Rachel stared out the window of her rooms, trying to determine how many archers were watching her. There were no delusions that she was unguarded from such an obvious escape route, it would have been a mockery of her skills to assume she would not try it. And her captor knew quite a bit about her.
She could see two archers on the grounds, pretending to be tending the shrubbery and occasionally acting like they were napping under the shade of the large trees littering the estate lawn. It did not look like people were watching her, which meant the people around here did not know their Lord was a child-napper. She wondered how inconspicuous the guards at her door looked, or where they standing guard to make sure her captor's way-ward "cousin" did not go off on her own again.
Whatever the case was, it kept her in the room on the third floor of the estate house.
And she was bored. There was only so much she could do in the room, and it was even more limited by the fact that the old ladies who bathed her took away her weapons. Rachel sighed from her spot in the window, resisting the urge to throw it open and make a mad escape attempt. The only thing that would accomplish was an arrow wound or two, and that would be counterproductive to the escape attempts.
Reluctantly she turned away from the window, moving on from one problem to the next one. The serving girl who had brought the meals to Rachel's prison, she was a problem that was giving Rachel a headache. She had said her name was Alyss. Rachel had heard of Will's Alyss, about the fire that had killed her while rescuing a little girl.
Was this just a coincidence that the serving girl was named Alyss, or was it to tell Rachel that there were people there who knew the truth? Was Alyss working with the Ranger of the Fief they were in? Was this Alyss placed in the estate to help save Rachel?
Was she even still in Araluen? That was the most important question of all. Had the Wolf carried past the boundaries of her home country, up into Picta were the Scotti would kill her just because of the cloak she wore—had wore before the ladies took it from she been taken to the south past the boarder to Celtica? Was there a Ranger nearby to help her; to place a girl in the estate to aide Rachel's escape attempt?
Rachel rubbed her eyes roughly, trying to dislodge the exhaustion. She had slept lightly, tossing the whole night on the plush feather mattress. She had been up for hours before the sun had even risen over the outer wall of the grand estate. It was starting to catch up to her.
How much longer until the serving girl returned with a tray for her midday meal? What would happen then? Would Rachel be able to determine then if this Alyss was a gambit or a coincidence? She hoped this Alyss was a clever gambit; that would make her escape easier.
And Rachel was going to escape.
Just as there was no fantasy about her being unguarded, there was no way she was staying. Rachel was leaving, by one means or another.
Rachel bit her lip running her fingers through her hair. But how was she going to get away? Her inspection of the room the previous night had proven it to be impervious besides the doors and windows. And her inspection waiting for breakfast had revealed the guards outside on the grounds.
What would her mother do if she was in this situation? Kara was one of the brightest members of the Ranger Corps; she had performed feats to rival the ingenuity of Will Treaty. But nothing about Rachel's situation seemed anything like the stories she had heard about her mother's exploits.
Was this whole thing as hopeless as she had originally thought when the wolf had taken her in Redmont?
Rachel sighed, pressing her forehead against the glass window pane. It was as hopeless as she believed, she was alone, she had no idea where she was, and she was weaponless. And all of this was because she had ridden off alone, something she knew better than to ever do.
Idly Rachel ran her fingers along the hem of the dress Alyss had forced upon her that morning. It was as fine as any dress she had seen on the girls of the Queen's Cassandra's court in Castle Araluen. It seemed a waste to have such a fine thing on her, and it bode very ill for Rachel. Not only was she a prisoner, she was going to be on display. That was the only reason they would have her dressed so finely.
"I was such a fool," she whispered, wiping the pooling tears from her eyes with the back of her hands as the bar across the outside of the door slid out of place. Someone was coming and just in time too, she was growing hungry. Rachel pushed herself back against the wall of the bay window, drawing her knees up to her chest. Was it Alyss with food? Or her captor?
Before the door swung open, Rachel cast another look out the window. The archers had taken up arms, and had them trained on her window. Quickly Rachel looked at the door, her auburn hair flying around her face and covering her eyes. It was her captor.
"Good morning, Rachel," he greeted, using his free hand to use a traditional Bedullin greeting, touching his lips, forehead and then his lips again. Rachel had heard from Queen Cassandra that this meant they could eat, think and then talk. Rachel felt that was the case since the man carried a covered meal tray.
"It's not morning," she commented sourly, looking out the window. The shadows told her it was a few hours past noon.
"My apologies," the man inclined his head slightly, crossing the room to the dining table. "I had business to attend too, it took longer than I expected."
"Planning more abductions?" she narrowed her gaze beneath her roughly cut bangs. "Or some other terroristic plot?"
"I am not here to speak business, Rachel. I am here to enjoy a meal with my guest," with a flamboyant wave of his hand the man removed the cover of his tray. Instantly the room was filled with the aroma of roasted mutton.
"I'm not a guest," her hazel eyes hardened, steeling herself against the urge to eat with this man. "I'm a prisoner."
