by Quinn, Paula
The mystery of the Morleys coming and going undetected was unraveling.
Fynn didn’t hesitate and after a few paces along the steeper tunnel they arrived at another winding staircase, scarcely wide enough for a man.
Ewan blew on the torch to rekindle the flame when it threatened to flicker out. “We might end up feeling our way,” he growled.
“Aye,” came the reply. “But there is a rope affixed to the wall here. On the right—luckily.”
Once again Ewan had to give his dour kinsman credit. Even in dire circumstances he could make light of his handicap.
They climbed the staircase, drawing their daggers when they heard a commotion above them. “He’s heading for the roof,” Fynn exclaimed.
Hampered by the narrow confines of the stairwell, they hurried as fast as they could to an uneven landing, where a small wooden door stood open. Sweating and out of breath, Ewan suspected Fynn was correct and didn’t hold out much hope of finding Lady Jeannie, at least not alive, but he entered the small, windowless chamber nevertheless.
Blankets lay scattered about. The only furniture was a small table and a couple of stools. The stale air in the confined space reeked of human waste, rotten food and rodent droppings, but it was a relief not to discover a corpse. Still, his hackles rose. It was no fit place to imprison a lady.
“She’s not here,” he said, but suddenly realized he was talking to himself. Fynn was already on his way to the roof.
He tossed away the useless torch, sheathed his weapon and climbed up the remaining steps, heaving himself through the small grate just after his kinsman. Daggers drawn, they scanned the empty battlements, panting hard. “He’s up here somewhere,” Fynn growled. “The grating had been removed.”
Ewan worried there was no sign of David and his men. “We’ll check the sentry boxes. Ye go to the right, I’ll go…”
“There she is,” Fynn yelled, pointing to the parapet on the east side of the tower. “The bastard’s going to push her over.”
Ewan’s heart raced. Wrists bound and mouth gagged, Jeannie perched atop the wall, wedged between two crenellations, her backside out in space.
Ailig was nowhere in sight.
“Wait,” Ewan cautioned, but Fynn paid no mind and rushed to save Jeannie. She shook her head vehemently, the wonky eye focused on something out of sight.
Suddenly, Ailig stepped out from a dilapidated sentry box and swooped towards Fynn, prodding his chest with the point of a sword, forcing him to walk backwards to Jeannie. “She’ll ne’er belong to a freak,” he menaced.
Ewan suspected Morley hadn’t seen him in his rush to attack Fynn. He crept forward cautiously, afraid his kinsman and the woman he loved would fall to their deaths before he could reach them.
His heart leaped into his throat when David surged from behind one of the iron chests. Bellowing a war cry, the youth unsheathed his sword and took a mighty upward swipe at Ailig’s extended arm.
The evil grin left the wretch’s face as his severed hand and the sword flew over the battlements. Shouts of warning followed by a loud gasp rose up from the crowd below.
Fynn lunged, skewering Ailig with his dagger. The brute’s eyes crossed as he collapsed to his knees and died in a gurgling heap at Jeannie’s dangling feet.
David put up his sword and secured Shona’s aunt while Fynn removed the gag and slit the rope binding her hands. She slumped into his embrace, weeping.
Ewan slapped David on the back. “Well done, lad. Ye saved the day.”
Superfluous
Everyone hurried to step away when two missiles came over the parapet; one landed with a clatter, the other with a strange thud. Once it was deemed safe, they surged around, curious to see what had come flying off the tower. Shona wished she’d remained in ignorance when she set eyes on the gory sight.
Her belly roiled; the only good thought filling her mind was that she didn’t recognize the dented weapon. She prayed fervently Ewan wasn’t the one who’d been maimed, but if the worst had happened she would do everything she could to aid him. After all, Fynn…
A cry from the battlements jolted her from the macabre possibility. “Lady Jeannie is safe.”
She looked up, elated to see Ewan waving both arms in the air. “Ailig’s dead,” he shouted.
Already on his knees, Mungo bent his head to the dirt and wailed.
“Take him to the cells,” Kendric ordered. “We’ll deal wi’ him later.”
