“Except for the honor of my clan,” he replied, fixing her with an angry stare.
“Honor? There is no honor in defeat, Rory Elliott. None at all,” she replied, signaling to the soldiers.
“If ye intend to kill me then dae so quickly,” Rory said, and his mother let out a cry.
“Kill you? Where would the fun be in that? No, you and the others are to be made an example of. I will see to that,” she said, as the guards took hold of Rory and dragged him towards the doors of the great hall.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” he said, as Isabella followed on behind.
“To the dungeons, of course, you can join my sister. The two of you are in love, are you not?” she asked, as the others were dragged after them.
Rory struggled, as he was marched through his own castle towards the dungeons. Everywhere, he saw his soldiers bound in chains or clapped in irons. The English had overrun Kirklinton, and it seemed that Isabella’s victory was complete. The banner of the Musgrave’s now fluttered over the keep, and the gates lay burnt and broken, no doubt to welcome the reinforcements which would soon come from south of the border.
“Ye will face resistance, Isabella. My clansmen are far spread, there is the Armstrong castle, the crofts on the northern moorlands and many men of goodwill who will come to our aid,” Rory said, as he was marched across the courtyard.
“Irrelevant, we are strong and have long waited for this moment,” Isabella said as they arrived at the dungeons.
“And ye shall keep us here as prisoners for how many years?” Rory asked as the dungeon door swung open.
“For as long as I choose,” she said, just as a scream sounded from down below.
It was the unmistakable sound of Margaret, and it caught Isabella by surprise, as Rory shook off the guards and rushed down the steps of the dungeons.
He was followed by Isabella and the soldiers, and, as he came into the gloomy passageway, he saw Margaret struggling in the grip of Niall McCall. Her dress was torn, and he had his arms around her, his lips pressed to her neck. Isabella was right behind him, and she too saw the shocking sight and let out a cry.
In his lust, Niall McCall had not heard them approaching, but now he looked up in surprise, and Margaret struggled free from his grip rushing towards Rory, who clung to her, even as the English soldiers grabbed them and confusion reigned. Isabella flew forward, striking Niall across the cheek, and he staggered back in surprise at the force of her anger.
“Isabella, ye …” he began, but she struck out at him again, as Rory and Margaret were dragged towards one of the cells.
The other prisoners were now shouting, and the English soldiers called for quiet, as Isabella stood and faced Niall McCall, their faces lit by a single torch burning in a bracket on the wall above.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said, her voice distant, as though broken by the sight.
“Isabella, tis’ only harmless fun. Yer sister wished it, tis’ nothin’ meant by it,” he said, turning to Margaret, who now clung to Rory in terror.
“I did not wish it, Niall McCall, nor your advances upon me these months past. You have watched and waited for any opportunity. How often have you lusted after me and sought opportunity for this wickedness? You came here thinking my sister would not know, well, she has seen for herself,” Margaret said, and Isabella let out a cry of anger.
“Is this true? That you have come here to seduce my sister?” Isabella cried in anger.
“I was not seduced, Isabella,” Margaret said.
Rory had not yet seen the two sisters together, but it was obvious that they were kin. Unmistakably so. Not only in looks, but in mannerisms and speech. Each seemed as forceful as the other, though he could feel Margaret shaking with fear, despite the strength of conviction in her words.
“Ye wished it, ye are nothin’ but a wench,” Niall spat, but Margaret shook her head.
“I assure you, Niall, there is only one man whom I hold affection for, and he is stood next to me. And I will gladly stand at his side, Isabella, I am no Musgrave, not by name or by blood. I renounce it, I renounce it all. And I say again, I love the Laird of the Elliotts, and I will gladly die for that,” she said, her hand tight in Rory’s, as her sister looked on in anger.
“Isabella, ye must believe me. I wish only for ye,” Niall said, turning to Isabella, whose face had turned pale, her eyes wide and bloodshot.
“You have betrayed me, just as I was betrayed before,” she said, as Niall took a step towards her.
“Isabella, come now. Ye have won, we have won. This is all we dreamt of. The Elliotts are defeated, this is our moment of victory,” Niall said, holding out his arms to her.
Rory watched as Isabella fixed Niall with the angriest of looks. It reminded him of Evie’s tales of her imprisonment at Isabella’s hands. She was a cruel and bitter woman, a Musgrave through and through. How different to the sister who now clung to him, the one he loved beyond anything else.
“We have won, Niall? We? You mean my family has won. The family you thought you could ingratiate yourself into for your own purposes and designs. Did you really think you would be Laird over Kirklinton? That I am the sort of woman who would be willing to stand aside and allow you the glory? I am not like other women, Niall,” Isabella said, her voice now low and threatening.
“But Isabella, ye and I have agreed on this. I daenae think ye to be like other women. Tis’ I who accomplished this task. I risked my life to ingratiate myself with the Elliotts and make myself a spy within this castle. Tis’ I who sent word of when the strike should come and who stole the plans. I have done everythin’ ye asked,” Niall pleaded, but Isabella shook her head.
