It seemed a strange thing to do, for the English attack had come from the direction of Lochrutton, and surely if he were on the lookout for English soldiers, that would be his first port of call. Rory hurried after him, keeping well back, lest Niall should turn to see him. He had his sword on his belt and would have liked nothing better than to rush at the man and drive him away for good.
He had every desire to be rid of Niall as soon as this trouble had died down, and now Rory was Laird, he had no intention of being dictated to by this mysterious impostor, whoever he might claim to be.
He followed Niall for another mile or so, and soon the first rays of dawn were breaking over the moorlands. Rory had walked this way on many occasions to visit his sister but had never known Niall McCall to make this walk or have any business in these parts.
It seemed suspicious, and Rory began to wonder if there was something in what Hamish had said. Could Niall be deserting the Elliotts before Rory had a chance to dismiss him? Perhaps he was escaping, fearful for his life.
Well, he should be, Rory said to himself, as Niall suddenly veered off the path and headed south.
It was a path which Rory had not taken in a long while, a path that held unpleasant memories for him. It was along here that he, Owen, and their father had followed the trail when Evie had been taken by the Musgraves, the day when he had finally come to see Hamish McBryde as a friend and not an enemy. But why was Niall heading south? He hailed from the north, or so Rory had been led to believe.
But there had been a lot of untruths recently, many lies lurking in Kirklinton. Rory did not know what was real and what was not. Why had Niall been so interested in Margaret? Was there more to their relationship than he had realized? An unpleasant jolt ran through his stomach as he wondered if Niall and Margaret had been deceivers together.
It made sense; they had both arrived at Kirklinton around the same time. One had gained the ear of the Laird, and the other seduced his son. Rory clenched his fists together and cursed himself for having been so foolish. It made perfect sense now. He had often caught the two of them together, though Margaret had made an excellent act of pretending to be scared of Niall McCall.
Yes, the two of them together have betrayed us, he thought to himself, as he came in sight of one of the abandoned crofter’s cottages which lay upon the path.
It was the same one in which Evie had been held and where they had rescued her with Hamish’s help. Rory hid behind a rock curious to see the light of a candle flickering at the door. A rock face overshadowed the cottage, and the sun had not yet risen high enough to cast its early morning rays into the gloom.
Rory could make out the figure of Niall making his way towards the door, but he could not see who the other person was. But it was clear that whoever they were, they had been waiting for him. Rory crept silently forward, keeping low in the shadows as Niall entered the croft, the door closing behind him.
It was almost an hour before the door opened again. Rory had come within a few feet of the croft, hiding behind some rocks just off the path. He was tired, and the chill of the early morning had numbed his bones. His eyes closed for a moment, but he was jolted awake by the emergence of Niall and a mysterious other.
“I have the horses nearby, we shall ride to Kirklinton with all haste,” Niall said, as Rory peered around the rock.
It was then to his horror that he recognized the other figure. It was not a man as suspected, no English captain with whom he was making plans for war but none other than Isabella Musgrave. It was all he could do not to cry out in horror as the full sense of the treachery now hit him.
He had not seen Isabella in many years, but it was unmistakably her. He recognized her Musgrave features, the look which bore a resemblance to Margaret, her hair long and flowing. She was unmistakable, and now Rory could only watch in astonishment and terror.
Niall was searching in his tunic pocket and pulled out several parchments that Rory recognized as belonging to his father. They were details of the clan and plans of the castle that his father kept in a strongbox, tied with a purple band, which Niall now discarded upon the ground.
“You have done well to bring these, Niall,” Isabella said, and the man nodded.
“I would gladly dae anythin’ for ye, dear Isabella,” and Rory watched in amazement as the two shared a kiss.
It was too astonishing to comprehend, and a sudden wave of guilt ran through him. How could he have doubted Margaret’s story? How could he have believed the worse about her? She was no traitor; she was telling the truth. Niall was the deceiver and had passed their secrets to the Musgraves, the reason staring Rory right in the face.
How could anyone love Isabella Musgrave? How could anyone side with her and her family against good and noble people? Niall McCall had been the serpent amongst them, the one who had slithered his way into the old Laird’s affections only to bide his time before striking. Rory wanted to rush upon them and take revenge for this betrayal. But what of Kirklinton?
“Once our men are inside the castle, it will be an easy enough thing to subdue them. The Elliotts think they are powerful and strong, but really, they are weak and feeble. Their castle is their only line of defense, and once tis’ breached they will stand nay chance,” Niall said, as his lips parted from Isabella’s.
“Today has been a long time coming, and we shall strike two birds with one stone. I shall have my revenge upon the Elliotts and see to it that my sister’s punished for her treachery,” Isabella replied.
“The Elliotts think that tis’ she who has betrayed them. The fool! She has already received her punishment. She thought she could escape from ye, Isabella. Thought her life would be happy with that foolish young Laird. Well, she was wrong,” Niall replied.
