3. Escaping the Gilded Cage

3

ESCAPING THE GILDED CAGE

D ays had passed since her father had summoned Taryn to his study, yet she had hardly moved from her seat in the window. Time had not made it easier to grapple with the fact that she was nothing more than a pawn to be sacrificed in this game to her own parents.

While they had never been overly affectionate or warm, she had always told herself they still loved her. After the announcement of her engagement to Lord Dudley, she couldn’t see how that was true. They had betrayed her by trapping her in a marriage with a man who was sure to make her life a living hell. Her days spent locked inside the McGregor Castle would seem like paradise, she was sure.

Rain poured down the window, cooling her cheek where she had pressed her face against the glass. For once, she was grateful for the gloomy Highland weather. She felt just as thunderous and despondent as the rain falling in thick sheets.

Rather than take a stand against the Baron, rather than risk their own standing, her parents were offering Taryn up on a silver platter. They didn’t care about her happiness, so long as she made them look good.

Taryn longed for her friend. She needed someone to listen to her, to bemoan the situation with her. But as her father had ordered, Taryn had not left her rooms, let alone the Keep. Had she known that her previous excursion would be her last chance to see Laura, Taryn would have said so many other things. She would have studied her friend’s face a little closer and listened to her stories more intently.

Not to mention James. His squadron had been sent out on a mission to scout the road Taryn and her entourage would take to her awaiting husband. The thought of it all made her blanch. There would be no goodbyes, no last whispered words, nothing.

“Och, good. Ye are up already.”

Savannah, her mother’s longtime lady’s maid, pushed into her room without knocking or preamble. Taryn didn’t bother acting surprised or even indignant. Her parents had already made it more than clear that Taryn’s life was not her own. She wasn’t going to be allowed privacy, or choices. What difference did it make for a maid to barge into her room?

“Yer presence is expected in the Great Hall for breakfast. Up ye get. It is time to get ye dressed and ready for the day.”

Savannah bustled around the room, straightening the sheets on the bed and tidying things up. Slowly, Taryn pushed herself away from the window, resigned to her fate.

“I dinnae ken why ye mope around so solemnly. A betrothal is a happy time in a young lass’ life. Ye should be thrilled with this opportunity yer parents have given ye.”

As she spoke, Savannah pulled a brush through Taryn’s hair until it gleamed despite the lack of sunlight. Taryn said nothing.

“Ye are fulfilling yer duty to the clan. And an English Lord? That is some luck ye have. Yet ye insist on acting as though ye are being sent off to yer death.”

I am.

Savannah shook her head and pulled out a dress from Taryn’s wardrobe. Taryn didn’t care which one. She made no fuss as the cloth was pulled over her head and around her hips. Even when Savannah started tugging on the strings, tying them into place a little too tightly for Taryn’s comfort, Taryn stayed silent.

“All right. On with ye. And try to smile. Yer parents have given ye the world. Ye should be grateful.”

Savannah’s instructions only made Taryn scowl more.

Walking down the hall alone gave Taryn time to stop and take in the castle as if she were seeing it for the first time. The stones that made up the walls were tinged with pink and tan. The wood floors creaked under foot, but Taryn enjoyed the dark warmth of the color. Every few steps, a new painting or tapestry hung, creating a visual story of the clan’s history. The first founders, the battles they had fought in—won or lost—the families that had once lived within these walls. As she passed them, she tried to take in their faded colors and the images they bore, hoping that they were committed to memory enough that she wouldn’t forget them too quickly.

The stairs from her chambers down to the Great Hall curled around themselves, reminding her of the time she had tried to slide down the banister, only to be thwarted by her mother at the last second. It was that memory that gave her a small smile on her lips as she crossed the threshold to the Great Hall.

Arched ceilings caved towards each other, forming a pinnacle that held the round iron chandelier, filled with half-melted candles. They were all unlit, made unnecessary by the large windows that, like the corridor artwork, sat a few feet from each other, running the length of the entire room. They were taller than any ladder she had ever seen, letting light stream in from the top of the room down to the bottom. Two large hearths, tall and wide enough to hold four grown men each, sat on opposite sides of the room. In between them were long rectangular tables with enough seats for the majority of the clan to have a place. They were staged in two sections, creating a wide berth of an aisle that was used as the dance floor when the weather did not allow for such celebrations outside.

Even with all of this, there was still space at the back of the room for the Laird’s place. It was a table of finely carved oak, decorated with fresh flowers and currently covered with platters of fruits and meats and cheese. Bowls of porridge and mugs of ale had been placed in front of every tall back seat reserved for the Laird’s honored guests and family members.

