Highland Treasure

by Lynsay Sands

  In all of his years of healing, Rory had only seen damage that extreme once. It had been on a village woman whose husband had beat and kicked her for hours. She’d been barely alive when she was brought to him, and had died shortly afterward from what he’d suspected was inner damage he hadn’t been able to see or heal. As he recalled, she had been in so much pain she had prayed for death before it came, and welcomed it with relief as the life left her eyes.

  Rory had almost forgotten the men were with him when Tom murmured, “I knew she was badly beaten, but . . .”

  “Aye,” Simon breathed when the other man fell silent. “How the devil has she sat the horse at all?”

  Rory didn’t respond to the man’s question. It was something he was wondering himself.

  “What is she doing?” Simon asked as they watched Lady Elysande lean forward to lower and lift the tunic she now held in her hands. It was only when she raised it that he realized she was kneeling at the river’s edge. They all watched silently as she wrung out the now dripping cloth and then covered her face with the cold damp material. It was only then he recalled the bruising he’d seen on her face when her veil had moved a bit.

  “What happened to her?” he asked grimly, keeping his voice low.

  There was a moment of silence and then Tom said, “Baron de Buci had one of his men take his fists and boots to her.”

  “And her father allowed this? Is de Buci her husband?” Rory asked at once, for only husbands and fathers could get away with such abuse.

  “Nay. De Buci is no relation at all. He was a friend to our lord and lady ere all this happened,” he added grimly.

  “What is ‘all this’?” Rory asked as he watched Elysande remove the cloth from her face and bend to dip it in the water again.

  A moment of silence passed and he could almost feel Tom and Simon exchanging glances behind him to ask each other how much they should reveal, and then Tom finally said, “We are not sure. We were on a task for our lord, Robert de Valance. Gone near a week and then returned to find everything in chaos. We were told that de Buci’s men guarded the keep, that our lord as well as most of the Kynardersley soldiers were dead and that our lady was abed, fighting for her life while Lady Elysande lay beaten and broken in the dungeons.”

  “We no doubt would have been killed too if we’d ridden up to the castle,” Simon put in. “But several servants had fled the keep during the chaos and were hiding in the woods. They stopped us and told us what was happening. Warned us against approaching.”

  Tom took up the tale again. “We were going to ride to our closest neighbor, Lord Grenville, and request his aid for Lady Mairghread and Lady Elysande, but thought it best to take a message from Lady Mairghread to convince Grenville to act quickly. So we sent one of the escaped servants, a kitchen boy named Eldon, into the keep to try to get to Lady Mairghread for such a message.”

  “He was gone for hours,” Simon told him when Tom paused. “We were just starting to think he had failed and been captured when Lady Mairghread’s maid, Betty, found us. The boy had succeeded at his task and reached Lady Mairghread. Our lady had sent Betty out to find us. She had a message, but not for Grenville, for you. We were to smuggle Lady Elysande out of the keep and take her to you. Which we did.”

  “But this is the first time we have seen the extent of Lady Elysande’s injuries,” Tom said solemnly as they watched Elysande wring out the tunic again. This time she didn’t press it to her face when she was done, but began to pull it on over her head in slow, torturous moves.

  Rory instinctively started forward again, intending to stop her, but paused after only one step. Putting on a cold, wet tunic in this chill weather was a bit risky. Falling ill to a lung complaint was the last thing she needed. On the other hand, it would dry quickly against her body and if it eased her pain it was worth the risk. He would just have to make sure she was kept warm tonight, he thought, and then realized Tom was talking again.

  “She’s been mostly silent since we left Kynardersley,” Tom said, eyeing the woman with pity as she tugged her gown on over the tunic and breeches in slow, methodical movements. “I think her spirit has broken. ’Tis a shame that. She was always a happy girl ere this. Always smiling and laughing, kind to everyone. She treated us all like family—servants and soldiers alike. I worry she will not recover from this.”

  Rory didn’t comment. He’d have been amazed if something like this didn’t change the lass. But he agreed it was a shame. In his mind he was thinking of Saidh, and how she might have been affected by such events. She might have bounced back, but she also might have pulled into herself and become altogether different. Harder, perhaps, or bitter.

  Rory watched Lady Elysande finish with the gown and reach for the cloak next. The way she huddled into it and fumbled with the clasp under her chin told him how cold she must be. Giving up his position in the trees, he strode forward now, determined to help whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter 3

  Elysande’s hands were stiff and shaking so with cold that she couldn’t fasten the clasp at her throat. She was just thinking to give it up when the sound of a snapping branch made her whirl on her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw Rory Buchanan step out of the trees with Tom and Simon at his back.

  “Ye took so long we began to worry,” the Scot said mildly as he approached.

  Elysande stood stock-still, her heart suddenly hammering rapidly in her chest. She knew he was no threat to her, especially with her men there, but he was a huge man and with the memory of the beating she’d taken still fresh in her mind she was hard-pressed not to back instinctively away from him. Elysande was still struggling with the urge when he stopped before her and quickly fastened the clasp of her cloak. It was done so swiftly she didn’t get to embarrass herself by pulling away or even stiffening in response before the task was done and he was bending to pick up something.

