come by such knowledge. "Aye, Madelyne. Like Carthage, your brother must be destroyed."

"And do I belong to Loud… to Carthage as well?" Madelyne asked, refusing to speak her brother's name.

"Nay, Madelyne, you don't belong to Carthage."

Madelyne nodded and then closed her eyes. She sagged against Duncan 's chest.

Duncan used his hand to push her chin up, forcing her to look at him again.

"You don't belong to Louddon, Madelyne. From this moment on, you belong to me. Do you understand?"

Madelyne nodded her head.

Duncan released his hold on her when he saw how frightened he was making her. He watched her a moment longer and then slowly, aye, gently, pulled the cloak up over her face.

From her warm hiding place against him, Madelyne whispered, "I think I would rather belong to no man."

Duncan heard her. A slow smile crossed his face. What Lady Madelyne wanted wasn't the least significant to him. Aye, she belonged to him now, whether she wished it or not.

Lady Madelyne had sealed her own fate.

She'd warmed his feet.

They journeyed into the north, riding hard and fast through the remainder of the night and most of the next day, pausing only twice to give their horses respite from the furious pace the baron set. Madelyne was allowed a few moments privacy, but her legs could barely hold her weight, making the task of seeing to her personal needs an excruciating ordeal, and before she had a chance to stretch her protesting muscles, she was lifted onto Duncan 's steed again.

Because there was safety in their large number, Duncan decided to follow the main road. It was a sorry broken path at best, with overgrown thicket and naked branches making the way a continual challenge to the most fit of knights. The men's shields were up most of the time. Madelyne, however, was well protected, safely embraced beneath Duncan 's cloak and armor.

The soldiers were well served by their heavy equipment, save for those who wore the open-faced conicals and rode with bare hands, and the wilderness had little effect on them other than to slow down their progress somewhat.

The torturous ride didn't let up for almost two days. By the time Duncan announced that they would spend the night in a secluded glen he had spotted, Madelyne was firmly convinced he wasn't human. She had heard the men refer to their leader as a wolf and understood the odious parallel well enough; Duncan wore the outline of that terrible beast of prey in his blue and white crest. She fantasized now that her captor's mother must have been a demon from hell and his father a great, ugly wolf, and that was the only reason he could keep up such a grueling, inhuman pace.

By the time they stopped for the night, Madelyne was sick with hunger. She sat on a boulder and watched the soldiers care for their horses. A noble's first concern, Madelyne decided, knowing that without his steed, the knight would be completely ineffective. Aye, the horses came first.

Small fires were started next, with eight to ten men surrounding each, and when all the fires had been ignited, there were at least thirty separate flames, all outlining the weary shoulders of men ready for rest. Last came the food, a meager offering consisting of crusty bread and yellowed cheese. Horns filled with salty-tasting ale were also passed around. Madelyne noticed the soldiers only drank a sparse portion, though. She thought caution might have overridden their desire to indulge, for they would surely need their wits about them this night, camped as they were in a vulnerable position.

There was the ever-present danger of roving bands of men, displaced misfits who had turned into vultures waiting to pounce on anyone weaker than they, and there were wild animals roaming the wilderness, too, with much the same intent.

Duncan 's squire was ordered to see to Madelyne's needs. His name was Ansel, and Madelyne could tell from the frown on his face that he had little liking for his assignment.

Madelyne consoled herself with the knowledge that each mile north was a mile closer to her own secret destination. Before Baron Wexton interfered with her plans, Madelyne had been planning for her own escape. She was going to journey into Scotland to her cousin Edwythe's home. She realized she'd been naive to think she was capable of such an undertaking. Aye, she realized her folly now, even admitted that she wouldn't have lasted more than a day or so on her own, riding the only mare in Louddon's stable that wouldn't unseat her. The mare, swaybacked and quite old, wouldn't have had the stamina for such a journey. Without a strong horse and suitable clothing, the escape would have been a form of suicide. And the hastily drawn map from Simon's faulty memory would have led her in circles.

Though she admitted it was a fool's dream, she decided she'd have to hold on to it. Madelyne grasped at the glimmer of hope simply because it was all she had. Duncan surely lived within shouting distance of Scotland 's border. How much farther could it be to her cousin's new home? Perhaps she could even walk there.

The obstacles would overwhelm her if she allowed them leverage. Madelyne pushed reason aside and concentrated instead on the list of what she'd need. A capable horse came first, provisions second, and God's blessing last. Madelyne decided she had the order of importance twisted, put God first and horse last, when she caught sight of Duncan moving to the center of the camp. Lord, wasn't he the biggest obstacle of all? Aye, Duncan, part man, part wolf, would be the most difficult obstacle to get around.

Duncan hadn't said one word to her since they'd left Louddon's fortress. Madelyne had worried herself sick over his fiercely made statement that she now belonged to him. And just what was that supposed to mean? She wished she had the courage to demand an explanation. Yet the baron was so cold, so remote now, and much too frightening for her to approach.

Lord, she was exhausted. She couldn't worry about him now. When she was rested, she'd find a way to escape. It was the duty of a captive, wasn't it?

She knew she was unskilled in such matters. What good was it that she could read and write? No one would ever know of her unusual ability, as it was highly unacceptable for a woman to have such schooling. Why, the majority of noblemen could not write their own names. They relied on the holy men to do such meaningless tasks for them.

Madelyne certainly didn't blame her uncle for her lack of training. The dear priest had taken great pleasure in teaching her all the ancient stories. Her favorite was the tale about Odysseus. The mythological warrior had become Madelyne's companion when she was a young girl and terribly frightened all the time. She'd pretend Odysseus was sitting beside her during the long, dark nights. He helped her ease her fear that Louddon would come and take her back home.

Louddon! Even his black name made her stomach tighten up. Aye, he was the true reason Madelyne lacked all the skills necessary for survival. She couldn't even ride a horse, for God's sake. He was to blame too. Her brother had taken her riding a few times, when she was six years old, and Madelyne still remembered the outings as clearly as if they'd taken place the day before. Why, she'd made such a fool of herself, or so Louddon screamed, bouncing around the saddle like a clump of hay barely tied in place.

And when he realized how frightened she was, he'd tied her to the saddle and slapped the horse into racing through the countryside.

Her terror had excited her brother. It wasn't until Madelyne finally learned to mask her fear that Louddon stopped this sadistic game.

For as long as she could remember, Madelyne knew her father and her brother disliked her, and she tried every way she knew how to make them love her just a little. When she turned eight years old, she was sent to Father Berton, her mother's younger brother, for a short visitation that turned into long, peaceful years. Father Berton was the only living relative on her mother's side of the family. The priest did his best to raise her, and he constantly told her, until she almost believed him, that it was her father and her brother who were lacking, not her.