by Paula Quinn
The English king must be Henry, since the entry was dated 1536, about the time the monarch had set aside his Spanish wife if she remembered her tutor’s history lessons correctly.
But what was all this about a stench? She peered at the entry again, worried she’d mayhap misread the word, noticing for the first time a tiny drawing of a Viking ship in the flourish under the date.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. The Morleys boasted loud and long of their line of descent from Somerled, King of the Isles.
She closed the book, tucked it under her arm and edged her way back to the door. “I found something,” she told Moira, “though I dinna ken what it means.”
*
Ruadh teetered gamely on all four legs, barking loudly at the tower. Peering up at the approximate location of where they’d stood inside the structure, Ewan tamped down his frustration. “There’s no window, but I’m sure there’s a hidden chamber. I just canna fathom how to get into it.”
“I suppose that was the plan,” Walter replied. “But if Ailig did indeed surprise Beathan atop the tower, there has to be a passageway leading up to the roof.”
Fynn and David apparently overheard and disappeared back into the tower before Ewan had a chance to reply. He was about to follow when boisterous MacCarron warriors appeared in the courtyard shoving a prisoner ahead of them.
Mungo Morley.
Ewan resisted the urge to lunge at the fool who’d caused Shona and her family so much suffering. They forced him to his knees, then stepped away. The reports came fast and furious, everyone shouting at once.
Found him in the kitchens.
Stealing food.
String him up.
I’ll make him talk.
None came too close. Mungo stank like a midden. “Where’s Lady Jeannie?” he asked, thankful Fynn was scaling the steep staircase.
Sorely shrugged. “I dinna ken. What have ye done with my wife?”
Ewan fisted his hands, glad when Walter spoke first. “Ye canna hope to claim ’twas a legal marriage betwixt ye and Shona. I myself saw the poor excuse for a priest ye bribed.”
Muttered agreement rose from the crowd.
“Shona is my betrothed,” Ewan growled.
Mungo stared in disbelief. “Ye’re nay the man wi’ one hand.” Then he shook his head. “What matters is we exchanged vows and I bedded her first, so I’m her husband, and ye’re an adulterer. Not welcome in Clan MacCarron.”
Fury boiled in Ewan’s veins. Morley was lying, but the wretch had made serious accusations that couldn’t be ignored. The wrinkles of doubt on many a brow indicated as much. “Take him to the hall,” he ordered, “and ask Laird Kendric to convene a hearing. We’ll settle once and for all who’s fit to be chief.”
At all costs, Shona had to be protected. At least she was safely away from the imminent proceedings.
The prisoner was hauled to his feet and escorted into the keep by men who seemed to have lost some of their fervor. Dismayed Mungo may have swayed opinion to his side, Ewan lingered to wait for Fynn and David. He was reluctant to impart the news, especially when they confirmed they’d found nothing on the roof.
“Only a grate covering the air vent for the cesspit,” Fynn hissed.
David waved his hand in front of his nose. “Sti…sti…stink,” he stammered.
*
The women hurried along the corridor, intending to go to the tower, but the noise of folk gathering in the hall drew their attention.
Shona paused to consider what to do next. She leaned back against the wall, glad of the cold stone and a chance to catch her breath. She hefted the codex that seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.
“Summat’s going on in the hall,” Moira panted, holding out the dagger, hilt first. “Give me the book.”
“Nay,” she replied, reluctant to refuse the weapon but unwilling to hand over the codex. “We’d best see what’s going on.”
She approached the hall cautiously, signaling Moira to stay behind her. Clutching the book to her breast, she peered around the arched entryway, puzzled to see a large, agitated crowd.
“What’s happening?” Moira whispered.
Shona’s heart hammered when she espied Mungo Morley in front of the dais. She could only see his back but there was no mistaking who it was standing head and shoulders above the mob. “They’ve captured Mungo,” she replied, ready to rush into the hall with her precious book. But something made her hesitate. “Uncle Kendric is sitting on the dais.”
“Do ye see Lady Jeannie?”
“Nay, nor Ailig.”