A resounding cheer rose up from folk who brandished fists as Mungo was hauled to his feet and dragged away by two burly MacCarrons.
Shona hugged Walter and hurried to the stairway before he could prevent her. However, when she lifted the hem of her skirts and peered into the malodorous black hole that led down to the cesspit, she decided patience was sometimes a virtue.
*
Feeling he’d been superfluous to the outcome of events atop the tower, Ewan offered to carry Jeannie down to safety, but his one-handed kinsman was having none of it. Indeed, Shona’s aunt steadfastly refused to loosen her grip from around Fynn’s neck.
They used the main stairway, but the descent was still tortuous. David preceded them, a solicitous guide every step of the way.
Jeannie remained silent throughout, and clung to Fynn even when he finally set her upright in the courtyard.
Shona rushed to embrace her aunt, raining tearful kisses on her face and stroking her hair.
“’Twas David saved us all,” Fynn declared hoarsely before a broad grin split his dour face. “Fitting ye should cut off his hand, laddie.”
The news spread quickly and folk clustered around the red-faced youth, offering congratulations and words of admiration. Moira hung on his arm, beaming with pride. His stammered protestations at being treated like a hero were dismissed.
With help, Jeannie eventually walked to Kendric and bent to kiss his cheek. “I feared never to see ye again, Brother,” she murmured. “Ailig murdered Beathan. He boasted of it in the hidden chamber.”
The laird gritted his teeth, obviously having difficulty controlling his emotions. “Aye. There’ll be a dire punishment for Mungo, I guarantee it.”
Standing alone, Ewan watched the tearful reunions, the boisterous congratulations, the back slapping. He supposed he should feel the outsider, yet it pleased him that MacCarron folk were happy for Mackinloch kin as well as for their own.
Shona finally came to embrace him. “Thank ye,” she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder.
He hesitated to put his arms around her. “I dinna smell very wonderful,” he said.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Hug me anyway.”
He willingly obliged, feeling life return as she pressed her slender body against him. Her warmth chased away the chill of fear he’d felt in the tunnel. “Ye should be thanking David,” he said. “I did nothing.”
She pulled away and stared at him. “Rubbish,” she said. “Ye’re the one who provided leadership and gave everyone courage and hope. Ye worked out the clue in the codex and found the way to the secret chamber. Ye’re intelligent and brave. What more could a clan ask of its laird?”
*
Shona pouted when Ewan suggested she go to Jeannie’s chamber. “I want to stay with ye,” she protested. “Fynn has accompanied her there.”
“I’d like nothing more,” he replied, “but there are matters requiring my attention. Ailig’s body, for one. The crows will have a feast if we leave it atop the roof.”
She privately thought it a fitting end for the monster, but kept the barbaric opinion to herself. “I suppose ye’ll have need of yer kinsman’s help.”
He put his hands on her waist and gently turned her before patting her derrière. “Aye. Go to yer aunt.”
She went reluctantly, knowing he was right. Jeannie would need a woman’s shoulder to cry on, but she relived the intimate touch of Ewan’s hand on her bottom as she made her way to the hall to first retrieve the codex.
She was surprised to
see Moira standing by the head table, staring at the old book, hands fisted in the folds of her skirts. “It willna bite ye,” she said with more sarcasm than she intended.
Her maid startled and stepped away from the table. “I was just…”
Shona picked up the heavy tome with both hands. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I didna mean to upset ye.”
Moira shrugged, but Shona well recognized the feigned indifference the lass often used to hide her true feelings. “Would ye like to learn to read?”
Her maid’s frown caused her to think an adamant refusal would be the response, but then doubt crept into her eyes. “I’m nay clever enough.”
“Nonsense. Anyone can learn letters. We’ll see to it.”
Moira’s broad smile made her wonder why she hadn’t thought of the notion before. Servants who could read would be more useful to the castle and the clan. She handed the book over to her maid, filled with a sense of optimism about changes she and Ewan could bring about. It would be a new era. One in which old feuds were forgotten and life improved for everyone.
