Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

  “I deserve one,” Vivienne answered. “Now rest awhile. There is no telling how long the men will be.”

  “Is there nothing more we can do?”

  Vivienne, for once, looked worried. “We can pray.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “DO YOU SWEAR upon your sister’s life, and all which you hold dear, that what you’ve said is true?” the king said to John, who still knelt upon the floor.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Every word.”

  Myles watched John’s shoulders sway, for this interrogation had gone on some time.

  “And do you swear you have told the whole of it, with no omission?”

  John nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  His voice never quivered, and he did not plead for mercy. For that, Myles was impressed, but perhaps it was naïveté that stilled John’s limbs, and he simply did not realize how close he was to the chopping block.

  The earl remained steadfast, standing next to John, and Myles felt oddly bereft watching from the side.

  “Stand up,” the king said at last, and John rose to his feet.

  James stepped close, so close John leaned back, but held his footing. “You will aid us in capturing each man on that list,” said the king. “You will testify against each one, even your own brother. When you have done this, and only then, will I decide upon your fate.”

  John nodded and nearly buckled, but the earl’s hand reached out and held him steady. “And what of my sister?” John asked.

  A frost invaded Myles’s veins and traveled to his heart. This was the question he had longed to ask, yet feared the answer.

  The king’s eyes went round, and a breath came fast between his lips. “Your boldness knows no bounds.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Your Grace. I only wish to ensure her well-being. She had no part in this, and I would not have her suffer for my actions. Or Simon’s either.”

  The king stared hard, as if hoping to read all the secrets in John’s mind, and then he turned that glare on Myles. “Your wife has caused a bit of trouble on her own, has she not?”

  The frost in Myles turned to ice. “Only at the start, Your Grace. She has become a most loyal wife.”

  “Would you trust her with your life? And mine?”

  The king’s words twisted like a dagger to the chest, and Myles’s heart split in two, for though he loved Fiona with his entire being, he could not in that moment guarantee she had been honest. His hesitation was enough to cast doubt.

  “Just as I thought,” said the king. “You are wise, Myles, to withhold your trust from any woman. Especially a daughter of Hugh Sinclair.”

  Panic seized him. No matter her offenses, imagined or real, Myles knew in that instant he would never give her up. “I do trust her, Your Grace.” His voice came out strident, burning in his throat.

  King James shook his head and cast a glance toward the earl. “You Campbells have a peculiar weakness for Sinclair women.”

  “I trust the lass myself, Your Grace,” answered Myles’s father. “Though we did not get on too well at first, I am convinced her loyalties follow those of her mother.”

  “Then she shall have a chance to prove it. Now, take your seats. We have much to plan.”

  The hour was late when Myles arrived at the chamber where his wife and Vivi waited. Fresh relief washed over him at the sight of her reclined upon a chaise. Vivienne held a finger to her lips to silence him.

  “She only just fell asleep,” she whispered. “Let her rest, for she is overwrought with worry.”

  But his wife sat up at the sound of his footstep. “Myles?”

  He crossed to where she rested and sank down on a knee before her.

  “What news have you of my brother?”

  “He is fine, for now, but the king has set conditions. When they are met, John’s fate will be determined.”

  “So the king has yet to trust him.”

  Myles tipped his head. “Do you blame him?”

  “No.” She gave a tiny sigh. “’Tis justice, I suppose. I would not see John punished, but he made this bed, he and Simon.”

  Her words brought some relief to the pressure in his chest, and he moved to sit beside her on the chaise. Vivi sank down into a nearby chair.

  “There is little hope for Simon. You must prepare for that.” Myles spoke the words with great regret, for he would spare her of that knowledge if he could.

  Her lips trembled. “I know. It was no easy thing for John to turn him over to the king. Nor I. His actions may be wicked, but he is my brother, still. He sought only to serve my father, even after Hugh’s death.”

  “Save that sentiment from the king, Fiona,” he whispered as if the ears had walls, for indeed they might in a royal palace such as this. “Sympathy for any traitor is a crime in James’s eyes. And your fate is not yet set.”

  Fear and surprise in equal measure played upon her features. “The king doubts me as well?”

  “He trusts few, and this news has left him reeling.” He squeezed her hand but said no more.

  “And what of you? Do you despise me?” she whispered.

  He held himself back for no more than a breath, for in his heart of hearts, he knew she was innocent. She might have fought and run and led him on a chase when first they met, but for all of that, honesty had been her cloak and her weapon. She had professed to love him, and he believed her.

  “Despise you? You, who I adore? You, who are giving me the greatest gift of all?” His hand slid forth to caress her abdomen and their child. “Fiona, this has been a rocky path we’ve traveled. But whatever forces brought you forth to me, I am sincerely grateful.” He pulled her closer still. “And if it’s truth we are professing, I’d have you know, if given the chance to change the past, I would wed you still.”

  “You would?”

  “Aye, if you would have me.”

  A tear ran down his wife’s pale cheek, and he brushed it away.

  “I would,” she whispered.

  He kissed her then, soft and sweet, and would have pressed for more had Vivienne not offered an exaggerated sigh from her spot in the other chair.

