Dungeon of Darkness

by April Hill

  In the garden at the rear of the man structure, he found the savagely mutilated and scorched corpses of a young man of perhaps thirty-five and a woman only somewhat younger. Young Edward Drummond and his wife, of course. Both had been impaled before they were burned, and he tried not to imagine how long the couple had suffered before they died. The stranger cut the bodies down, but finding the ground frozen too hard to bury them, he placed the man and the woman side by side in a low ditch and piled rocks and bricks and great chunks of their own ruined house on their sad remains. When the pyramid of stone was as high as he could make it with his impaired arm, the man fashioned two crosses from burned sections of wood and thrust the crude memorials into the pile of stones. A poor grave, perhaps, but as decent as he could make it, in haste. And haste was definitely in order.

  After he had finished his grim task, the stranger started back across the courtyard to join his waiting companion. There was no one else to bury here, and much danger, should Grymwald still be watching. He signaled the other horseman, and then, seeing something glitter among the ashes of a small storehouse, he knelt to pick up a scrap of twisted metal that had once been a woman's silver bracelet. Out of the corner of one eye, he caught a small movement, and was instantly on his feet, with his broadsword at the ready.

  "Come out, and be quick about it, or be run through where ye lay!" he demanded, lifting with the tip of his blade the corner of what appeared to be a soot-covered article of bedding. He threw the blanket up and away, and found a small, bedraggled girl wearing nothing but a flimsy, charred nightdress, her face streaked with dirt and soot, and her eyes ablaze with anger. In one small hand, the child held a broken kitchen knife, and in the other, a long stick which she was now pointing directly at his groin. He could see immediately that her hands and feet were blue with cold, her arm was badly burned, and she was trembling violently, but even so, she managed to thrust the kitchen knife at his thigh before he could reach her, inflicting a shallow wound. Then, she leapt up and tried to run.

  Duncan McGregor swept the child up in his arms, but before he could speak to her, she had kicked him solidly in the stomach with both filthy bare feet and delivered a vicious bite to his right wrist.

  "Stop this, ye bloodthirsty little hellion!" he bellowed. "I mean thee no harm!" When the child kicked him again, this time in the testicles, he dropped her, and she scrambled away under a pile of blackened rubble.

  "I shall stab you in the heart if you come nearer!" she shrieked, shoving her body as far beneath the debris. "I swear it! I am strong for my age! Father says so!"

  McGregor chuckled, rubbing his collection of new wounds gingerly. "Aye, that ye are, Mistress. A strong lass, indeed. Your Father is correct. But I've not come here to hurt ye', I swear it, and I must get thee from this place at once. Lay down your weapons, and I'll see ye safely away from here."

  "No!" she screamed. "I must be here when Mother and Father come back for me! They'll be frightened if they cannot find me."

  McGregor closed his eyes, sighing. "There's no one coming, child. All in this place are dead, but thee."

  "That is a lie!" Katherine cried. "This is my Father's castle, and he will come for me, as soon as he can! I know it!"

  Suddenly, it was clear to McGregor. The child was young Lord Drummond's daughter, and though God alone knew how, she had managed to escape Grymwald's murderous wrath.

  "May I ask your name, child?" he asked softly, kneeling beside the pile of rubble.

  "I am Katherine Elspeth Drummond," she declared haughtily. "Now, go away."

  "Have ye any brothers or sisters, Lady Katherine?" McGregor asked, hoping against all hope that there might be other survivors. He had not known that Edward Drummond had a child.

  "I will, in the spring," she said, almost proudly. "Mother is with child, and in but three months, I will have a baby brother. Well, it might be a sister of course, but I have asked God quite nicely for a brother because they are more fun to play with, you know."

  McGregor shook his head sadly, wiping away what might have been only soot from his eyes.

  "Ye must come with me, now, Katherine Drummond," he said softly. "Ye're a bright lass and know that, now don't ye'?"

  "No," came the firm reply.