"I would prefer you not use such a harsh phrase." The man pulled a chair out, obviously intending for Rachel to sit there. "This suite is not a cell, and this is food fit for a king."
She could not deny either of his points, but by definition she was a prisoner.
"What do you want with me?"
"I wish only to share a meal," he inclined his head toward the offered seat at the table. "We shall be eating our noon meal together every day. Perhaps in time you could join me in the dining hall below."
"Why not now? With that monster running around, it would be hard for me to escape," she drew her knees in closer to her chest, her hazel eyes burning with hatred at the man.
"I do not allow the beast on the grounds, and today is not a good day. I have guests who would not approve of your company."
"I know many people who would not approve of this," Rachel snapped. "And once Will or one of the others finds me, you'll wish that beast had never brought me here."
"I already regret the actions of the wolf," the man sighed, accepting the fact that Rachel was not coming to sit at the table. He pushed the chair back in and took the one opposite Rachel. "I had men stationed to bring all four of the Ranger's children to me. It seems the wolf had other ideas."
"Why four?" Rachel's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man. Everyone who knew about the Rangers' children seemed to know about Angie. Why was this man omitting her? Or did he not know of one of the others?
"The elder is already apprenticed. I feel her mentor would have some degree of control over her, making it near impossible to capture her," the man poured a cup of tea, adding sugar cubes and a spoon of rich honey to the cup. "And four will suffice for my plans, especially the younger four."
"What is your plan?"
"As I have already said; I'm not here to discuss business. I am here for the midday meal. Surely someone has taught you what is considered polite table conversation?" He raised one of his white brows, an expression to close to the one Will so often cast, she nearly choked on a strangled sob. "Now it seems that I have made a grievous error, and upset my guest."
"I'm not your guest," Rachel snapped again. "I'm a prisoner. I haven't done anything to warrant this. Just let me go home."
The man stared at the table before him, his shoulders slumping slightly. He stirred idly at his tea, the spoon clicking against the fine porcelain. Rachel waited for him to respond, for him to spout some other nonsense about not talking business while eating. Or for him to simply change the subject again, to something he saw as polite table conversation.
"I too simply want to return home," he spoke quietly, lifting his spoon from his cup and laying it on the saucer. "I was no older than you when I was taken from my family."
"Just go home then," Rachel wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, not wanting to feel sorry for this man, not wanting to pity the man who was holding her captive in his grand estate. "You've the money to finance this estate, you can afford to go back wherever you came from."
"I do not finance this estate, my master," the man flinched visibly at the title, "the General finances this lavish lifestyle. I am merely his marionette." The man sighed, his shoulders slumping and his head dropped.
"But this is not polite table conversation," his shoulders squared once more, his chin rose as he turned his mis-matched eyes on Rachel in the bay window. "I insist you join me at the table for the midday meal."
"I refuse," she brushed her hair back with the back of her hand, drawing herself up to her full height in the window seat. "I will not eat with you. I don't want to join you in the dining hall. I want to go home!"
"As we have discussed, that is not a possibility," the man gave his calm response, resuming his stirring of his untouched tea. "Now, sit at this table and eat before I have guards come in here and force you to."
Rachel took a deep breath, glaring at the man. She still did not know his name, and that was a new annoyance to her list. For the briefest of moments she debated forcing him to uphold his threat. It would be in poor taste to call upon the guard to make her sit at a table and eat. Would he really stoop so low to have this meal with her?
Choose your fights carefully. The lectures at the Gathering rang through her mind. How many times had she heard the Ranger's say that? How many Rangers had told the apprentices that over the years?
She slowly slid from the window and joined him at the table. This was not a fight to have. If she complied for all these menial requests, perhaps he would lower his guard. If she seemed docile, she could slip away more easily. She sat at the table, dropping a napkin over her lap and waited for him to pour her a cup of tea, nodding at his inquiries of sugar and cream.
The meal passed in awkward conversation. It was mainly one sided, the bald man spoke of many trivial things, the weather, crops, horses, the beauty of the countryside. Rachel sat in stony silence, waiting for some hint as to what this man was planning. Nothing ever came up, he was very strict in his decision not to speak business during their meal.
When they had finished eating, her captor collected the tray and left the room.
"I have enjoyed our time this afternoon," he told her as the door slowly opened before him. "A scholar will come before the fifth hour with the serving girl. He will ensure you are educated."
"Why?"
"You are not a prisoner, dear Rachel. And the other nobles of this Fief believe you to be my young cousin. I cannot allow them believe, for even the slightest of moments, that I have neglected your well being. The General agrees, he has allowed for the scholar to teach you, to maintain our front here in Araluen."
With that he left. Rachel sat at the table staring at the door as she heard the bar slide back into place. She had learned two things from this meal, two very important things. She was still in Araluen, which meant there was a Ranger somewhere close by that could save her.
And this man, her captor, was not the head of whatever was happening. This mysterious General was plotting something against Araluen. It was another dilemma added to her list.