  It was only when he straightened and held out her coif and veil that she realized her face was still uncovered. Taking the item from him, she quickly redonned it, a small sigh of relief slipping between her lips once she was hidden behind the veil again. Elysande had no idea how bad her face must look at the moment, but it felt lumpy and was swollen to the point that her skin hurt, so she feared she must look like a monster. She didn’t mind that so much. She wasn’t interested in looking pretty for him, but she’d hidden her face in the hopes of avoiding the pity and dismay she feared it would elicit from anyone who looked upon the damage. She’d also wanted to give the appearance of being strong and well, fearing that if the Buchanans had realized the shape she was in they might decide she was more trouble than they wished to take on and refuse to escort her to Sinclair.

  But he’d seen her face now. Hopefully that wouldn’t make him refuse her further escort. Elysande was just grateful he hadn’t approached a few minutes earlier and seen her back. He’d probably mount up at once and leave them behind then.

  “Are ye ready to return to camp?”

  Elysande peered at him through the veil. As she’d noted earlier, Rory Buchanan was a handsome man, and built like a warrior. He was unmarred by the scars most warriors carried on their faces and bodies though, and that made her wonder about him.

  “Aye,” Elysande said finally when she realized he was waiting for an answer. She hesitated when he offered his arm, but then placed her hand on it and allowed him to lead her back toward the clearing where they were to camp, Tom and Simon trailing behind.

  “I made ye a tincture,” Rory announced as they stepped out of the trees. “I left it with Alick while I came to look fer ye.”

  “A tincture?” Elysande asked, her eyes seeking out the younger brother and finding him sitting on a log in the center of the clearing, a chalice in hand.

  “Aye. ’Tis the best I can do at the moment. ’Twill make ye sleep deeply so the pain does no’ bother ye,” he explained.

  Elysande shook her head. “Thank you, but I will not take your tincture.”

  The Buc
hanan stopped walking at once and faced her, his expression both surprised and concerned. “’Twould help ye sleep, m’lady.”

  “A deep, potion-induced sleep,” she pointed out.

  “Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “But sleep is all I can offer to help ye through the pain.”

  “But I would be hard to waken if there was trouble,” she said with concern.

  “Should we expect trouble?” he asked at once.

  Elysande hesitated and then started walking again, forcing him to walk with her as she admitted, “I am not sure.”

  That was the truth. Her mother had hoped that de Buci would think she’d head south to court. It was why she’d sent her north to Scotland. Her mother had wanted her to be safe at Sinclair. But the mention of the soldiers that had approached Monmouth while they were in the clearing made her worry that de Buci had somehow figured out they were traveling to Scotland and had sent men after her. If so, there would definitely be trouble.

  “Ye need to tell me what this is all about so that my men and I can be prepared to handle the threat,” Rory said quietly as they reached the fallen log where Alick sat.

  Elysande peered up at his face made hazy through the veil, admitting to herself that he was right. In truth, she was surprised that it had taken him so long to demand answers. She steeled herself against the memories and put off the telling by moving in front of the log and slowly and carefully easing herself to perch on it next to Alick. She then waited for Rory to settle on her other side before lowering her head to stare at her slippers where they peeked out from her skirts and cloak.

  “Three days ago my life was as it had always been,” she began slowly. “It was calm, happy and peaceful. And then de Buci arrived at Kynardersley castle.”

  “Four,” Tom said as he and Simon settled on the ground in front of her. “De Buci arrived at Kynardersley four days ago.”

  “You were three nights in the dungeon, m’lady,” Simon informed her as the Buchanan warriors moved closer to hear. “The night de Buci arrived, and two nights after, before we took you away.”

  Elysande recognized the pity in Simon’s voice and turned her gaze back to her slipper-clad feet again, murmuring, “I was unconscious by the time we reached the cells in Kynardersley’s dungeon. I must have remained so for longer than I realized.”

  She didn’t give them time to comment, but started over. “Very well, then, four days ago my life was as it had always been . . . and then de Buci arrived. He was a longtime friend of my parents. He had been to Kynardersley often over the years, but this time he arrived with a good-sized army at his back. That was unusual, but he explained that he was just stopping in on his way to court, and he left most of them to camp outside the walls. He brought only a dozen men into the bailey with him. His knights.

  “Father welcomed him as always, and then informed him we were just about to sit down to our evening repast and invited him and his men to join us, saying he would send the stable master out to see to the horses. But de Buci told him not to bother the stable master and ordered his men to see to the horses themselves and then come inside to join us at table.”

