“Keep it.”
“That’s kind of ye.” She added quietly, “I hope I won’t need to keep this one hidden as ye did.” She couldn’t risk saying more, but maybe he would understand her meaning.
Six
What in the hell did she mean by that? How could she possibly know? He glared at her, capturing her gaze. Her eyes were a remarkable shade of blue and they bored into him as if she were trying to tell him something. Was she worried that he would treat his prisoners as the MacNicols had? She had no right to question his honor. “I have more honor than yer uncle. Ye will neither starve nor go thirsty.” He kicked his horse into a trot and moved away from her.
The ride back to Naomh-dùn took several hours. When they arrived, Eoin’s younger brothers, Aiden and Tasgall, met them as they rode into the courtyard. Aiden slapped him on the back as he dismounted. “What have we here? That was quite a hunting trip, brother.”
“We chanced upon eight MacNicol guardsmen and Bhaltair’s niece, Fiona, taking a short-cut across our land.”
“What ransom will ye demand?” his youngest brother Tasgall asked.
“I haven’t decided. Let’s get them secured before we worry about that.” He turned to look at the prisoners. For the first time that day, Fiona’s remarkable blue eyes were filled with fear, and she remained on her mount. He handed his horse off to a stable boy, went to her and lifted her down. He said nothing, simply taking her by the elbow and guiding her into the great hall, followed closely by Aiden and Tasgall, the other prisoners and the remainder of his men.
“Marcas, see that the MacNicols are secured in the dungeon.”
“Aye, Laird.”
“What room do ye want prepared for Lady Fiona?” asked Aiden.
“The dungeon will serve for all of the MacNicols. See that she is put in a cell alone.”
Aiden glanced at Fiona. “Are ye serious?”
“Have I ever given ye an order that I didn’t mean?”
“But Eoin…”
At that moment their ginger-haired fireball of a sister fairly flew across the hall. “Eoin, what is happening, who are these people? I didn’t know we were expecting visitors. Why are their hands bound?”
Eoin shook his head. Anna was ten and seven and since their father had passed away months earlier, she had become both his responsibility and his primary headache.
“Anna, they aren’t visitors, they are MacNicols who were trespassing on our land. They are our prisoners until their laird pays their ransom,” Tasgall explained.
“Oh. But who is she?”
“She is my prisoner like the rest, and ye don’t need to know anything else. Marcas, ye have yer orders.” Marcas nodded and took Fiona by the elbow as the MacNicol soldiers were ushered across the hall to the stairs leading to the dungeons.
Anna grabbed her arm as she passed. “But she is just a lass. Ye don’t mean for her to go to the dungeons.” She pushed Marcas away and pulled Fiona behind her.
Eoin growled. “Anna, don’t interfere.”
“Ye do mean to send her to the dungeon.” She turned on him, hitting him in the chest with both fists. “How dare ye, Eoin!”
He grabbed her by the wrists and held her away from him. “Stop this instantly!” he bellowed at her. “She is a MacNicol, and this is none of yer concern.”
“Aye it is. I don’t care who she is. She is a lady and ye won’t put her in a cell in the dungeon. Ye won’t. Papa would never have allowed it.”
“Anna, I said this doesn’t concern ye. Leave the hall now.” When Anna didn’t move immediately, he took a step toward her. He only meant to give her a little shove toward the tower stairs, but Fiona, bound hands and all, was between them in an instant.
“Don’t hurt her.”
Eoin was outraged. “Are ye protecting my own sister from me? What kind of monster do ye think I am?”
“The kind that locks a lady in a dungeon,” Anna shouted over Fiona’s shoulder.
“By God, Anna, get out of here now!”
“Don’t hurt her.” Fiona repeated. “She is just trying to help me.”
“She is defying her Laird. Anna, get out.”
“Someone defied their laird to help ye once,” Fiona said, barely above a whisper.
The room fell silent. Even the MacNicol prisoners turned to see what was happening.
In a deadly calm voice Eoin asked, “How do ye know that?”
Fiona glanced around the room before answering. “I know what he did. If someone hadn’t defied Uncle Bhaltair, how else could ye have lived and escaped from Castle MacNicol?”