Important Matters
Kendric brandished his crutch and chattered loudly as his bearers carried him into the keep. “The day’s events seem to have served as a tonic,” Ewan said to David and Walter.
“He does loo…loo…look better,” the lad agreed.
Gilbertson chuckled. “Kendric is strong. He’ll recover, though he still complains of pain in his hip.”
Ewan clamped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Now, hero of the hour, we have the unsavory task of bringing down Ailig’s body.”
“That’s nay…nay…a job for a laird,” his kinsman retorted. “I’ll fi…find men to aid me.”
Ewan at first thought to insist, but perhaps it was wiser to let the youth take charge of an important, if gruesome duty. “Fine,” he replied. “Walter can likely provide names.”
Walter nodded. “I suggest we take the body down to the ice vaults. There’s likely still a goodly amount of snow hauled from Ben Nevis last winter.”
Ewan indicated his agreement. “We also need to clean up the filth in the secret chamber.”
“Not much use having a secret chamber now the Mackinlochs are aware of it,” Walter quipped with a wink.
Ewan acknowledged the irony. However, as Walter and David quickly organized a group of willing men to carry out the distasteful tasks, he remained convinced a hidden refuge was a good thing to maintain.
He went by way of the hall to retrieve the codex, and assumed Shona had taken it when he discovered it was no longer atop the head table. She evidently knew where the clan’s annals were kept. He looked forward to investigating the history of her clan from the MacCarron point of view. No doubt the accounts of clashes with the Mackinlochs would be very different from those kept in Roigh Hall.
Confident that matters needing immediate attention were in hand, he toyed with the notion of seeking out his bride and wiling away the rest of the afternoon with her. His body heated at the prospect of whispered intimacies.
He shook his head. A laird couldn’t always do what he wanted, no matter how great his desire to seek reassurance in the arms of his beloved that he had survived the first major test of his temporary lairdship. His duty was to meet with Kendric to discuss the future of Creag Castle and Clan MacCarron.
*
Still carrying the codex, Shona tiptoed into her aunt’s chamber, having dispatched Moira to prepare a bath and fresh garments for the evening meal in the hall. Jeannie lay on the bed, seemingly asleep between the sheets. Fynn rose from the chair, a finger pressed to his lips. “Her maid bathed and put her to bed,” he whispered. “She didna want to speak of her ordeal.”
Shona worried Jeannie couldn’t bring herself to reveal the harm Ailig might have inflicted, but Fynn looked like a man reborn now the woman he loved was safe. She didn’t want to cast a shadow on his happiness. “I’m glad my aunt found ye,” she told him. “Ye’re a good man and she deserves happiness.”
He clenched his jaw. “I swear I’ll take good care of her,” he rasped.
Shona nodded. “But now Ewan needs ye. I’ll stay here.”
He bowed slightly then tiptoed out. She suspected it had been many a year since the proud warrior had bowed to anybody. His respect was humbling. Mayhap she did have the makings of a good laird’s wife.
She put the codex down carefully and crept to the bed, surprised to see Jeannie had both eyes open. “Ye’re awake.”
“I was pretending,” she confessed. “Fynn insisted I sleep, but how can a woman sleep when all she can think of is ripping the mon’s clothes off?”
Shona laughed. “Auntie!”
Jeannie sat up. “My biggest regret when I feared Ailig meant to murder me was that I hadna lain with Fynn. In the way a woman lays with a man, if ye get my drift.”
“I get yer drift, right enough,” Shona managed to reply, despite the laughter constricting her throat. But then she sobered and took her aunt’s hand when the words sank in. “Ye believed he’d kill ye?”
“I was certain of it, especially sitting atop yon tower wi’ my arse in the wind.”
Jeannie would probably regret these unladylike outbursts. “I think yer fear has got the better of yer tongue,” Shona said softly.
Her aunt shook her head. “From now on I plan to say what I like, and take what I want. And I want Fynn Macintyre.” She averted her strange eyes. “If he’ll have me.”
“I’m sure he will. He doesna care if…” She stopped abruptly, ashamed of what she’d been about to imply.