  “Ah, you two make my heart weep. I should go find myself a husband.”

  Myles turned to his aunt. “Well, you may yet have a chance. We travel north tomorrow, but you may stay at Linlithgow until we return.”

  “North?” his wife asked. “Where in the North?”

  “Sinclair Hall.”

  She had thought never to see her home again, and her heart leapt at the notion of reuniting with her sister. “And I’m to join you?”

  Her husband nodded, but did not smile. “The king has use of you, my love. Though I voiced objections as fiercely as I dared, he would not be swayed. He thinks to send small armies to each northern stronghold and apprehend every chief who signed that paper.”

  Simon would be one of them.

  “But what has that to do with me?”

  “John told us of a passageway at Sinclair Hall leading from the chapel to the shore. Do you know of it?”

  She nodded, her stomach growing queasy. She had only ventured once into that dark place. As a child, she and her brothers had gone there and dared one another to go to the end. It was moist and foul and full of things with many legs, and she had not gotten more than a few feet in before turning around.

  “I know of it,” she said.

  “’Tis the king’s plan that you should enter Sinclair Hall first, acting as if you are there to visit with your sister. But once inside, you must go to the passage and unlock the gates. That will allow our men inside before your brother is the wiser.”

  The room before her shifted, and she leaned back against her husband’s arm. Dark tunnels and centipedes be damned. She could not faint at such a request.

  CHAPTER 40

  “YOUR MOTHER DID me a great service once, lass. I expect the same from you. Complete this task, and the Sinclair name will be restored. Fail, and I will know you for a traitor.” The king handed off his
reins to a waiting man-at-arms and turned toward Fiona. John and Myles stood beside her at the edge of a thick forest on the western slope of Sinclair land. Inside that cluster of pines, the royal army was effectively hidden from any who might be watching from her old home. They’d traveled fast and hard to reach this spot, and now success depended on her.

  Worry was a worm inside her chest, but she could not show it. “I will not fail, Your Grace.”

  “Good. Then I expect you to unlock the iron gates inside the passageway as soon as possible. At dusk, John and Myles will be at the outer entrance of the tunnel to lead some of my men through it and into the chapel. Then I shall lead the rest of my men through the front gate. Understood?”

  Fiona nodded, her heart in her throat. Tears of trepidation blurred her vision, and she blinked them away.

  John stepped forward and put a gentle hand upon her arm. “I wish that I could join you, Fiona, but Simon believes me to be in London.”

  She covered his hand with her own. “I’ll be fine, John. I have practiced what to say, and Simon has no cause to doubt me.”

  “Still, be cautious, and remember to look for my Genevieve. She will help you.”

  The king cleared his throat. “Get on with your good-byes. Time is wasting.”

  Fiona embraced her brother, fast and hard. It would not do to linger over this, for it would only stir her fears and undermine her certainty. ’Twas a bold plan they’d hatched, her strolling into Sinclair Hall as if all were right with the world, but it was the most expedient way to get her inside.

  John stepped back. “Godspeed to you, Fiona.”

  She nodded once. “Until we meet again.”

  She turned to Myles then, the unshed tears pooling deeper in her eyes.

  He pulled her hand and led her to a more secluded spot, away from the king. He cupped her face and kissed her lips with reverence, but anguish darkened his eyes. “I begged the king to change his course, but his mind is set. Still, listen to me. Do not put yourself in harm’s way. If you cannot find a way to unlock the gate, do not fear. We will come in from another way and win the day, no matter what.”

  “And the king will call me a traitor,” Fiona said.

  Myles shook his head. “He threatens out of habit, but he would have me to fight if he thinks to accuse you.”

  Fiona smiled at her husband’s impassioned defiance. Her gaze darted toward King James, who was too far away to hear their hushed words.

  “You’ve spoken treason now, husband. Perhaps my bad Sinclair heritage is rubbing off on you.” She tried to tease to ease his mind, but his frown increased.

  “Be on guard for Simon. You say he has no cause to be wary of you, but he has much to hide and may grow suspicious. Avoid him if you can.”

  “Simon thinks me nothing but a silly girl with no care at all for politics. If I tell him I despise you, he’ll believe me. He may even brag he does me a great justice by attacking the king.”

  Her husband gave so great a sigh it ruffled her hair. “Avoid him, Fiona. Keep yourself and my child safe. Do you hear me?”

  She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his lips. She would not leave him with such concern etched in his face. “Do not fret, my love. Have you forgotten all my courage on the night I escaped you? You know I am most clever.”

  “You got lost in the woods and I caught you. How is that clever?”

  She smiled, though it felt false. “I slipped from your bed without a sound, duped Tavish with a lie, and had it not been for the rain, I’d have made it much farther.”

  Her husband tilted his head and thought on this a moment. “You are prone to trickery. Perhaps I should be worried about reuniting you with your treacherous brother after all.”

  This brought a real smile to her face, for she knew he teased. “Do you love me?” she asked.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then you must trust me and keep your promise.”

  He pulled her closer and tightened their embrace. “Which promise is that?”

  “One day, in our chamber back at Dempsey, you offered me a thousand kisses. When this ordeal is over, I should like to go home to Dempsey and collect each one.”