“Mayhap they’re holding a trial to make him tell where they are.”
She nodded, but her belly churned when Ewan mounted the dais, his face a mask of fury. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured.
Her fears were confirmed when her grim-faced uncle called for silence and declared, “I convene this court to look into the matter o’ the alleged consummation o’ the marriage o’ Mungo Morley and Shona MacCarron.”
Trial
Ewan’s certainty that Shona would be spared the humiliation of the proceedings blew away like chaff on the wind when she stormed into the hall, clutching a large book. He might have known she wouldn’t remain in the safety of her chamber.
Without his prompting, Fynn and David moved to clear a path for her.
“There was no marriage,” she shouted breathlessly.
Ewan burned to jump off the dais and take her into his arms, but Kendric was presiding over this court, not him. It would be foolish to jeopardize the outcome in any way.
Shona glared at her accuser with undisguised loathing. For the briefest of moments, Ewan wondered if she hated Morley because he’d raped her. He quickly doused the flame of suspicion. He had to trust she’d told him the truth.
“If I was The Camron,” Mungo whined, looking too smug, “I’d enforce the clan rule that women are nay permitted to speak at a court.”
Shona narrowed her eyes and scanned the crowd as a murmur of agreement with Mungo’s assertion rippled on the air. “So, it seems a MacCarron lass is nay allowed to defend herself against calumny.” She nodded to Fynn and David. “And apparently I must rely on Mackinloch kin to defend me from my own clan.”
Kendric cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to say that Morley has the right of it, lass. Ye canna speak.”
Ewan hoped she would turn her head to look at him and be assured he would speak for her.
*
Shona had never seen a volcano, but her father had told her about the discovery of the ruins of Pompeii when he was a boy. She seethed now with molten anger against all males and their stupid rules. Surely her clansmen wouldn’t believe Mungo simply because he was a man, but even as the thought occurred she acknowledged the reality of the way things were.
She sought Ewan’s gaze. Perhaps he could intercede. His clenched jaw and tightly folded arms told of his fury, but his eyes spoke of calmness and trust. He would speak for her.
She held up the book briefly, then gave it to Fynn. “A clue,” she whispered.
He carried the codex to Ewan who nodded to her as he accepted it. She willed him to open it, to find the passage, but he put the tome down on the head table.
“Speak yer piece,” Kendric told Mungo.
She noted with some satisfaction that Morley was staring at the codex and didn’t look quite so smug.
“Me and Shona got wed,” he declared.
She snorted.
Walter pushed his way to the front. “He bribed a simpleton squatting in the old Dunscar Abbey cell.”
“I’ll call for witnesses shortly, Walter,” Kendric said wearily, scratching inside the top of his cast. “Carry on, Morley.”
“Then I took her to Inverlochy and we did the deed.”
Shona fisted her hands, heedless of the fingernails digging into her palms.
“Mungo wasn’t at Inverlochy when we rescued Shona,” Walter shouted. “He left her with two guards. One of them is in the i
nfirmary now suffering with dog bites. Ask him.”
Mungo shifted his weight. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “The witnesses aren’t supposed to speak yet,” he protested.
Kendric glowered. “How could ye have done the deed, as ye so indelicately put it, if ye left her wi’ guards?”
Mungo scratched his head. “I was mistaken. We did it before.”
“Before what?”
Shona snorted back her amusement. The idiot had just talked himself into admitting he might be a rapist. He was tying himself in knots with his lies.
“In the cave at Congers Rock,” he muttered.
Shona met Ewan’s gaze as he stepped forward. “If Morley has finished his testimony, my laird, may I speak?” he asked Kendric.
Admiration blossomed in her heart. Ewan’s calm voice gave away nothing of his inner turmoil.
Kendric nodded.
Every face turned to listen to the next tantalizing revelation.
“My betrothed told me of her imprisonment in the cave.”
“She’s nay yer betrothed,” Mungo insisted.
Kendric huffed. “Quiet. Ye’ve had yer say.”