Did Fiona know about the lad? Eoin figured Finn had been about nine at the time. He’d be Anna’s age now. Eoin wanted to ask what became of him, but he feared by doing so, he would give away Finn’s secret and inadvertently bring him harm. “Ye know what who did, Fiona? What are ye talking about?”
Again she glanced nervously around. “I-I-I’m talking about my uncle. I know what he did to ye. It was not the way to treat a prisoner. It was cruel and shameful.”
“Like locking a lady in a dungeon,” Anna interjected.
“Anna, I was thrown in a pitch black cell, injured and ill. They gave me no food or even water for days, no way to stay warm. They intended to let me die without even asking for ransom. That’s cruel and shameful. I have no intention of denying my prisoners sustenance. But they are prisoners. Simply locking captives up does not constitute cruelty.”
Anna stepped past Fiona and put her arms around her brother. “I know it was horrible, Eoin. I remember the dreams ye used to have. But someone helped ye. She is just a lass, like me, and the dungeon scares me. Please don’t do this to her.”
Eoin’s anger evaporated. His little sister was too kind for her own good. He wrapped her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head. He knew she meant well.
“Eoin, for what it’s worth, I agree. Da would never have approved of this,” Aiden offered.
“Nay, he wouldn’t have,” said Tasgall. “If someone captured Anna, would ye want her held in a dungeon until we could arrange to pay her ransom?”
“That’s not the point and I didn’t ask for opinions. Marcas, ye have yer orders!”
Marcas once again took Fiona by the arm to lead her away.
“Eoin, ye can lock her in a tower room and place a guard on her constantly.”
“Aiden, I—” Eoin’s gaze landed on Fiona, who trembled violently as Marcas pulled her away.
Anna started to cry. “Please don’t, please, please. I’m begging ye. Can’t ye see how scared she is?”
His sister was distraught. Dear God, what was he doing? He was venting his anger at Bhaltair on a terrified lass. “Wheesht, lass. Stop crying. I won’t put her in the dungeon. It will be all right.” A very small, evil part of him, the part that had nursed his hatred of the MacNicols for eight years, had urged him to make her suffer the same fate as her men. But the bigger part of him, the better part, reminded him that Bhaltair wouldn’t be hurt by this. The small frightened lass being dragged away had never harmed him. She had only been a child when Bhaltair left him to die, and would have been powerless to help. “Marcas take her to a tower room and see that she is guarded at all times.”
“Aye, Laird.”
Relieved, Anna hugged him again. “Thank ye, Eoin.”
He added, “But I’m warning ye, Fiona MacNicol, if ye cause any problems or try to escape, ye will be locked in the dungeon. Do ye understand me?
Pale and shaking, Fiona nodded.
Seven
The MacKay commander urged Fiona up the stairs to the top of one of Naomh-dùn’s towers and into a small, sparsely furnished room. It contained only a bed, a washstand and a table with two chairs. There was a high, tiny window. Marcas pulled his dagger from its sheath and moved towards her. Frightened, Fiona backed away, bumping into the table.
“Calm yerself, lass. I am just going to cut the binding.” He slipped the dagger between her wrists and cut the leather cord. Sh
e rubbed her wrists, wincing. He took her hands in his and turned them over, examining the raw skin. “Lass, what did ye do? Did ye fight against yer bonds the whole way here?”
“I can’t help it. I can’t abide being confined.”
“Well, ye’re free now.”
“I’m not free. Ye’re locking me up.”
“Thanks to Lady Anna, at least it isn’t in the dungeon.”
“To me there is little difference.”
Marcas snorted. “I’d say there is. Here ye have a bit of sunlight and no rats. Ye should be grateful for that. I will send up a maid with water and linens. I’ll see if I can find a salve for those wrists as well.”
“How long do ye suppose it will take?”
“For the maid to come up? Not long.”
“Nay, I mean for the ransom to be paid. How long before I am released?”
