by B. J. Scott
“And a woman went on a raid with the men?” Connor crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Garrett.
“You havena met Arya.” Garrett answered. “If you had, you wouldna ask that question.”
“Damnation, man, she’s a lass not a warrior. Are you out of your bloody mind?” Connor asked.
Garrett shook his head. “One might think so, but Arya is not like other women. She can outride, outshoot, and wield a sword better than most men. Not to mention, she is a very headstrong lass and doesna like to be told what she can and canna do. I tried to get her to stay here with her mother, but she wouldna listen and vowed to follow. In the end, I thought it was better to take her along.” He lowered his gaze. “Or so I thought.”
“You must have known there was a risk of getting caught. Regardless of your reason, thievery is punishable by death,” Connor pointed out.
Garrett raked his fingers through his hair. “I am fully aware of that, but when your people are starving, and you have no other options, you sometimes do things that dinna make sense or are considered unacceptable. We canna farm in soil filled with rocks and the Campbell forbids us to hunt, claiming all game and fish as his own. What else were we to do?”
“If what you say is true, why would you stay here? You could have moved,” Connor replied.
“This is our home. The MacDougalls have lived in this part of Scotland for centuries.”
“Your kinsmen gave up the right to your homelands when you chose to fight with Longshanks,” Bryce growled. “Your clan butchered Scottish men, women, and bairns in their support of the English Crown. I was at Methven where they slaughtered thousands of Scotsmen as they slept, then waited at Dalrigh to finish off the Scottish patriots who managed to get away. I faced Dungal on the shore of Loch Ryan after his men ambushed the Bruce’s brothers. There, he cut me down and left me for dead, along with fifty other Scots. My wife, Fallon, was kidnapped and held hostage by your uncle. He was perhaps the worst scoundrel your clan ever spawned.” Bryce lunged forward, grabbing Garrett by the neck of his tunic, but Alasdair separated them.
“This isna the time or place to settle old scores,” Alasdair said as he held Bryce at bay.
Bryce fought against his brother’s hold, but was no match for Alasdair’s strength. “Let me go. You dinna believe what she is saying do you? We have no sister and while I dinna know what this woman hopes to gain by this ruse, it isna going to work.”
Scotia shook her fist at Bryce. “Believe what you wish, but I speak the truth. Arya is from your father’s loins and is your half-sister, whether you like it or not. It isna fair to condemn her for sins she dinna commit. It was a horrible time for all of Scotland, but the war is over. What you chose to do with the information is up to you.”
“I understand you are upset, Scotia, but you must realize this comes as quite a shock,” Connor said. “You canna blame Bryce for being skeptical, and even hateful, given the history we’ve had with the Clan MacDougall. But if what you say is true, what do you expect us to do?”
“I sent word to you before Arya accompanied the men on the raid,” Scotia replied. “It was my hope you would take her to live with you in Beauly. She is very much a free spirit in need of taming. I am afraid, my husband was much too lenient with the lass. She was our only bairn and Ronald adored her. Unfortunately, he taught her many things a father normally teaches a lad to do.”
“It doesna hurt for a lass to know how to take care of herself,” Connor said.
“But not to the extent where she has no idea how to act like a proper young lady. And what Garrett says is true. My daughter doesna take orders well. She is stuborn and determined to do things for herself.”
“Sounds a lot like someone else I know,” Alasdair remarked, then elbowed Bryce in the ribs and snickered.
“Very funny,” Bryce grumbled. “But that still doesna make her our sister.”
“Now that I’ve met all of you, I think Arya has a little of each of your traits. I’ll not lie to you, she is a handful,” Scotia said, smiling. “My question is, can you save her from the Campbell, then take her home with you and turn her into a lady your father would be proud to call his daughter? It is my dying wish.”
“We dinna need their help,” Garrett announced. “Arya is my woman and I will rescue her. Our men are assembled and ready to ride. We take care of our own and will bring her home safely.”
“And just how to you expect to do that?” Connor asked. “You are wanted by the Campbell for the same crimes as Arya. I know him well, and he isna a man to show compassion for his enemy. They’ll be waiting for you. If you try to break her out of the dungeon, and he catches you, he will see you hanged.”
“Do you think you can do better?” Garrett stood toe-to-toe with Connor. “What can you do that we canna?”
“Try to reason with him,” Connor answered. “I fought beside the Campbell long enough to know how he thinks. If I approach him as a friend and ask that he release Arya as a favor to me, he might comply.”
“Then you dinna know him very well. He would flay his mother if he thought it would be to his benefit,” Garrett spat. “I say you let me handle this, Scotia.”
“The way you did the raid?” Connor took a menacing step forward with his hands fisted at his side. “I am not totally convinced what Scotia says is true. But if there is even the slightest possibility that Arya is my sister, I am the one with the best chance of saving her.”
“And if you fail?” Garrett asked.
“Then we take her by force.”
“Please, Garrett, you canna fight the Campbell’s warriors with the meager numbers of men you have, and perhaps Connor can help. At least, let him try,” Scotia pleaded.