“I ask for one thing, Niall, and that is loyalty. All I ask for is loyalty,” Isabella said and took a step forward.
“And ye have my loyalty, dear Isabella. Yer sister is nothin’ but a wench. A seductress, a woman who cannae be trusted. Daenae listen to her. I was only teachin’ her a lesson,” Niall said, still holding out his arms to Isabella, who shook her head.
“Perhaps you were, Niall, but I know my sister well enough. She may have betrayed our family by escaping, but she is sincere in her words, I can hear it in her voice.”
Rory put his arms more tightly around Margaret, the soldiers standing in a circle in the passageway, as Isabella and Niall faced one another, a pleading look now coming over Niall’s face.
“Then forgive me, Isabella, forgive me and let us lock these Elliotts in their dungeons and leave them to rot, yer sister too. She is nothin’ to us, we shall rule together, of course, we shall. Ye can trust me,” he said.
“I can trust you? Oh, that is what you say, but can I forgive you too?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Of course, ye can, Isabella. Dearest Isabella. Think of all I have done, think of my loyalty to ye. I love ye,” he said, stepping forward again.
Rory watched as Isabella’s face broke into a smile, and Niall breathed a sigh of relief.
“Of course I can forgive you,” she said, and he threw his arms around her.
“Oh. Isabella,” he cried, kissing her on the neck.
“But I cannot forget,” she replied, and suddenly he let out a cry of pain, staggering back with a look of anguish upon his face.
Isabella had drawn a dagger from its hilt on her belt and stabbed him in the side. Now, she stood over him as he looked up in horror and stumbled backward. She brought the dagger down upon him again, raining down strike after strike, her face almost expressionless as she did so.
“Isabella, no,” Margaret cried out, but Rory held her back, as Niall McCall fell back limp and lifeless on the floor of the dungeon passageway.
Isabella was covered in blood, and rose, dropping the dagger and turning Rory and Margaret, let out a deep sigh.
“That is what happens to those who betray me. For what it is worth, Margaret, I believed you,” Isabella said, and Margaret shook her head.
“Why must bloodshed always be the Musgra
ve way?”,” Margaret said, and Isabella laughed.
“My dear young sister, always such a kind and good-hearted soul. But your kindness has been your undoing. You should have killed him yourself when he made advances upon you, then perhaps you would have saved yourself,” Isabella said.
“I would not kill a man where he stood,” Margaret replied, and Isabella laughed.
“You killed one of our soldiers, a man of your own side in defense of those you did not know. Do not try to make yourself out as being different from me, Margaret. Once a Musgrave, always a Musgrave. Is that not what they say in this clan? You are hated and despised by these people, and yet you side with them. Only a fool would do that,” Isabella said, stepping over Niall McCall’s body and coming to stand before Rory and Margaret.
“Rather a fool than a Musgrave,” Margaret said, turning her head away and burying it in Rory’s shoulder.
“Then you have made your choice. I could not forgive Niall for his treachery, I have been hurt already by the betrayal of love, but I could have forgiven you, Margaret. You are my sister, and we would have welcomed you home, but it seems there is no choice but to leave you here to rot with the people you have chosen as your family,” Isabella said, turning away.
“And a fine addition she is too,” Rory said, as Isabella turned back to him and laughed.
“My sister always was the fool. My father used to say that she has not a drop of true English blood in her. Always running off across the borders and make friends with your peasants. We knew that something like this would happen, and now it has. But never mind, she was given a choice, and she rejected it. We are still victorious,” Isabella crowed.
“Did ye ever wonder why anyone couldnae love ye, Isabella?” Rory asked, and Isabella looked at him in anger.
“Be quiet. It is not your place to speak in such a way. I have been betrayed, but no matter. I shall not be so easy with my favors in the future. Besides, it was I who used him, not he who used me,” she replied, glancing down at the lifeless body of Niall McCall, a pool of blood surrounding him.
“Then ye shall remain a bitter and twisted woman,” Rory replied, almost feeling pity for Isabella. For all her defiant words, she seemed broken by the betrayal just experienced.
“To see the banner of my family finally raised over this castle is enough. Kirklinton has always been the prize which eluded us, but now it is ours,” Isabella replied, and signaled to the guards to bring the others into the cell.
Isla, Evie, Owen, Duncan, and the children were pushed roughly forward and herded inside next to Rory and Margaret. The children were crying, and they clung to Evie, who struggled in the grip of the English soldiers.
“Ye shall pay for this, Isabella, ye shall pay for it,” she cried, and Isabella laughed.
“And ye shall languish in these dungeons for many years to come, Evie McBryde for tis’ with yer husband that I still have an old score to settle,” she snarled, striking Evie across the cheek and stepping back.