Taryn hated the sight of it. As the Laird’s only heir, she was expected to take nearly every meal at this table, forcing her to parade herself down the aisle in front of the entire clan if she wanted to eat. A lifetime of experience had not made her grown accustomed to the stares she would get from men, women, and children alike as she walked past them.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Taryn was grateful that at the very least, this embarrassment would soon be over. She stopped in front of the table, dipping into a low curtsy as she let her eyes stick to the floor.

“I did nae think we would be graced with yer presence today, Taryn. I am glad to see that I was wrong.”

Her uncle’s warm words had Taryn rising from the bow as she met his gaze. She nodded slowly, hoping the smile she offered would look real enough.

“I am always happy to dine at yer table, M’Laird,” she lied smoothly.

Satisfied with her response, Taryn was waved on, and she moved quickly to take her seat. Noticeably absent from the table were both of her parents, but Taryn preferred it this way.

“Can I offer ye any fruit this morning?”

She had not expected the Laird to continue trying to make conversation with her. So often she would attend these meals and not speak to a single soul.

“N-nay, thank ye,” she stammered out.

It was not that her uncle made her nervous. Truth be told, he was not an altogether intimidating man. Age had pulled his shoulders in until they rounded forward, creating a small hump at the bottom of his neck. Peaceful times and a tendency for indulgence had given him a large, round belly that pushed into the table while he ate. His brows were bushy and thick, peppered with white streaks to match his receding hairline.

Yet all that age had changed for him did not change the fact that he was once a respected and feared warrior and was now her Laird. Reminding herself of this fact made it all the more strange for him to have offered to serve her any food.

The rest of the meal was no less odd. All the maids, usually slowed by their exhaustion, were quick to see to every little thing Taryn needed. Their eyes were turned down with a pity that made Taryn’s stomach twist. The longer she sat at the table, the more she felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Taryn picked at her food, her appetite having vanished completely. If her uncle noticed, he said nothing. Nor did he comment on her impending marriage, as if he knew just how extreme his request was.

It was almost a relief to see her mother glide into the Great Hall, a stream of servants in tow, half an hour later. From the determined look on Rowena’s face, Taryn knew that her mother had plans for her today. She watched her mother approach the table and dip into a low curtsy. There was something about the dramatic flourish that Rowena gave it that made the entire thing feel like a mocking performance. Perhaps it was the way the corners of her mother’s thin mouth pinched, or the way her wrists rolled, and her fingers flared at the Laird.

“Good morning, Laird McGregor,” though her mother spoke her greeting more like an announcement.

Clearly accustomed to her strange behavior, the Laird simply nodded and carried on his conversation with the elder sitting next to him. Taryn nearly laughed at the way her mother’s eyes lit up at being so completely ignored.

“Where is Jonah?” Laird McGregor asked Rowena, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Out for his morning stroll, I would think,” she answered demurely, ever the picture of the perfect wife.

“Send him to me as soon as he has returned.”

This time, when Laird McGregor spoke, it was he who waved his hand, effectively dismissing her. Taryn winced at seeing that her mother’s only worth to the Laird was as his brother’s wife. She idly wondered if that was all she would be good for, too—someone to embroider cushions and pass along instructions when bade.

“Are ye finished? Good,” Rowena asked and answered, her eyes flitting over Taryn’s half-eaten plate. “We have much to do today. Bid Laird McGregor farewell and come with me.”

Obediently, Taryn rose from her seat and dipped into a quick curtsy. She avoided anyone’s gaze as she trailed behind her mother. She had enough pity to last a lifetime, she didn’t need to borrow anyone else's.

“Today we are meeting with the dressmaker. We must see to yer wedding trousseau before it is too late to make any adjustments. While I am sure the Baron will be able to afford ye many new dresses once ye are wed, I want to make sure that ye have everything ye need now. I will nae have ye showing up to his home looking unfit to be there.”

From the excitement in her mother’s voice, Taryn knew this was her attempt at cheering Taryn up. It was apparently unfathomable to Rowena why Taryn would not be happy at the prospect of marrying a titled man and getting the clothing to match.

“Go behind the screen and take off everything but the shift. Ye will only take these new clothes with ye. The rest will be burned once ye leave.”