  Fiona rode her beloved gray palfrey through the crumbling gates of Sinclair Hall, her heart a pealing bell inside her ears. ’Twas just as she had left it, yet everything seemed changed, as if each slant had a greater angle or the sun cast more twisted shadows. She made her way no farther than the bailey when a gaunt young man approached. She knew him as young William.

  “Lady Fiona?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.

  “One and the same. How are you, William?”

  His eyes darted around before coming to rest on her horse. “I am well, my lady. Thank you for asking.” He took the reins and led the horse to a mounting block so Fiona might dismount. “Forgive my impertinence, my lady, but what brings you to Sinclair Hall, and all alone, at that?”

  “I would ask the same.”

  That voice came from behind and set a trembling to her limbs. ’Twas Simon.

  She fisted her hands, but with some effort, unclenched them. The drumming in her ears banged louder. She focused on her breath and hoped he might not sense her agitation. Forcing a smile, she slid from her horse onto the block, and descended the two short steps. Not until she reached the ground did she trust herself to look toward her brother.

  “I’ve come to visit home while the Campbells play at court. I’ve a longing to see my sister. Is she well?”

  Simon frowned. He was bulkier than she’d remembered; the cords in his neck seemed even more pronounced. “She is fine. Where are your men? Certainly you’re not alone?” He looked toward the gate and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

  Fiona brushed past him to walk toward the great hall. “I left them in the village, the foul goats. They think to find some willing lasses, though I’ve said no Sinclair woman would have them.” She pulled off one riding glove as she went forward, hoping to appear nonchalant, though her legs had turned to mush.

  Simon followed after her. “How many men are with you?”

  She worked on the other glove and kept her pace. “What? Oh, I don’t know. Six, perhaps? I try not to pay attention to any of them.” She moved quickly up the steps leading toward the hall. “Where is Marg?”

  “I don’t know.” Simon’s voice was a grumble. He took a step and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt. “Fiona, I find it odd that you arrive here with no warning and no men to speak of. Is your husband truly so careless?”

  She flicked the gloves against her palm. “My husband”—she let the word drip with disdain—“is busy playing politics in Edinburgh and has not the slightest notion that I’m here. Dempsey is an awful place. Full of Campbells, you know. I’ll not forgive you and John for forcing me among them.” She tugged her arm from his grasp and prayed for strength, walking again.

  “Where is John, by the way?” she asked, trying to imagine how Vivi might sound in such a circumstance. “I’ve a scolding for him, I must say.” Fiona stopped a few paces ahead and turned to gaze at Simon when he did not answer. “Well?”

  He glared back, measuring her, and a chill ran up her spine.

  “What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” he finally said. “But John isn’t here.”

  “Where is he? In the village?”

  He glowered another moment, then shrugged those massive shoulders. “He’s away. Now, if you’ve a mind to see Margaret, then do so, but I’ve important tasks to attend to. I haven’t time to play the gracious host.”

  She frowned and made certain he saw. “One would never expect you to be gracious, Simon. But this is still my home, and I can manage for myself.”

  She turned away and nearly buckled at the knees. He’d leave her be so she might seek out her sister and Genevieve. It was less than two hours until dusk. She hadn’t much time.

  Moment after moment slipped away as she sought her sister. Fiona had not
been at Sinclair Hall for months, and every person whom she passed stopped her, wanting to offer her their greetings, yet none seemed to know of Marg’s whereabouts. On and on Fiona went, cordial to each, for she did not want to seem exasperated, but time was slipping away like water through her fingers.

  At last, she came upon Margaret, tucked up on a bench under a window in Fiona’s old chamber. Needlework lay unattended in her lap.

  Margaret’s smile spread like sunshine. She leapt from her seat, and Fiona gathered her into a warm embrace. Joy burst within, and she kissed her sister’s cheeks.

  “Marg, how I’ve missed you! You cannot imagine.”

  “I have missed you too. Desperately so. It’s been so different here without you.”

  “I know, sweeting. I know.” She brushed the blonde hair back from her sister’s face. “I thought of you every day. But you must listen to me now. We have much to talk about, and some of it is very serious. But first, do you know the servant, Genevieve?”

  “Genevieve? Yes, she works in the kitchen, but why?” Margaret’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “We must find her and make our way to the chapel. I shall explain everything once we are there.”

  Margaret tipped her head. “’Tis an odd request. Can’t we visit for a minute here first? You’ve only just arrived.”

  Fiona went back to the entrance of her chamber and peeked out. Seeing no one in the dim hallway, she closed the door and returned to Margaret’s side.

  “I know this makes little sense, and I’m sorry to burden you with it so quickly, but our brothers are plotting something. Have you heard of their plans?” Fiona asked.

  Margaret’s smiled dimmed. “Plotting? No, but they seem to be training often. And John has been gone for weeks.”

  Fiona nodded. Her anxiety grew as she noticed the golden glow of a waning sun. She tugged her sister toward the door. “Come with me to find Genevieve. I will tell you both an amazing tale once we are all together. But, Margaret, this is not for Simon’s ears. He is planning something most heinous, and it is up to us to stop him.”