“I don’t know. Laird MacKay will prepare the demand and see it is delivered. Yer uncle must then gather the ransom; that can take a bit of time. Then the ransom will need to be delivered and exchanged for the prisoners. I can’t imagine it taking less than a sennight, and that is if yer uncle agrees to the terms. If he negotiates at all, it could take longer.”
“Longer?” The thought of remaining locked in this room for an hour made her feel ill. How would she survive a week or more? She fought to remain calm.
“Ye will be all right. As I said, be thankful ye won’t be in the dungeon.”
“Being locked up—anywhere—scares me. My uncle used to punish me by confining me.”
“I’m sorry, lass, but there is no other way. Ye’re a prisoner.”
A prisoner. “But I did nothing to deserve it. My uncle’s guardsmen must have made a mistake. Maybe if I talked to the laird and promised not to escape—I just need a few moments with him.”
“Nay. Ye heard what he said. If ye cause any problems, to the dungeon ye go. Don’t give him a reason.”
She nodded and turned her back to him. She was fighting back tears and didn’t want him to see.
“A maid will be up shortly.” He left the room.
The sound of the key in the lock killed any hope she had of keeping her tears at bay. She sank onto the bed and sobbed. If she had never helped his wretched hide years ago, she wouldn’t be his captive now. But his death would have meant dishonor, and she could never have allowed that. Even if her uncle managed to convince everyone that Eoin had simply died from his injuries, she would have known the truth.
Nay, she had acted with honor. If he survived the neglect her uncle forced upon him, she could survive being locked in a room at Naomh-dùn for a few days—or weeks. By the time the maid arrived with water, salve and linens, she had managed to regain a modicum of control.
~ * ~
The next few days were the most trying of her life. She was left alone nearly all the time. A different maid came three times a day, bringing food, fresh water and other necessities—including some clothing and personal items she had been taking with her to the Sutherlands. At first she tried to chat with the young women, but they didn’t respond, so she gave up. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears each time someone left and she heard the key scraping in the lock. She had trouble sleeping at night, had very little appetite and felt tense and edgy constantly.
She longed for a visitor, someone to talk to. For a few days she hoped Laird MacKay would visit her and she could tell him, but she finally set that hope aside too. What good would it do? He was cruel and he hated all MacNicols; it didn’t matter to him who she was.
The only thing that helped keep her sane was the tiny window. It was so high that she could only see the sky when standing on the floor. However, if she slid the table against the wall underneath, she could stand on it and see into the inner bailey. She watched out the window for hours at a time. Nothing exciting ever happened, but simply seeing people about the business of their day made her feel less alone and confined.
However, after a few days, looking out the window only reminded her of how truly alone she was, and she stopped. She stayed curled up on the bed and tried to imagine herself out riding on an open heath or walking in the water at the edge of a loch. She even thought longingly of Aunt Sorcha’s solar at Castle MacNicol—at least she would have had someone to chat with there. She prayed it wouldn’t be long before the ransom was paid and she could go home. Home. If there was a silver lining to be found, that was it. After this ordeal, she would surely be able to delay going to Sutherlands for a little while. Perhaps long enough to have Alec intervene.
Fiona lay like this one afternoon, lost in her thoughts and nursing her own growing hatred for the MacKays, when the door opened. Believing it was another silent maid bringing food that she didn’t feel like eating, Fiona remained still, with her eyes closed.
A masculine voice broke the silence. “My lady, I hope I am not disturbing ye.”
Shocked, she sat up and turned to face her visitor. Standing just inside the door was an older man wearing priest’s robes. Not terribly tall, he had a ring of white hair around his balding head and a warm friendly smile. It had been days since anyone had spoken to her and a small part of her worried that she might be imagining him.
“My lady, do ye mind if I come in?”
She came to her senses; he was very real. “Nay Father, ye’re welcome. I—I’m sorry for my rudeness. I didn’t expect a visitor.”
“Ye needn’t apologize, my lady.”
“Please call me Fiona, Father.”
“Fiona, then. I’m Father Tomas.” He surveyed the room, his glance resting on the uneaten food on the table. “Fiona, lass, ye haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry, Father.”
He considered her for a moment before taking one of the chairs at the table. “Come sit with me and eat a bit anyway.”