Rowena spoke, not knowing just how much she wounded Taryn with her orders. The clothes she wanted to burn had been lovingly chosen and made for her by her best friend. Laura and her mother had worked tirelessly only six months ago to update Taryn’s wardrobe. And while they had been somewhat limited to the awful color choices Rowena had made, the dresses were some of the most beautiful things Taryn had ever seen. Wearing them felt as if she were wearing a gift from her friend.

The only consolation in all of this, Taryn thought as she moved behind the changing screen in her room, was that she would get to see Laura one last time. If she were to have new dresses, her mother would have summoned the best dressmakers in the clan, and that was Laura’s family. Just as the thought entered Taryn’s mind, a knock sounded from the door, revealing Laura and her mother standing, arms laden with fabrics and sewing tools.

“Och, good. I was starting to think ye would never arrive,” Rowena greeted a bit bitterly. “Stoke the fire so that Taryn is nae shivering while they take her measurements. Did ye bring the fabrics I requested?”

From behind the paneled screen, Taryn listened to her mother order a roomful of servants and artisans around as though it were nothing. There was no thought given to the sharpness in her tone or how she questioned the ability of those she had summoned. When Rowena asked Laura’s mother, Isobel, the same question for the third time, Taryn winced.

“Need any help back here?”

At Laura’s soft offer of help, tears nearly sprang from Taryn’s eyes. Biting her lip to keep from crying, Taryn nodded.

“Och, it cannae be as bad as all that,” Laura whispered as her fingers worked the laces of Taryn’s corset.

“Ye have nay idea. They have ordered me off to my death.”

Laura’s eyes went wide, but before Taryn had the chance to explain anymore, Rowena stepped behind the screen, arms crossed.

“We are ready to begin. Hurry up.”

Moving quickly, Laura folded up the rest of Taryn’s clothes and nudged her out into the room. The same bolts of fabric she had been admiring the day before were laid across her bed, along with some of the plainer, simpler fabrics that would make up her undergarments.

Accustomed to this routine, Taryn stepped onto the small, rounded platform that had been placed in front of the fire and held out her arms. While Isobel circled Taryn, pressing a measuring tape against all sides of her body, Laura wrote down the numbers Isobel called out.

“I do wish ye would wipe that look off yer face,” Rowena told Taryn. “Ye look as if I am getting ready to march ye out to the gallows.”

“Ye might as well be,” Taryn muttered.

Laura looked up in horror. Isobel gently pushed Laura to get back to her work, while Rowena glowered at Taryn.

“Dinnae be so overcome with hysterics, Taryn. Ye are to be wed to an English Lord. Ye will be titled and wealthy. Ye will have lands and influence. With this new wardrobe, ye will be the most bonny woman England has ever seen. I should think ye would be more grateful.”

“Ye have heard the rumors,” Taryn argued, hoping that she could persuade her mother to see reason. “He killed his first wife and ran off the last lass he was engaged to. People say that she is dead now too.”

“Aye, and they think that the Laird is a spineless leader, allowing his brother to run the clan. But we all ken how foolish those rumors are.”

Are they?

“Ye must nae listen to what ye hear,” Rowena continued, completely unaware of Taryn’s thoughts. “Honestly, Taryn, ye are acting nae better than a village peasant.”

Laura stiffened at the insult but moved on quickly. Taryn could feel the concern her friend had with every tug of fabric and brush of her hand as they worked. Not for the first time, Taryn wondered what she had done that was so awful to have made her own mother care less for her than a friend.

Seeing she would get nowhere in trying to convince her mother to change their plans, Taryn kept her mouth shut for the remainder of the appointment. For hours, Taryn had fabric draped across her shoulders and neck as Rowena and Isobel discussed which colors suited her face the best. They decided on the different styles and cuts that Taryn would take with her to her new life.

Luckily, Isobel managed to convince Rowena that Taryn’s riding suit was still very much in fashion and with a few tweaks, would be ready for her life as a Baroness. At the very least, it left Taryn with the freedom to go for a ride should she choose to do so in her last few days of limited freedom. She didn’t know if that was something a Baroness was allowed to do.

“Are ye pleased, daughter?” Rowena asked at long last, looking over all of their final selections with a satisfied smile.

When Taryn didn’t answer right away. Rowena turned and put her hands on her hips.

“Leave us,” she ordered to the room of maids. “Everyone, go.”

Bracing herself, Taryn sent one last pleading look to Laura, hoping that her eyes conveyed the goodbye she was trying to communicate. Laura’s eyes turned red, but Isobel pulled her daughter out, giving Taryn a small, sad smile of her own.

“Come,” Rowena said to Taryn once they were alone. “Sit with me for a moment.”