Garrett hated to yield. He felt responsible for Arya’s plight, and she was his woman. Even thought she might not agree. But he could not bear to see Scotia beg. As much as he hated to admit it, Connor had a point and might be able to succeed in freeing Arya.
But one thing bothered him more than accepting aid from his enemy. What if he decided to honor her mother’s wishes and took her back to Beauly? The thought of losing her forever caused his gut to twist and his chest to tighten. But getting her out of the hands of the Campbell had to come first. He’d deal with the rest if the need arose.
“What say you, Garrett? Will you let them help?” Scotia asked.
After a moment’s pause, Garrett offered a reluctant nod. “Aye, Scotia, but I am going with them. And no one had better try to stop me.”
“Fine.” Connor conceded. “But you do what I say and stay out of sight. I dinna want the Campbell to know you are there unless the need presents itself. Is that clear?”
“Very clear.” Garrett studied Bryce, who had remained strangely quiet. “What about him? He has made no secret of how he feels about my clan and me.”
Connor looked his brother in the eye, before answering Garrett’s question. “Bryce will accept that you are coming and not use this as an opportunity to seek revenge for wrongs committed by your clan in the past. You have my word upon it. Don’t I brother?”
Bryce turned and stormed out of the croft without offering a reply.
“Ignore him. He’ll come to accept this, he always does.” Connor motioned for their three companions to join them. “These men are our cousins. Ian is the captain of the Fraser guard, and the other two lads are his brothers, John, and Collin. They will accompany us as well. I want you three to go and help Bryce ready the horses. We leave within the hour.”
Ian nodded. “Let’s go,” he said to his brothers, then raced out of the croft.
Connor faced Scotia. “Try not to fash. We’ll do everything we can to rescue Arya.”
“Then you believe what I say is true?”
“I have yet to decide. But am not ruling out the possibility. In any case, we wil
l do what we can to have your daughter freed and home to you by the evening meal.” Connor faced Garrett. “Gather what you need, then meet us outside in fifteen minutes or we’ll leave without you,” he said then left the hut.
Chapter 8
Arya repeatedly tugged at the shackles binding her blood-encrusted wrists, but to no avail. She’d sat up most of the night, trying to figure a way out of her predicament, while keeping one eye open for rats. Not that she could lay down, even if she’d wanted to. Her skin crawled at the thought of the vile rodents scurrying about, and the sight of then eating from the trencher of rancid slop her jailer brought her to break her fast, turned her stomach.
Her bones ached from the dampness, and she needed to relieve herself in the worst way. But she refused to do so while chained to a wall, knowing she’d be forced to wallow in it afterward. Garrett warned that someday her risk-taking and wild spirit would get her into trouble, even killed. However, she never imagined her last day on earth would be spent this deplorable way. She almost wished the Campbell’s guards would come for her and get on with the execution, putting an end to this horrible nightmare.
She still clung to a glimmer of hope that Garrett would find a way to sneak into the dungeon and rescue her. But as the minutes and hours passed, things looked bleak.
Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the guards approaching, but the clang of the metal door hitting the stone wall as it opened startled her back to reality.
“You dinna eat your last meal,” Niall said, scowling.
“You eat it,” she spat, then kicked the trencher, food splattering across the legs of Niall’s Trews.
“I ought to—” He raised his hand in preparation to deliver a backhanded slap, but stopped midair when the other guard entered the cell.”
“Get the lass and let’s be on our way, Niall. We dinna want to keep the laird waiting.”
“Good thing for you that Laird Campbell ordered me to bring you to him immediately. Otherwise, I’d teach you some manners, lassie.” Niall grabbed a ring of keys from a hook on the wall.
Arya swallowed hard and blinked away the tears brought on by exhaustion and fear. Her time was about to run out. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and glared at Niall. “Let’s get on with it.”
“My pleasure, m'lady,” he said mockingly, then unlocked the shackles.
As Arya rubbed her aching wrists, she spied the open cell door. The idea of running crossed her mind, but knew she would not get halfway across the cell before Niall was upon her. And his companion waited in the corridor.
“Let’s go, and dinna try anything sneaky. I’m watching your every move.” Niall shoved her from behind, causing her to stumble. “Laird Campbell doesna like to be kept waiting, and quite a crowd has gathered in the bailey to take part in the festivities.”
Festivities? She’d hardly call an execution cause for celebration. But Niall was right. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. She was sure Isla would take care of Scotia. She made her peace with the Almighty and was ready to have this over and done.
Heart hammering, she headed down the musty hallway. It seemed much shorter than she remembered. But then again, the first time she’d travelled through the passageway she was not on her way to the pit. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Arya hesitated, the bright sunlight hurting her eyes. She shaded them with her hand and peered skyward, silently praying the Lord would give her the strength to die well.
“Move along,” Niall ordered.
“She smells horrible. Perhaps we should clean her up before presenting her to the Laird,” the other guard said.
