The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) by Delacroix Claire Page A

breathless.
    “Can
slumber well enough without you.”
    “But...”
    Tynan
interrupted her with resolve. “While I cannot.”
    “You
do not mean to slumber, sir,” Rosamunde said, her laughter undermining her
supposed outrage.
    “Nor
do you,” Tynan retorted.
    “Trust
a man to insist upon his way alone.”
    “It
is a way you have found satisfactory enough in the past.”
    Rosamunde
sighed and more amorous sounds carried to Madeline’s ears. She stared at the
ceiling, understanding rather more of her aunt and uncle’s relationship than
she had before, and uncertain whether she was glad of it.
    The
door was closed with a firm click, then Tynan’s footsteps echoed down the
corridor. The sound of Rosamunde’s whispers faded, then another portal was
closed.
    It
was locked with a resounding echo of the tumblers.
    This
was her chance.
    Madeline
slipped from her pallet and donned her boots, her hands shaking in her haste.
She had gone to bed in her stockings and her chemise, complaining that she was
cold when her sisters commented. She pulled her thickest wool kirtle over her
head, pilfered the purses of her sisters for stray coins, and claimed
Vivienne’s new fur-lined woolen cloak. She took her own eating knife, shoving
it into her belt, and crept to the portal.
    Her
heart was thundering so loudly that she feared it would awaken all the
household. Madeline swallowed and squared her shoulders, blew a farewell kiss
to her sisters, then slipped into the shadowed corridor.
    She
could have taken a maid, or one of her sisters, but Madeline feared to endanger
a companion unnecessarily. Alone, she could pretend to be a village lass -
having a servant might arouse suspicion. She was deeply afraid, yet excited in
a way. She had never traveled alone before, but surely she was keen enough of
wit to ensure her own safety. She had always been the practical one, after all.
    First,
she had to get through the crowded hall.
    Then,
she had to steal a horse.
    Then,
she had to get through the closed gates of Ravensmuir without alerting the
sentinels to her departure.
    Truly,
the odds were against her in this endeavor. Madeline said a silent prayer and
made her way along the corridor as furtively as she could manage. Fortunately,
she would have a good bit of time to consider precisely where she would flee
once she was through Ravensmuir’s gates.
    And
even Darg was not witness to Madeline’s departure.
     
    * * *
     
    Madeline’s
palms were slick with sweat by the time she reached the stables. She had crept
through the hall, heart pounding, stepping over and between the sleeping men.
Fortunately, her uncle had been generous with his wine and the men slept
soundly.
    Every
sound though, every man rolling over, every dog’s tail wagging in that beast’s
sleep, had made her jump for the skies. She had not noticed Rhys, had not
looked for him, for the men bundled in their cloaks were virtually
indistinguishable from each other and she dared not spare the time.
    She
had been glad to made the deserted corridor, even if the wind from the sea made
her shiver. No one had called a warning, no one had awakened and alerted the
household.
    Rhys
FitzHenry, his dangerous reputation and his even more dangerous kisses, were
all behind her, for good.
    Madeline
heaved a sigh of relief but did not hesitate on the threshold of the stables.
She knew the steed she wanted, the palfrey that she had ridden from Kinfairlie.
The mare knew her and would be the least likely to nicker in alarm at what she
did.
    The
horses had been moved, to Madeline’s dismay, presumably to make space for the
destriers of the arriving men. She wasted precious moments looking for
Tarascon, and finally found her sharing a stall with two other palfreys from
Kinfairlie.
    “Tarascon!”
Madeline whispered, knowing the beast would discern her excitement. The mare’s
tail swung in recognition of Madeline’s voice and she began to turn, her
companion horses stirring from sleep as