Once settled, Rowena took Taryn’s hands in hers and sighed.

“I dinnae ken what to say that will convince ye to stop all yer pouting.”

“Say that ye understand. Say that ye will nae make me go. Say that ye want me to be happy,” Taryn pleaded.

“Happiness has nothing to do with duty, Taryn. I had hoped that ye would have learned this by now. And this marriage is yer duty. It is time ye served yer clan, yer people, yer Laird, and yer father. I will nae have this conversation again. The next time I see ye, the next time anyone speaks of yer marriage, I expect for ye to show yer gratitude.”

Rowena left Taryn to her own thoughts then.

From that moment on, the rest of the week saw Taryn plunged into a deep, dark hole. Food no longer interested her, much to her mother’s approval. She didn’t make another attempt to escape through the stables.

When Isobel arrived with all her new clothes, Taryn wasn’t wholly surprised to see that Laura wasn’t with her. Even then, her eyes remained dry and lifeless. She was going to die soon enough with the Baron for a husband, she saw no point in trying to enjoy life anymore. As far as Taryn was concerned, her life was over.

This darkness, this listlessness, swallowed her whole, carrying her through the week until the night before she was set to leave for the English border. For the first time in days, Taryn couldn’t fall asleep. It had been a struggle to keep her eyes awake through every meal in the Great Hall and the hours she spent embroidering another cushion. Yet now that it was time for sleep, it seemed that was the farthest thing from her.

Taryn tossed and turned, the sheets getting tangled around her legs. Irritated, she huffed and kicked all of her blankets to the floor. She sprawled out over the mattress, letting her arms and legs dangle over the edge. That lasted only a moment before she was irate at the strands of hair that now fell into her eyes. Huffing, she rose from the bed and went to the windows.

Shoving the curtains aside, Taryn flung open the window panes, desperate for the fresh air to blow away her sense of restlessness. She took in the crisp autumn air, letting it burn her lungs just a touch. Satisfied for the moment, she moved to her vanity and poured water into the bowl that rested there. Taryn splashed it on her face, hoping that would further aid in cooling her flushed cheeks. As she was drying off, a faint knock sounded.

Looking up, Taryn searched the door first, but finding nothing, she waited for the next knock. It came quickly. Too quickly to be a bird flying into the other closed windows. Taryn rushed to the other side of her room, to the window already open, and peered down.

“Shhh,” Laura called up from the bush that sat just below Taryn’s window, two stories down.

“What are ye doing?” Taryn called back, her words a shouted whisper.

“I have come to save ye. Hurry. We dinnae have much time. Get dressed in yer warmest clothes!”

Taryn debated her actions only for a minute before she shoved away from the window sill and dove into her wardrobe. With most of her things already packed in cases by the door, she only had to dig through a few drawers before finding everything she needed. Luckily, the maids had left the warmest outfit for her to travel in—riding breeches, a skirt to cover them, a fur lined jacket, and a new cloak. Taryn dressed herself as quickly as her fingers could manage, slipping her feet into her sturdy riding boots.

Though she still wasn’t sure what Laura had planned, Taryn never stopped to question what she was doing. This was the first time all week that Taryn had any hope for her future. She wasn’t about to let reason or doubt get in the way of that.

Taking one last look around her room, Taryn grabbed a small leather pouch and shoved some of her biggest jewels inside. She contemplated writing a note for her parents but decided against it. They would never understand, no matter what she said.

Moving as quietly and quickly as she could, Taryn snuck through the castle down the familiar path that would take her to the kitchens. There, she grabbed some of the food the cook always left out for her after a day of not eating dinner. She shoved the apples, chunk of bread, and wedge of cheese in her leather pouch and tied it off at her hip. Grateful that Laura timed this so that none of the servants would be awake, Taryn walked outside, letting the cool night air wash over her fevered skin.

“Took ye long enough,” Laura hissed, clearly more antsy than she had ever been before.

“Ye did nae have to do this,” Taryn told her, her eyes already filling.

“Aye. I did. One look at ye and I could see how miserable ye are. We have always talked about ye escaping this life and creating another.” She held out the reins of the horse for Taryn to take. “This is yer chance. Do it now.”

There was a certain kind of awareness that came over Taryn then. She knew that if she took those reins, her life would never be the same. Nor would anyone else’s. Taryn hesitated for only a moment before she took the thin leather straps.

“Are ye sure? This is yer brother’s horse. Will he nae be angry?”