The cell door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock. Isabella stood triumphantly in the passageway, flanked by her soldiers and with a sneer upon her face.
“Ye have nae won, Isabella,” Rory said, stepping forward and shielding his family behind him.
“And what more must I do to win, Rory Elliott? I have the Laird and his family in their dungeon, locked behind bars. My banner flies above Kirklinton, and it will not be long before all the lands which once held your allegiance fall under me. I have won, and there is nothing further you can do about it,” she said, and signaling to the soldiers, she marched off back along the passageway, leaving the body of Niall McCall upon the flagstones.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Margaret sat down, dejectedly in the corner of the dungeon cell. There was little consolation in having the company of the others for what hope was there now? Despite Rory’s words, Margaret knew there was little hope left. Her sister was a cruel and wicked woman, twisted and embittered by years of brooding jealousy. She had never forgiven the Elliotts for what they had done, nor had she left the past behind. Her sole aim had been revenge, and now she had it.
“Margaret, I am sorry that we disbelieved ye. I am sorry for everythin’ that we said and thought,” Evie said, shaking off the ties around her hands and coming to sit next to Margaret upon the floor.
“I have only ever been a friend to you all, the matter of my name did not seem important. Though I can see why it mattered so much to you,” Margaret replied, for she did not blame Evie or the others for thinking her a traitor. It was the obvious thought when they discovered she was a Musgrave. No Musgrave had ever been a friend to the Elliotts, let alone the intimate other of one of their own. But now, the sincerity of Margaret’s words was shown, and there was no doubt that she had been telling the truth. The only lie she was guilty of was hiding her true identity, a secret she would surely have kept if it had not been for Hamish’s recognition.
“But still, we are sorry that we doubted ye,” Isla said, stooping down to embrace Margaret on the cold cell floor, kissing her on both cheeks.
“But what now?” Duncan asked.
He and Owen were sat on the other side, almost entirely concealed by their black habits in the dimness of the shadowy dungeon.
“We can dae nothin’ but wait and see what comes next,” Rory said.
Margaret looked up at him. He was standing by the door, as though protecting his family from whatever lay upon the other side. Margaret had never given up hope in Rory, and now she knew that her trust had been justified. He was every bit the man she had fallen in love with.
“Perhaps there is a way to get a message from here, one of the guards could be bribed. There are still many who are loyal to us,” Owen said, but Rory shook his head.
“Any man that did that would be a fool, and what dae we have to bribe anyone with? Aye, we still have friends, but help is still some way off,” Rory replied, sighing and leaning back on the cell door.
“There is still hope, there must be,” Evie said, “what of Hamish?”
“Ye know yer husband well enough. But I am as guilty as he for believin’ what I wanted to rather than trustin’ in what I should have known to be true.,” Rory said.
“Rory, ye cannae say that,” Evie began, but Margaret held up her hands for quiet.
“Please, it does none of us any good to fight amongst ourselves. Hamish gave me a choice, and I should have been honest from the very start as to who I was. Only then could this sad state of affairs have been avoided,” she said, and the others fell silent.
“Daenae blame yerself, lass,” Rory replied, a few moments later.
“But I do blame myself,” she said.
Silence now fell upon them, and they sat miserably around the dungeon cell. A guard brought some stale bread and water later in the day, but they saw no sign of Isabella again, and there was no suggestion as to what might happen next.
The afternoon drew to an end, and the tiny amount of light from the passageway was replaced by darkness. The flaming torch died down, and they were soon left in darkness, the children whimpering and Rory pacing up and down in frustration, his footsteps echoing in the small chamber.
“I cannae stand this,” he said, rattling the bars of the cell door, before banging his fists onto the wall.
“Peace, Rory,” Owen said, but Rory was angry, and pulled on the bars, shouting for the guards.
“Ye bring her to me, Isabella Musgrave, bring her to me now. I will nae be kept in this dungeon,” he cried out, but just then, another noise was heard from above, and Isla called for quiet.
“What is that?” she said, and Rory fell silent.
Margaret strained to listen, struggling to hear the noise which Isla and the others had heard just before. She held her breath, straining her ears as the sound came again. It was louder now, the shouts of men on a far distant battlement. What were they calling out for?
“An attack?” Duncan said, just as the castle bell began to toll
.
“Nay, the sound of victory. The Musgraves will be welcomin’ their reinforcements. Word will have been sent last night, and they will have marched through the night. This is the sound of victory,” Rory said, cursing to himself and shaking the bars of the cell door once more.
“Nay, listen, tis’ swords clashin’ and men shoutin’ as though at war,” Isla said, “listen, Rory, ye shall hear it,” she said, and the others paused to listen.
But Isla was right. Over the tolling of the bell, she could hear the clash of metal upon metal and the cries of soldiers at war. This was not the call of victory at reinforcements, this was an attack, and Margaret scrambled to her feet as the others did the same.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 23