Niall bobbed his head, “You might be right. We wouldna want to offend his lordship. We’ll take her to the well first. It’s on the way.”
Forced to kneel before the stone structure, Arya braced against the cold water they dumped over her head. She sputtered as the icy liquid ran down her face, into her eyes and mouth, and shivered as it soaked her hair and clothing.
“That ought to do it,” Niall announced after emptying the fourth, or was it the fifth bucket of water? Arya had lost count.
“She’s drenched to the skin, but she no longer smells like a cesspit,” the guard said, laughing. “Best we move along. The laird is expecting us.”
“Get up.” Niall clasped her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. “We’ve tarried long enough.”
They crossed the bailey, then climbed the castle steps, the sight of the gallows and public whipping post sending a shudder up Arya’s spine. While they seldom hung a woman, a flogging would be the first part of her sentence, with drowning in a pit of water to follow. A large crowd had gathered, some tossing rotten vegetables as they passed and other shouting profanity.
After entering the keep, they proceeded down a long corridor, leading to the great hall, a route she’d traveled many times as a child. But those pleasant memories of carefree days were sullied by what was awaiting her now.
“I was beginning to wonder if the chit had escaped.” Campbell declared. The drone of conversation came to a halt when they entered the great hall, all eyes fixed on the prisoner.
Arya approached the dais, where Laird Campbell stood with his son at his side. The sight of Mason made her cringe. She preferred death over spending one minute in the company of a lecherous swine.
“Have you considered my offer?” Mason blocked her path and lowered his voice so only Arya could hear what he had to say.
“Aye. And I must decline,” Arya replied adamantly.
“Then you get what you deserve,” Mason grumbled and slithered away.
Laird Campbell moved forward. “What offer?”
“It matters not, Father. I’ve changed my mind.” Mason brought a perfumed cloth to his nose.
Laird Campbell studied Arya from top to bottom, then addressed Niall. “Why is she soaking wet and dripping on my floor?”
Niall bowed. “She smelled quite rank, m’lord, so we thought it best to rinse her off before bringing her into the castle.”
Laird Campbell offered a curt nod, then faced Arya. “State your name.”
“Arya MacEachan,” she answered, but her gaze remained fixed on the wall behind him.
Show no fear.
“You, Arya MacEachan, were captured during the recent raid on my keep. An event during which several of my men were either killed or wounded. How do you plead?”
She remained silent.
“You do realize I am well within my right to have you executed? According to Jedburgh Justice, a law set forth by King Malcolm, former sovereign of Scotland, I can see you punished for your crimes without a trial or admission of guilt.”
Arya glared up at him. “I am aware of the law.”
“Then I see no sense in prolonging this any further. I sentence you to twenty lashes. After which, you will be tossed into a pit filled with water and submerged until you are dead. May the Almighty have mercy on your soul.” He crossed himself, then motioned with a flick of his hand to Niall. “Take her outside, strip her down, then secure her to the post. I will join you in a few minutes.”
Niall nodded, then clasped her wrist. “You heard the laird.”
Arya yanked free of his grasp. “I can do this without you touching me.”
“Wait!” A stranger stomped toward the dais.
“Connor Fraser. What are you doing here?” Laird Campbell stepped forward with his arm outstretched. “It is good to see you, my friend. I wish you’d let me know you were coming. I would have had a fine meal prepared and readied a room.”
Connor Fraser? She recognized the name of her enemy.
Fraser offered Laird Campbell’s his arm. “Roderick, it is good to see you too. I hope Mary is well.”
“Aye, she’s grand. And your family?”
“They are well,”
Fraser replied.
“Are your brothers Bryce and Alasdair with you?”
“Nay. I’ve come alone. There was no time to send word ahead, so please forgive my unannounced visit. But I do come on a matter of great importance.”
“We are in the middle of something. If you could wait until we are through, we will raise a tankard and eat while you tell me why you’ve come,” Campbell replied.
“It canna wait, Roderick. The lass is the reason I’m here. May I speak to you in private?”
Arya peered at Fraser, her interest piqued. Her mind raced with questions, but she held her tongue.
“This is highly unusually. But I suppose I can spare a minute.” The two men stepped aside, but remained in earshot. “What is it you wish to say, Connor?”
“How much for the lass?”
“She’s not for sale. She is on trial for thievery and murder, and I intend to see her punished to the fullest extent.”
“Surely you have a price,” Connor said curtly.
“If you’re looking to have a dalliance there are plenty of ladies in my castle who’d be pleased to oblige.”
“I want this one.”
Laird Campbell scrubbed his hand across his chin. “She is from a clan directly related to the MacDougalls and a condemned woman. Why on earth would you want a lass from the clan of your sworn enemy when you can have your pick of my women?”
“I have my reasons. The war is over. Why do you hate her so, Roderick?”
“After the MacDougall’s killed our laird, Colin Campbell, at the Battle of Red Ford in 1294, all ties with the clan and their septs were broken. Have you forgotten they sided with the English, betrayed your cousin Simon, and committed countless atrocities against your friends and kin?”