Even as she spoke, Taryn moved to scratch the horse on his nose in affection. She eyed the well-worn saddle, hoping it would be comfortable. It looked as though the saddlebags were packed with things too, and Taryn nearly cried out then for the thoughtfulness of her friend.

“He will be until I am able to explain why ye needed it. He has a soft spot for ye. I will make him understand. Besides, he is always going on and on about how this is a woman’s horse, nae a warrior’s.”

Taryn nodded, having noted the determined look in Laura’s eyes. She knew that expression well. There was nothing that would stop her friend from this now. Taryn moved quickly, wrapping Laura in a tight hug. Tears clogged her throat, but she managed to push out only two words, though they were not nearly enough to convey all that Taryn was feeling.

“Thank ye.”

Laura squeezed back, but then pushed Taryn away, shoving her towards James’ horse.

“Ye must go. The change of the guards will be over soon. Yer window of escape is nearly over.”

As Taryn climbed into the saddle, she was overcome with guilt and worry, unsure of what her future might hold. But she knew exactly what her life would be like if she stayed. So she wrapped the reins around her fingers and clicked her tongue, sending the horse moving.

She only made it a few steps before she turned in the saddle to look back at her dearest friend, knowing this would be the last time they saw each other. Taryn pressed her fingers to her lips, and that sent her hand into the air. Laura pretended to catch her kiss and place it on her heart.

After that, Taryn didn’t allow herself to look back again. She mustered up every ounce of bravery she had and snuck through a hidden passageway concealed by the older parts of the castle James had once told her about. It took her by the guards’ quarters, but it was her best chance of getting away unseen. Every noise made her jump, every sound had her convinced her escape attempt had been thwarted. But she made it to the edge of the village without problem. Just as she let her shoulders start to relax, a voice shouted behind her.

“Ye there! Stop!”

Taryn didn’t need to turn to see who was behind her. Kicking the sides of the horse into a run, Taryn lowered herself over the neck of the horse, willing the beast to go faster and faster. She wasn’t sure how the guards had already discovered her missing; it would be hours still before the castle was awake. Perhaps they didn’t know who she was, only that she was a strange person sneaking through the village late at night. Either way, Taryn knew if she was caught, any chance of getting away was over.

“Faster, lass, faster,” she urged, her heart hammering.

The village was quickly disappearing behind her. In front of her were two paths—the first was a well-traveled road that would give her nowhere to hide, the second was the edge of the forest Laura and Taryn had explored many times before. Though she had been warned of the dangers of entering the forest after sunset, Taryn pulled the horse that direction. The hoof beats of the guard’s horses were too close. They would be sure to catch up to her on the road.

As soon as the pair entered the cover of the trees, the air grew cooler and any moonlight she had to guide her vanished. Taryn pushed on, trusting that the horse could see where he put his feet. She knew it was dangerous to ride this fast on unfamiliar ground, especially with so many fallen trees, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Get me out of here and ye will have all the apples ye want for the rest of yer life,” she promised the horse.

Her words seemed to spur the beast on as he leaped over a trunk that had stretched out on the forest floor in front of them.

“Aye, that is?—”

Before she could finish her encouragement, a burning sting ripped across her side, curling from her belly to the middle of her back. It stole all of her breath. Desperate, she merely pressed one hand to the spot, ignoring the building panic when something warm and wet oozed, soaking her gloves. Taryn lowered herself across the horse even more and listened.

The sound of the guards had faded until she could hear nothing. Still, she rode as if her life depended on it. In her mind, it did. It felt like hours before her horse slowed his pace to a trot. Nothing around her was recognizable, even as the sun crept through the thick limbs, turning them from an eerie black to a warm, rich brown.

To her relief, the guards had disappeared, as did any fear of prowling nighttime creatures. But as the day continued on and her side continued to burn with every breath, Taryn’s bones grew heavier and heavier. Her night of no sleep and nothing to eat caught up to her when the sun fell again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a road that was so covered in grass and leaves that it seemed as if it had been abandoned long ago. Taryn nudged the horse that direction, slipping from the saddle to give him a break from carrying her weight.

“We will just rest here for a moment,” she told the horse as she slid down the wide trunk of an ancient oak tree.

Her eyes refused to stay open, hunger, and pain vanquishing any fear of being caught that might have remained. Even when two female voices drifted into her ears, Taryn couldn’t force herself to stay awake. Besides, the voices seemed so kind that Taryn didn’t think she was in any danger.

“Aila, she’s bleeding,” a worried voice spoke over Taryn.

“Dinnae fash,” someone said to her. “We will take care of ye.”