“She was understandably afraid, but Mungo told her, I’m nay likely to have my way with ye in a cave wi’ my men looking on.”
His mimicry of Morley’s ridiculous voice was so astoundingly perfect, she had to bite on her knuckle, but some didn’t hide their amusement.
Mungo hunched his shoulders and glared at Ewan.
“He did put an arm across her hips but explained it was Just in case ye get a silly notion to run off.”
Many laughed out loud, enjoying the impersonation. Shona felt more hopeful. She reminded herself Morley didn’t command much respect among the majority of MacCarrons anyway. Her betrothed had realized it and was capitalizing on the knowledge.
Ewan’s voice deepened. “I told Shona that the mon must be a eunuch if he slept alongside her all night and didna have his way wi’ her.”
It was a confession of a very personal and private nature, but it seemed to endear Ewan to the onlookers and they guffawed at Mungo’s expense.
“Always suspected there was summat wrong wi’ Morley,” someone shouted, eliciting more crude remarks about Mungo’s sexual prowess.
The giant’s ruddy complexion turned an alarming shade of crimson.
“We’ll see smoke come out of his ears soon,” Moira whispered beside Shona.
Ewan placed a casual hand on the codex. “Mayhap we should ask Ailig what transpired,” he shouted over the din.
“Aye,” Mungo replied. “Er…nay…I mean.”
A hush fell over the crowd, though a few whispered of Ailig’s banishment.
“Which is it, mon?” Ewan asked. “Do ye deny ye’ve aided yer brother in his nefarious schemes?”
“Nay…aye…I’ve aided him wi’ food and shelter, but…”
“He’s an outlaw.”
“Aye…nay…his banishment was unjust.”
“And ye hated Laird Beathan for it.”
“Aye…nay…we…”
“He’s likely to make himself dizzy wi’ all the nodding and shaking of his head,” Moira muttered.
“So ye murdered him,” Ewan thundered.
“Nay…I’m nay a murderer…’twas Ailig.”
Ewan narrowed his eyes. “He pushed the laird off the tower.”
Mungo studied his feet. “Aye.”
“And caused Kendric’s horse to bolt.”
“Aye.”
Kendric struggled to stand, brandishing his crutch. “Ye fyking miscreant. Wait till I get my hands on ye…”
Peacefulness crept into Shona’s heart, despite the ruckus that exploded around her. She’d never accepted the notion her father had taken his own life. He’d been vindicated, the murderer exposed. A plot to overthrow the hereditary lairds of Clan MacCarron had been thwarted. But where was Ailig and what had he done with Jeannie?
*
Ewan wasn’t finished. There could be no question left in anyone’s mind about Shona’s innocence in all this. He pointed an accusing finger at Mungo Morley. “Before us stands a criminal, a liar, a murderer’s accomplice. Can we believe his accusations against our Shona?”
“Nay,” everyone shouted.
He looked into the tear-filled eyes of his betrothed. “I swear before all o’ ye, I look forward to the day I wed Shona MacCarron, for she is the purest and loveliest lass I’ve ever met.”
“Aye,” came the resounding response.
He turned back to Mungo. “Now what have ye done wi’ Lady Jeannie?”
“I’ll nay betray my own brother,” he whimpered.
Ewan pointed to Fynn, simmering nearby. “Tell us or I’ll nay intervene while my kinsman here persuades ye. He’s a mite worried about her.”
“Wait,” Shona cried, hurrying to the dais. “The codex. I’m sure the thirteenth laird has given us a clue, but I dinna ken what to make of it.”
She leafed hurriedly through a few pages, blowing away puffs of dust, then pointed to a drawing. “Here.”
Ewan read and re-read the bold script, understanding some but not all of the cryptic message.
“What does it say?” Kendric asked.
“It talks about the need to build a place to hide…from the Mackinlochs.”
Folk groaned.
“From the English king too,” Shona added.
Muttered opinions were exchanged as to which English king it referred to since every last one was considered a thorn in the side of all Scots.
Ewan was none the wiser. “Aye, but he talks about a stench. I dinna…”
He looked up and noticed Mungo’s red face had turned ashen.