“My sister has betrayed us. She is nothing but an Elliott, and we shall treat her as such when the Musgrave banner flies over Kirklinton. But come now, make all haste and ride with the men. See, here they come,” Isabella said, as the sound of hooves echoed along the path.
Rory shrank back, watching as around a hundred English horseman came charging along the trail from the south. Isabella hailed them, and the captain reined them in, as Niall leaped onto one of the horses, and prepared for the charge. His heart was racing, for he knew he could not hope to get back to Kirklinton before the attack. But what could he do?
Isabella had now mounted a white steed, a dagger flashing upon her belt as she rallied the English riders. They were well equipped, heavily armored, and had bows as well as swords. Kirklinton was a formidable fortress but, if they had the castle plans, then the English would have the element of surprise and knowledge too.
“Come now, men. We ride for Kirklinton, and we shall have victory over these old enemies,” Niall called. With a rallying cry, they charged off across the moorlands, leaving Rory hiding behind the rocks, praying for the safe deliverance of his clan, and feeling utterly helpless.
Margaret was sitting hunched up in her cell. The guards had brought her some bread and water, enough to stave off the gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach, though she would have gladly eaten more. A thin shaft of light was coming from somewhere above, and she knew that the dawn had broken.
She had been pondering Niall McCall’s ugly words, for she did not doubt that he was the traitor in their midst. She prayed for Rory to believe her and searched within herself for any guilt she might be feeling. But there was nothing other than the lie of her identity that troubled her conscience. She was nothing but sincere and wished Rory would see that.
“Wake up in there, ye have a visitor,” the guard said, rattling the cell door.
Margaret looked up, hoping that it would be Rory, but once more, she was disappointed. It was Evie who stood in the shadows of the dark passageway, a flaming torch illuminating her face, now set in a mix of anger and pity.
“Have you come to berate me further?” Margaret asked as Evie stepped forward.
“Nay, I have come to tell ye that I doubt what I previously bel
ieved, but I daenae disbelieve it enough to let ye go,” Evie said, fixing Margaret with a searching look.
“And what has changed your mind? You were all so ready to believe my guilt only yesterday, and now I find myself thrown into this dungeon,” Margaret replied.
“I have had time to think about it. A woman should trust her instincts, and from the first moment I met ye, I have believed ye to be sincere and truthful. The revelation that ye are a Musgrave came as a terrible shock, though perhaps nae entirely unexpected,” Evie said, stepping forward.
“My blood should not determine the person I am Evie. I have done nothing but seek to be a loyal and grateful member of this household,” Margaret replied.
“And I have seen that, Margaret. Hamish, too, has seen that. Perhaps we were too swift to condemn ye,” Evie replied, and Margaret nodded.
“Swift yes, but it is understandable, though you will forgive me if I feel some anger. If I were an Elliott, then I, too, would believe what was said, but you know me better than that, especially after all we have shared,” she replied.
Evie was about to reply, but there came a shout and the sound of feet running along the passageway. The guard appeared, holding a flaming torch, a look of worry upon his face.
“Mistress, tis’ the English. They have attacked the walls, a hundred men, ye must come now,” he cried, and Evie turned in horror to Margaret, who shrank back in fear.
“Ye couldnae have done this,” she said, and Margaret shook her head.
“It is not I who have betrayed you, Evie.”
“Ye will be safest here for now. I must find Hamish and the children,” she said, and rushed back along the passageway, leaving Margaret in the darkness of the cell.
She strained her ears, and from above, could hear the faint sounds of fighting upon the walls. There was the clashing of swords and the cry of men up above. She looked fearfully around, wondering what would now become of them. Where was Rory? Where was the Laird in their hour of need?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rory had no horse but waited until the last of the English soldiers had ridden by before emerging from his hiding place. The sun had risen, casting its light across the croft and pathway. There was no doubt as to where the English soldiers were heading and that Rory could not hope to reach Kirklinton before them. They would have the element of surprise, and if Niall McCall had delivered the plans of the castle to them, then they would know every weakness the ancient fortress possessed.
He set off at a run across the moorlands, his heart racing at the danger the Elliotts now found themselves. They would have no hope of defending the castle against such a force, and Isabella Musgrave would show no mercy on her captives. The Musgraves had always wanted revenge, and now it seemed they would have it.
As he approached the road leading to Lochrutton, Rory paused, looking around for any sign of help. There was no one to be seen for miles around, and the idea that he could rally an army of peasants was foolish. His soldiers were at Kirklinton, and they would be defending the walls against the English attack. His only hope was to get there as soon as possible, but what hope was there against such an army? He felt useless and ran on across the moorlands until the sounds of battle could be heard in the distance.