Jeannie snorted. “Dinna fret, pet. Ailig and his weasel of a brother didna have their way wi’ me. Ailig takes his pleasure wi’ his fists, and I doot Mungo knows what to do wi’ a woman, despite his never-ending boasting.”
Shona was torn between laughing and crying. “Did he hurt ye?”
Jeannie shrugged. “The bruises will heal.”
*
On his way into Kendric’s apartments, Ewan collided with a red-faced Cummings.
“Stubborn old man,” the physician mumbled.
“I assume ye’re referring to the laird,” he replied with a grin.
Cummings rolled his eyes. “He willna listen to my advice that he stay in bed. Wants to sit in the chair.”
Ewan shrugged, reminded of his own obstinate father. “In my experience with men of his ilk, ’tis a waste of time to argue.”
Cummings smiled resignedly. “Aye.”
Ewan closed the door behind him, confident there was no longer a need to drop the bar for security.
Kendric beckoned. “Come sit by me,” he said. “We’ve important things to discuss.”
Espying nothing else to sit on, Ewan carried a footstool over to the chair and perched on it, hoping it wouldn’t give way under his weight. “The date of my marriage to Shona, for one,” he said.
Kendric raised an eyebrow. “Weel, that wasna the first thing on my list, but I suppose we must settle the details of the hand-fasting.”
Ewan shook his head. “I’m nay interested in hand-fasting. I want her for my forever wife.”
Kendric chuckled. “Good, good. I suppose we’ll need time to publish the notices, though we sent out messengers with news of the agreement with yer clan sennights ago.”
Ewan reckoned Shona would be his in two to three weeks, but the mention of the agreement brought up an unavoidable topic. “We must discuss the payment of the installments yer clan promised to mine.”
Kendric squirmed. “That wasna even on my list, but ye can see to that now ye’re laird.”
Another obstacle out of the way. “What to do with Ailig’s body?”
Shona’s uncle stared at him. “Is this a long list ye intend to trot out before I can address my concerns, laddie?”
Ewan didn’t know how to respond, but Kendric saved him the trouble. “Donald tells me Niall Morley will soon be sufficiently recovered to return to Glen Nevis, though he’ll walk with a terrible limp after Ruadh feasted
on his leg. Punishment enough, I warrant. He can take Ailig’s body back with him.”
Satisfied with this solution, Ewan pressed on. “I believe my kinsman will seek permission to wed Lady Jeannie.”
Kendric’s florid face reddened further. “By heck, o’ course. Fynn is a grand lad. Aught else?”
Ewan hesitated to bring up another point. Kendric clearly had something important on his mind. “David and…”
“Aye, another good match, but now I’ll have no more delays so we can discuss what’s worrying me. Do ye have a plan for the stag yon dog tracked?” He slapped his uninjured thigh. “Who’d have thought Ruadh capable of bringing down such a prize?”
Responsibilities
After Jeannie fell asleep, Shona sat in the armchair for a while, leafing through the old codex. It made for interesting reading and increased her resolve to speak to her uncle about ensuring he left a written history of his tenure.
When her aunt’s maid came to see if she was needed, Shona left her to watch over Jeannie and the book.
She was anxious for a bath and fresh clothes, but she’d been remiss in not making sure Ruadh had been comfortably settled in the stables after his part in the rescue.
His wagging tail thumped when he caught sight of her. He managed to struggle to all fours for a moment but she knelt beside him and eased him back down onto the straw. “Rest,” she urged, rubbing his head. “Ye’ve earned it.”
“He’s glad to see ye,” remarked one of the lads forking hay.
Ruadh growled contentedly deep in his throat as she stroked his belly, noting the wound was clean and the stitches seemed to be healing. She massaged his jaw for a while—something he always loved—but then became aware of the lengthening shadows. “Time to go,” she whispered, kissing his cold, wet nose. “I’ll come see ye on the morrow.”
He raised his head, dark eyes full of indignation, and whimpered. As she walked towards the door, the whimpering became louder. She turned around. The whining stopped; the tail wagged again.