Suddenly, everything fell into place. The stink that clung to the wretch, the grating at the foot of the staircase and another on the roof. “The cesspit,” he declared.
“What?” Walter asked, scratching his head.
“We get to the hidden chamber by way of the cesspit.”
The Tunnel
Ewan grasped Shona’s hand. There was no possibility he would allow her anywhere near the cesspit. As the indignant crowd surged out of the hall, sweeping Mungo along in its midst, he opened his mouth to tell her so.
“I’ll nay stay here,” she said before he could speak.
The determination in her gaze quickly persuaded him it would be useless to argue. “Come on then,” he replied lifting her down from the dais, “but only as far as the tower.”
She grinned. “Aye. The cesspit’s a job for menfolk.”
He chuckled as they hurried to follow the crowd. “Ye’re a feisty lass, Shona MacCarron, and I love ye for it.”
When they reached the tower they discovered Fynn had already lifted the grate off the opening at the base of the stairway, despite his handicap. “Steps,” he told Ewan, nodding into the blackness.
The foul smell normally masked by the cover sapped some of the enthusiasm from the mob. They hung back, evidently content to wait and see what happened next.
“The Camron said the stench would protect them,” Shona said.
The stink made his belly roil, but Ewan accepted his responsibility. “I’ll lead, with Fynn. David will take three men up to the roof. Walter, watch over Shona. If aught happens to me…”
“Nay,” Fynn replied, one foot already on the top step. “I claim the right to go first.”
Accepting that he was unlikely to win an argument with his stalwart kinsman, Ewan kissed Shona, then leaned his forehead against hers. “We’ll find her,” he whispered.
“Just make sure ye come back to me,” she replied hoarsely.
“I will,” he promised. “Though I may not smell so sweet when I return.”
The breath hitched in her throat as she stepped back to stand with Walter.
David quickly chose his men and started up the main staircase.
Ewan inhaled deeply, accepted a torch from a bystander, and followed Fynn into the slippery abyss.
*
&
nbsp; “He’s a decisive man,” Walter rasped. “He’ll make a good laird.”
Shona couldn’t form a reply. Ewan thought she was feisty and courageous but, in reality, fear held her in its grip. She doubted they would find Jeannie alive, and dreaded even contemplating a future without the man she’d at first done her best to thwart.
Two MacCarron warriors arrived carrying a chair on which sat a very red-faced Kendric.
“Put me down here,” he shouted, brandishing his crutch. “I’m a useless old mon. Have to be carried everywhere. Better if I died.”
Shona hunkered down next to her uncle and took his hand. “Ye’ll survive this ordeal,” she reassured him, “and those responsible for it will be punished.”
“Nay doot about that,” he replied, snarling at Mungo who’d been forced to his knees near the door.
“Ewan and Fynn have gone down into the pit,” she told him, swallowing the lump in her throat. “David is making his way to the roof.”
Kendric grunted. “So if he’s still in yon tower, Ailig is trapped.” He glared at Mungo. “Is he still there?”
“Aye,” Morley admitted sheepishly. “I had to leave to get food for Lady Jeannie. That woman eats like a horse.”
A spark of hope sprang to life in Shona’s heart. Mayhap her aunt was still alive.
*
Ewan held the torch high, though the fetid air had robbed it of much of its flame. He wished there was a rope to hang on to as he followed Fynn down a dozen or so slippery steps. The alternative was to lean his shoulder against the slimy wall. Mayhap it was just as well since his other hand kept his plaid clamped firmly over his mouth and nose. The familiar smell of the wool was preferable to the stench. It was regrettable but the beloved plaid would have to be burned with the refuse once this escapade was over.
He thought to make some flippant remark about not expecting to be creeping cautiously into a cesspit when they’d left Roigh, but that would necessitate taking a breath, and he doubted Fynn was in the mood for jests. The descent was difficult enough with two good hands.
He risked inhaling when his kinsman announced they’d reached the last step. “Looks like the tunnel divides into three up ahead,” Fynn growled.