He paused, taking cover behind the scrubby trees which grew upon the moorlands. He could see the English attack, which was mounted upon the castle walls at its south-facing point. The English had attacked the gates with flaming arrows, the great oak doors now ablaze. It would not be long before they were breached, despite the best efforts of the Elliott soldiers to hold back the tide of English invaders.
There had been few casualties on the English side, and already they had breached the walls in several places, the plans which Hamish had stolen revealing the weakest parts of the castle. They were using ladders to scale to the battlements, and Rory could see a party of them fighting with his own men upon the roof of the gatehouse. It seemed that Kirklinton would soon be overrun for the first time in its long and noble history, thanks to the treachery of one man and the cowardice of the English attack.
I must get inside, I must find the others and bring them to safety, Rory told himself, knowing that any hope of dispelling the invasion was hopeless.
All he could hope was to rescue his mother, Margaret, Evie, and the others. They could flee north or to the castle of the McBryde’s, though Rory feared that it too could have been breached. Cautiously, he made his way forward, heading for a stream bed which flowed along the north side of the castle walls.
It was overgrown with trees and briars, which cut and tore at Rory’s cloak - yet he knew what he was looking for and found his way along the water's edge to an overhang in the rocks of the bank. It was there, a door hidden behind brambles and ivy, once used as an escape route, though now long forgotten.
His father had shown it to him as a boy, saying that here, generations of Elliotts had escaped invaders or launched surprise attacks from the rear. Now, Rory prized open the door and slipped inside. It was dark, and water dripped from the ceiling. The space was narrow and confined but soon opened out into a wider passageway, hollowed out through the rock. He picked his way through the darkness, stumbling several times and cursing when his head banged against the overhanging stones.
It had been years since he had taken the passageway through the rock and wondered if perhaps a rockfall might have blocked the way or he would become lost in the maze of ways which had been built to confuse would-be invaders. But the memory of his youth served him well, and after half an hour of picking his way carefully along, he came to the end of the passageway.
It terrified him to think about what he might find in the castle above. Would he be too late? Would the castle already be overrun? He knew he must get to his mother and Margaret, fight his way through the English soldiers if necessary, and bring them safely back through the passageway. But a further responsibility also weighed heavily upon him. His father always spoke of duty towards the clan and the Laird’s responsibility to his people. He had failed to protect the very people who were his to protect, and it was with guilt that he sought to make amends for his foolishness. He would fight to defend his own, even if it were futile to do so. Surprise would be his greatest ally, just as it had been for the English. Niall McCall may well have the plans of the castle, but Rory knew it better than anyone.
He paused at the end of the tunnel, listening intently for any sign of movement on the other side. But all seemed silent, and, in the depths of the rock, he could no longer hear the clash of swords and shouts of men above, only the dripping of water in the tunnel behind and his breathing, which was heavy and labored.
The tunnel gave way to a smooth wall of wood, a door with a clasp on one side. It could be opened from either way, and Rory fumbled in the darkness to find the catch. It was stiff, the scraping of rust over many years suddenly giving way, as the clasp came off in his hand. The wooden pall creaked open, and Rory found himself in the familiar surroundings of the castle library.
It was quiet, empty, and the table still covered in books and parchments from which Margaret had been teaching the children. Cautiously, Rory emerged from the tunnel, closing the panel behind him, forming part of the bookcase. The clasp was hidden in one corner, behind several ancient volumes, and, when the cabinet was pushed back, it appeared as immovable as any of the others which lined the library walls.
He hurried to the door, listening for any sound. But it seemed that the English advance had not penetrated the keep, and he wondered if perhaps there was hope that the invaders had been quelled. With his hand on his sword, Rory emerged from the library, glancing into the empty chapel, before hurrying off towards the great hall.
Now, he could hear the fighting outside. Men crying out to one another and the clash of sword upon sword. Through the windows, he could see clouds of billowing smoke, the air acrid and unpleasant, as the castle gates burned. The English had breached the walls and were rallying through the courtyard. His fellow
clansmen were fighting bravely in pockets upon the steps of the keep and from the gatehouse, but there was no hope of mounting a further defense.
Rory could only watch in despair, the sight of the once proud castle, now burning and filling him with guilt. He had failed in his duties as Laird to protect his family. He had even failed to protect Margaret, accusing rather than defending her. How foolish he had been, and cursed his stupidity as he hurried towards the great hall.
The corridors and passageways of the keep were like a maze, the central spiral stairwell giving way to rooms and nooks high up in the keep and other stairways leading to different parts of the castle. It was the perfect place to remain hidden, and Rory made his way cautiously along, his sword now drawn against the enemy.
He did not make for the great hall immediately but went instead to his mother’s chambers, hoping to rouse her from bed to the safety of the library passage. He encountered no one as he made his way towards her rooms, but as he came in sight of the door, was horrified to find it battered open, the hinges splintered and broken.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 21