She obediently sat in the other chair but made no move to eat. After longing for company for days, she had no idea what to say. He might be a priest but he was, after all, a MacKay.
“Eat, lass.”
“Pardon me, Father, but surely ye aren’t here just to see me eat. Why have ye come?”
He smiled indulgently. “Actually, I came for several reasons, one of which is to see that ye eat something. I am worried about ye and so is Lady Anna. She argues incessantly with the laird about ye. She wants to visit ye herself, but Laird MacKay won’t allow it. When I noticed that ye stopped looking out the window and heard yer food goes uneaten, I added my voice to hers.”
“And so the laird allows me a visitor? How very generous of him. Thank ye for yer concern, but I’m fine, Father.”
“Ye don’t lie well, Fiona. Ye clearly aren’t fine.”
“Well, I will be as soon as I can go home.”
“But we don’t know when that will be. Ye need to stay strong until then. Please, lass, ye’re wasting away.”
Something inside Fiona snapped. She jumped to her feet. “What do ye care? What do any of ye care? Ye’re MacKays and ye hate me simply because of my family. I’ve done ye no injury, far from it. And yet, Laird MacKay is punishing me—” her voice broke on a sob. “He won’t listen to me and has locked me in this room. Well, here’s a bit of news. I’m learning to hate ye right back. Someday I will teach my hatred to my children and it will go on forever. That must surely be the goal in all of this, because I can see no other outcome.” She stood before him, trembling, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
The old priest stood and embraced her gently, letting her cry the way her father had when she was little. When she stopped, he guided her back to the chair. Sitting across from her, he took her hands in his.
She whispered, “I’m sorry, Father.”
“There’s no need to apologize, child. Ye’re right, of course. Hatred begets hatred and the innocent always suffer the most. I am sorry ye’re caught in this web. I don’t hate ye and neither do all the MacKays.”
“Laird MacKay does, and there is no reason for it.”
“I do
n’t think he hates ye personally, but yer uncle did a terrible thing to him.”
“Aye, but another MacNicol saved his life, and yet he is only interested in revenging the wrong rather than returning the kindness.”
“How is it ye know someone helped him?”
“Father, everyone knows someone helped him. He wouldn’t have lived or escaped otherwise. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. Clearly that person has been forgotten.”
“Perhaps not, Fiona. While yer kinsmen are being held in the dungeon, Laird MacKay treats them fairly. The healer has tended their injuries and they are given adequate food, water and bedding. Ye have not been held in deprivation either.”
Fiona sighed. “I have been locked in a small room and tended by silent maids for over a week. Until ye came today, I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. I hate being confined. I feel as if I’m going daft. When I was a child, I would sooner face a beating than a locked room. Laird MacKay couldn’t have served me a worse punishment if he tried.”
“Child, I’m sorry. I’ve known others who felt the same way when confined. Perhaps if I explain this to Laird MacKay, maybe some other arrangement can be made.”
“Would ye, Father? I tried to speak to him the day he brought me here, but Marcas said it would do no good.”
“I will talk to him, but ye must promise to eat something. If ye fall ill from lack of food, ye won’t be able to leave when the ransom is paid, and that should be any day now.”
Father Tomas kept her company for a little longer. For the first time in days, hearing the lock click after he left didn’t fill her with despair. Maybe he would gain some bit of freedom for her until her uncle paid the ransom.
Her hopes soared even higher later that afternoon. She heard a commotion in the inner bailey. She climbed onto the table and looked out the window. She was thrilled to see that a small group of riders, carrying the MacNicol banner and a white flag, had entered the gates. They led horses. It could only mean one thing—her uncle had paid the ransom and she was going home. It would all be over soon. She washed quickly, changed her clothes, combed her hair and worked it into a thick braid for travelling. Then she gathered her belongings so she would be ready to leave without delay. With nothing left to do, she paced nervously until someone finally knocked on the door and opened it. The laird’s brother, Tasgall, stood there looking grave. “Ye can come with me down to the hall my lady.”
Highland Revenge (Fated Hearts Book 1) Page 4