  McGregor looked up. It was fully light, now, and only the heavy fog offered any cover. There was no more time to waste. "Very well, then, m'lady. Perhaps we will meet again, under more pleasant circumstances." He rose, as though to leave, took one step away, then wheeled quickly, thrust his hand under the rubble and dragged the struggling girl out by one ankle. She kicked and flailed her arms viciously, trying to stab him again, or to land another kick to his vitals. McGregor threw the filthy coverlet over her head and stood up with the bellowing child secured under one powerful arm.

  By the time he had crossed the drawbridge, back to where his companion waited, Duncan McGregor was a mass of small bruises and bite marks. The younger man watched with curiosity as Duncan dumped the writhing, cursing bundle over his saddle and remounted the great gray charger he called Alexander.

  "Do not kick my poor horse, wench!" McGregor roared. "Or bury those white teeth in him, either! This loyal beast has served me well, has done thee no harm and does not deserve to be crippled in his old age. Nor do I, come to that."

  "What is it you've found for yourself, Duncan?" the younger man inquired, laughing heartily. "A wild bear cub, perhaps? It certainly swears a mighty oath, for its size."

  McGregor rubbed his bitten forearm and groaned. "It appears Grymwald was outfoxed by this wee bit of a Drummond I've got here. That, or he merely tired of being gnawed upon and gave up the hunt. Be wary of ye'r fingers, Angus. This bear cub may be small, but it has a healthy appetite." Once mounted, he lashed the squirming bundle securely to the pommel of his saddle and then glanced around. "There's been no sign of those who did this, then?"

  The younger man shook his head. "None. I've heard nothing at all, other than the caterwauling of your young captive, there. Were there none still -?"

  McGregor put a finger to his lips, indicating the child, and shook his head sadly. "Alric Grymwald has done his filthy work well this night."

  Angus nodded. "Aye. Bha e riamh mar sin," he said grimly. "He was ever so."

  McGregor turned his horse, and then pointed north. "Come, we've been too long at this place, already, and we've work to do elsewhere. We'll need to find someone fool enough to wet nurse this lost lamb—or wolfling."

  From beneath her coverlet, Katherine screamed again when she heard his words. Her shrieks and curses of outrage continued as they rode off across the moor and over the rise, heading north.

  They rode for two hours without stopping, anxious to be well away from Drumannach. Two men ill equipped for conflict and burdened with a child were far too small a force to risk a confrontation with Grymwald's bloodthirsty band. McGregor's heart had been hardened by what he'd seen here, but he would bide his time, as he had done once before. Someday, the right moment would come, and when it did, he would watch Alric Grymwald die, and relish every moment of it.

  After the first half hour, during which she had howled and kicked and sworn mightily, the child finally fell silent, exhausted. Asleep, or perhaps merely biding her time, as he was, McGregor thought with a smile. The girl would bear watching. She reminded him all too well of another Drummond maiden he had known years before, when he was young—and when he bore fewer gray hairs on his head, and fewer great wounds on his body.

  When they finally stopped alongside a small stream, McGregor dismounted and reached for the child to help her down. Almost immediately, she began to struggle again and even managed one good bite to his forearm. He had to move quickly to avoid more blunt but painful blows from the child's bare heels.

  "Tha sin gu leor! That's enough, now!" he said sternly, yanking her down to the ground roughly, to make his point. "Bi modhail, air neo! Behave, or else! I know ye've had a bad time of it, and ye're little more than a bairn, but we've a long ride and a
dangerous one ahead of us. Ye'll ride the rest of the way sitting properly or find yerself tied across Angus's saddle, with ye'r backside walloped for fair! Ye can chew on him for the next few hours. But take warning, wolfling, young Angus has not been blessed with my soft and forbearing nature. Unless ye wish to walk to Scotland with a sore bottom, ye'll treat him more gently than ye have me."

  "I do not understand that ugly language, and I do not want to go to Scotland!" she wailed. "I want to go home!"