  Elysande recalled the smiles and light chatter and laughter as they’d gone back into the great hall with this old family friend. Shaking her head, she carried on. “Everything seemed fine at first. We chatted lightly and then Father fell into a discussion with de Buci about politics or the king or something, and Mother waved a servant over. She was telling her to prepare the guest chamber when the keep doors opened and de Buci’s men began to file in. No one paid them any attention, but I noticed that there seemed to be more of them than the dozen or so we left outside and that they were filing around the table, rather than each finding seats. I was just thinking that it was almost as if they were surrounding those of us seated at the trestle tables when Father suddenly cried out. When I looked his way it was to see him stumble back from the table, and then fall, a dagger in his chest. Before I could even grasp that he was dead, murdered by de Buci, that bastard was dragging my mother and me to our feet. As he shoved us over toward the hearth, he shouted to his men to ‘kill them all.’ ”

  Elysande could still hear the startled shouts and shrieks of the people around the trestle tables as the soldiers were murdered where they sat, along with any of the women brave or foolish enough to try to intervene. They were all caught so much by surprise that she didn’t think one man had managed to draw a weapon to defend himself before being cut down. It had been a slaughter that had left the rushes soaked in a widening pool of blood. And the stench! She had tended to many ill and injured with her mother and knew death could be a messy ordeal, but nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed.

  Elysande swallowed as the little bit of food she’d had when they’d stopped to eat tried to crawl up her throat. Pushing the memories away, she cleared her throat. “My mother and I stood huddled together by the hearth when he released us to watch his men kill everyone. It could not have taken more than a minute before ’twas all done. Then de Buci ordered one of his men to watch us and told the others to search the castle before storming off to the small chamber where Father worked on the castle accounts. I presume he searched that room himself.

  “Mother was in shock, I think. She kept saying everything would be fine. The guards on the wall would realize something was wrong and come to take care of these men, and then we could bind Father’s wound and he would survive.” Elysande squeezed her fingers tightly closed and shook her head. “But I could see he was dead already, and I knew that for so many of de Buci’s men to have entered the castle, our own men on the wall and in the soldiers’ barracks must already be dead too. I didn’t tell her my suspicions at the time, but I later learned I was right. While de Buci had sat chatting and laughing with us, the dozen knights who had entered the bailey with him had gone around and quietly killed the men on the wall, and then had opened the portcullis to let the rest of his army in. The first thing they’d done was attack the men in the barracks, taking them enough by surprise that they put up little more of a fight than the ones who were at table with us. Only then had his men entered the keep and surrounded the trestle tables to finish off the remaining soldiers.”

  “God in heaven,” Alick breathed at her side, and Elysande felt her lips twist with disgust. God had nothing to do with the slaughter of her people. And if He had been watching, He hadn’t raised a finger to intervene.

  “De Buci was not gone long,” she continued, her voice sounding unnaturally calm to her own ears. “He immediately began questioning his men as to whether they’d found anything. When the last man returned from the ordered search and said no, he turned his attention to us.”

  Straightening her shoulders, Elysande tried to brace herself against the memories as she told them, “He started with Mother, tearing her from my arms and shaking her so violently I feared he would break her neck. The whole time he was yelling, ‘Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?’”

  The words were like a chant in Elysande’s head. It was all the man had said at first, shrieking it over and over again, spittle flying from his mouth as he roared that question.

  “When he stopped to let her speak, some of Mother’s shock seemed to have left her and emotion was setting in. Mostly terror. She cried that she did not know what he was looking for. If he would only tell her what it was he wanted, she would tell him where it was if she knew. But he just shook her again and snarled, ‘Do not play that game with me, Mairghread! You must know. Tell me where it is!’

  “When that did not get the answer he wanted, he began to break her fingers one after the other. Pausing between each, he would demand, ‘Where is it?’ and then break the next as she cried and begged him to stop or just tell her what it was.”

  Her mouth tightened as she recalled her mother’s helplessness in the face of de Buci’s strength. “I tried to stop him. I rushed forward, intending to hit him, or jump on his back, or something. But his soldier caught me around the waist, scoope
d me up and dragged me back. He then held me there, and all I could do was watch and scream and beg him to let her be, but he just continued, moving on to her other hand when he finished with the first. And then once he ran out of fingers he began to shake her again.”

  Elysande lowered her head unhappily. “I heard it when her neck broke, and saw her go limp in his hold. I feared she was dead, but then her eyes opened and she looked at me. But nothing else was moving. She no longer raised her hands to try to fend off his blows and she was not standing under her own power. He was holding her up like a child’s doll as he punched her. She hardly seemed to even feel the blows anymore unless they were to her face. But in his rage he did not seem to notice.

  “I thought it would go on forever, but finally he just let her drop to the ground, kicked her a couple of times with frustration and then stood glaring at her and panting heavily. But after a moment he followed her gaze to me and smiled nastily.

  “‘Perhaps if you will not tell me where ’tis to save yourself, you will to save your daughter,’ he said, and I saw the fear enter my mother’s eyes, along with helplessness and grief and apology. I knew then she really had no idea what he was looking for, and she could do nothing to stop him from doing to me what he’d done to her.”

  Lifting her head, Elysande turned to peer toward the blur that was Rory Buchanan and said, “I really thought that I would end up in the same shape as my mother then, and I was terrified. But he had managed to wear himself out beating her, and rather than grab me and start all over again, he threw himself into one of the chairs by the fire and ordered the soldier holding me to beat me instead. Fortunately, he did not seem to have the stomach for it.”