  McGregor chuckled. "It's an ungrateful English whelp ye are," he said, dumping her on her feet. "Any intelligent and educated person will tell thee that Scotland is the grandest place on Earth, far superior in every manner to England. Its cuisine, in particular, is better, as ye'll see for thyself when Angus, there, has a fire ready. The lad does wondrous miracles with venison or wild hare. Tonight, of course, we have neither, but he is quite as talented with mole and hedgehog. Which do ye prefer?"

  "I do not eat hedgehog!" Katherine cried. "I once had a pet hedgehog!"

  "And moles?" he teased.

  "Now you are mocking me," she said sullenly.

  "I'm sorry," he said, kneeling beside her. "My God, child, ye're frozen!" he cried when he touched her. McGregor strode to his horse and rummaged through his bags until he found a pair of thick stockings. He took each of her chilled feet and slipped it into a woolen stocking, then pulled the blanket up over her head and wrapped it around her more warmly, until only her grimy face was visible. "I didna' mean to mock thee, child, but only to try to cheer yea wee bit. Are ye hungry? We've no moles left, I fear, but Angus has dried venison in his saddlebags, and cheese and bread as well. Will ye not eat?""

  "Have we come a long way from my home?" she asked suddenly.

  "Aye, lass, we have that."

  Katherine broke away, and went to stand by a nearby tree, saying nothing. For several moments, there was no sound from underneath the blanket. Then, with a single harsh sob, she turned around to face him. "I will go with you, now, but only if you promise to bring me back here when I am older."

  "But, ye must not come back here, Katherine Drummond. Not ever." He sighed. "It will never be safe for thee, until..."

  Katherine shook her head fiercely. "It will be safe when I find that man and kill him! I have not seen his face, but I will know him by his devil's voice, and you must promise to bring me back, or I will come alone, as soon as I am able to run away! I don't care if you beat me, I shall come, someday, and find him! I swear it!"

  McGregor shook his head, but nodded. He had seen this sort of Drummond determination before. "All right, then. Ye hae' my promise, lass. When ye're older."

  She wiped her face with the back of her arm, withdrew the broken kitchen knife she had hidden in her bodice, and handed it to him, handle first. "Please hold this for me, until then. Now, what is your name, and where are we going?"

  They rode hard that night, and while McGregor took the horses and took the longer, land route to Scotland, Angus carried the rescued child across the Solway Firth in a small fishing boat, under cover of darkness. Two days later, Katherine arrived at Casteil Gailleann a' Griogarach, a McGregor stronghold in the village of Cala, on the road to Dumfries.

  CHAPTER TWO

  At the ruins of Drumannach Castle, twelve years later. It is April, in the Year of Our Lord, 1203, in the Fourth Year of the Reign of King John.

  Kathy sat on a charred timber of the decaying drawbridge that had once led to the well-kept castle and manor house where she spent the first six years of her life. Directly across from where she sat, and looking across the fallen outer walls, she could still make out the overgrown hedges of the garden through which she had run on long summer evenings, playing hide-and-seek. Just beyond that, she saw the framed opening in the crumbling wall that had once been her bedroom window—the window from which she had crawled, weeping and hopeless, on the night her parents died. Little remained of Drumannach that was recognizable, and where the Great Hall itself had once stood, a herd of black-faced sheep grazed peacefully on bright green grass now grown up amidst the rubble of the building's collapsed roof.

  The heiress to Drumannach had spent the better part of two days exploring the ruins of her ancestral home, and was now waiting for her husband, Stephen, to come looking for her. Her calculations on the distance from their home, across the border in Scotland, to here suggested that he would arrive this afternoon at the latest. He would be accompanied, no doubt, by his employer and the man who had raised her from childhood, Duncan McGregor. She expected to see the two of them very soon now, on horseback, just over the distant rise of the moor. A frightful scowl would cross Stephen's handsome face when he caught sight of her. She sighed, knowing very well what was in store for her within minutes of Stephen's arrival. Before he and Duncan had ridden off for Dumfries on business eight days ago, her husband had taken her aside and extracted her solemn promise that she would not leave the village until he returned. She had smiled, kissed him passionately farewell and made that promise with her fingers crossed behind her back.

  Whether or not Stephen had believed her sincere vow to obey his order was in some doubt, because he stopped that morning in the doorway, with her kiss still on his mouth, and made his own promise to her. Should she choose to disobey his order, he would put her across a barrel, remove any encumbrances from her waist down, and take a stout strap and perhaps a thick switch or two to his wife's lovely, deserving bottom. And, this time, he vowed further, the whipping would take place in front of Duncan McGregor, all of the other loyal knights in Duncan's service, their wives and family, and whomever their wives and family cared to invite! After having disobeyed three husbandly orders in as many weeks, Katherine knew full well that Stephen was capable of making good on his promise. In the few months since their wedding, despite frequent, possibly jesting threats, he had never spanked her in front of anyone else, but the hard glint in his eye suggested to her that this time, such an event was entirely within the realm of possibility.

  Spankings in private, of course, were another matter. Stephen rarely bothered with threats. He usually simply "went to it," turning her across his knee and delivering the required spanking without fanfare or ceremony, and certainly without prior discussion with the victim, herself. The village was small and the neighbors very close by, and though the charming cottage they had acquired as Duncan's wedding gift had sturdy wooden shutters, like most humble dwellings, it lacked glass in the windows. Katherine had learned very quickly to stuff the corner of a cushion between her teeth, lest the entire village know the truth—that on occasion, when all else had failed, Stephen Lachlan's habit was to take his stubborn young wife across his knee and spank her, sometimes until she howled.

  Today, as Katherine sat on the charred drawbridge of her childhood home and waited for her husband to appear, she noticed a spider web at the end of the timber upon which she sat. There was no resident arachnid in the orbed web, so she bent down and plucked the web's delicate edge with just her fingertip. In response to the vibration, a small golden-brown spider darted out onto the web, no doubt expecting to be rewarded for its vigilance with a struggling fly or some other delectable morsel. After investigating the disturbance for a moment, and seeing no meal readily at hand, the spider returned to its hiding place, and Katherine smiled sadly, the ugly memories returning as clearly as if they had happened only yesterday.

  Stephen appeared, as expected, two hours later. As it always did when she had not seen her husband for a few days, Katherine's heart leapt with pleasure at the sight of him. When he rode nearer, she saw that Duncan was with him, on the handsome gray charger he always rode. The horse had been with him for eighteen years, rescued from the vile mistreatment of a neighbor. The neighbor was rewarded for his cruelties by being vigorously flogged at the tail of an oxcart, then being crammed into a wicker cage suspended just two feet above the slime of his own muddy pigsty. The luckless fellow spent a full week being shoved about and nuzzled by the wet snouts of the grunting,
malodorous beasts, and by being fed the same slops on which his swine customarily dined. The horse's former owner had learned something than everyone else for round around already knew. Duncan McGregor was not a man to cross lightly.

  Kathy rose to greet the two men who had changed her life—McGregor by rescuing her and by supporting and protecting her until Stephen and she were wed, and Stephen, with whom she had fallen in love while they were both still children playing together in the small Scottish village where Duncan was the long-accepted chieftain.

  She saw very clearly the profound relief on Stephen's rugged face as he leapt from his horse and swept her into his strong arms, and felt his heart beating wildly as he pressed her anxiously to him. For the moment, she knew that his only thought was that she was safe in his arms.

  * * * * *

  Stephen Lachlan and his friend and employer had ridden hard from the village when they found Kathy's note, not knowing what they might find. It had been more than twelve years since either Duncan or Katherine had been at Drumannach, but Duncan still had good reason to fear for his adopted daughter's safety. He knew in his own wounded heart that his ancient enemy, Alric Grymwald, still watched Drumannach— in the hope that the last remaining child of the Drummond family he had vowed to eradicate would eventually return. Even after all these years, Grymwald's implacable hatred would force him to have spies about. The girl had taken a great risk in her curiosity, and as pleased and relieved as he was to see her safe, McGregor's anger at her foolishness was almost as strong. He knew that Stephen felt the same, and that Katherine would soon repent of her childish whim with a severely thrashed backside, as she so clearly deserved.