by Fiona Faris
“I get it,” Marra interrupted. As she stood glaring at him, she wished she could bash his head in with one of the nearby buckets. She got a moment’s satisfaction as an image of his crushed skull flashed through her mind. She was not a violent person by nature, but recent events had brought out the worst in her. She wanted nothing more than to live peacefully with the man she loved, but she had been denied that bliss, and now she simply wanted revenge. I have been through enough, and I will have my blood price before this is o’er. She promised herself that whenever the first opportunity presented itself, she would kill Alexander MacDonald, no matter what it took, even if that meant her own life, for as long as Alexander lived, Duncan’s life was in danger.
Alexander studied her from her glistening red hair to her small bare feet. “Perhaps I will get an heir on ye myself,” he mused with lust in his eyes.
Marra recoiled in horror. “Ne’er would I consent tae such a thing.”
“Yer consent is no’ required, lass.” Alexander moved forward threateningly as if to act on his threat when another man came running into the room, whispered something into his ear, and then ran out again. “It would appear I am needed elsewhere. Perhaps another time,” he sneered with the promise of future harassment, then turned and left the room.
Marra collapsed onto the floor in a flood of relief. She had no way of knowing what message the man had brought, but she would be eternally grateful for the interruption. Marra turned to the remaining maids. “Yer laird is no’ but the scum o’ the earth. How can ye serve such a master?” The maids, refusing to answer, filed out of the room, taking all of their bathing accoutrements with them. “How can anyone serve such a man?” she asked the now empty room around her. She heard the wooden door barred once more and then nothing but silence and the erratic beating of her own heart.
She pulled the remaining tartan from the fire and stomped out the tendrils of flame that danced upon its surface, covering herself in soot. She laughed at her unkempt state, “So much for yer perfect lady, Laird MacDonald.” She spat out his name as if it were something putrid. The hysteria she heard in her own voice concerned her, but there was nothin’ she could do about it in her current situation. She was scared and alone, and it looked as if she was going to be that way for a very long time.
Duncan will come for me. Nae matter what happens, I must believe in that.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Duncan lay tied up flat on his stomach, his face down in the grass. The night grew cold around him, and yet no one came. He had no way of knowing how long he lay there in such a state, but by the time that Ian found him the next morning, he was in a terrible condition. He had lain their in the dark, naked, cold, and alone, unable to move or cry out for help with the gag in his mouth. He feared for Marra’s life and could not erase the look of fear he had seen in her eyes from his mind. He began to understand how Marra must have felt when Lachlan had taken her and left her tied up and alone in the highland croft, but she had no real guarantee that she would be found in time. Duncan at least knew that he would eventually be discovered.
When Ian cut his bonds, Duncan was so stiff, he was unable to stand of his own accord. Ian had to go and fetch another man from the village and a blanket to throw over his naked body before they carried him up to the keep. Idonea was called and came to rub healing herbs into his skin in an effort to relax the taut muscles. Slowly she helped him to regain the use of his body, with great pain and effort. Once she got his muscles to working again, she covered his body in a soothing salve to relieve him of the many bug bites that covered his skin, including his most private places. As he had lain out there in the grass, the bugs had feasted on his flesh and blood. It had been enough to drive a man to madness, but Duncan had hung on in the hopes that, somehow, he would find a way to save Marra.
When he told Ian what had happened, the man went pale with fear and then red with rage. “I will kill him with my own bare hands!”
“Ye will have tae beat me tae it, my friend. I have a particularly unpleasant death in mind for Alexander MacDonald o’ Skye.”
“What’ the plan, lad?” Ian asked, anticipation for the violence to come glinting in his eyes.
“We must proceed with great caution,” Duncan warned. “The only reason he left me alive was tae leverage my life for Marra’s compliance. He has threatened tae take her life if he sees even a hint o’ a rescue attempt. I hate tae think it, but I saw the truth o’ his words in his eyes. He will kill her if pressed.”
“So we cannae go bargin’ in then.” Ian nodded his head in understanding.
“There is another thing we must consider,” Duncan informed him.
“Oh, aye?” Ian inquired with a raised brow.
“There are spies among us, and it is unlikely tae be one o’ my men spyin’ for a MacDonald laird.”
“It is one o’ ours,” Ian growled, walking over to the window and surveying the village below. “But who?”
“I dinnae ken. No’ that long ago I would have thought it tae be ye.”
“Aye, I can see how that would be so, but my loyalty is tae Jura, always Jura, and Alexander MacDonald is no’ the answer. I had my doubts about Marra at first, but she has done the right thing for our people. My loyalty lies with her as the lady o’ our clan.”
“Aye, I ken that now.” Duncan nodded thoughtfully.
“Have there been any complaints among yer people o’ late?”
“No’ after ye were willin’ tae fight yer own tae protect ours. Ye proved yerself a loyal friend and ally. For that ye have our respect and friendship.”
“There is somethin’ else that Alexander said that I must ask ye about for the safety o’ my people, but it cannae leave this room.”
“Aye?” Ian moved closer to where Duncan sat warming himself in front of the fire and took the seat across from him.
“Are ye aware o’ the reason for the feud between my faither and Angus MacDonald?”
“Aye, ye Campbells were responsible for diminishin’ our power in the isles. He ne’er forgave yer clan for that. I believe he was also in love with yer maither if I am no’ mistaken, and she chose yer faither o’er Angus.”
“Aye, both o’ those things are true. Anythin’ else?”
“Is that no’ enough?”
“I used tae think so, now I ken differently.”
“Oh?”
“Do ye swear on the holy cross that ye will nae tell another soul what I am about tae reveal tae ye?”
“Does Marra ken what ye are about tae tell me?”
“Aye, she does.”
“Then, aye, ye have my word.”
“I am no’ a Campbell.”
“What? O’ course ye are man! Ye live on Campbell lands. Ye live in yer grandfaither’s and yer faither’s castle as their heir do ye no’?”
“Aye, but I am no’ a Campbell.”
“Was yer maither unfaithful lad? Are ye tellin’ me that Angus MacDonald was yer faither?”
“Och, nae!” The sheer idea turned Duncan’s stomach. “I am a MacGregor, as my faither and maither were afore me.”
“A MacGregor!?” Ian nearly roared but caught himself in time and lowered his voice.
“Aye, ‘twas my grandmaither who was the Campbell. When King James outlawed the MacGregor name, ‘twas her people who took us in as my faither was the only livin’ heir.”
“Were ye no’ allowed restoration o’ the name in 1660?” Ian asked.
“Aye, but there are still many who would see us all slaughtered in our beds. Were our surname to be known and Lachlan’s actions tae come tae light, we would all be hunted tae the ends o’ the earth. Scottish memories are long and brutal when it comes tae such matters, as ye well ken. Many MacGregors have chosen tae remain hidden tae protect themselves.”
“Aye,” Ian nodded solemnly. “I can see how they would.”
“Alexander has threatened to bring our family secret and Lachlan’s treachery tae the attention o’ the king.”
&
nbsp; “I see,” Ian shook his head. “That is no’ good for any o’ us.”
“Nae, it is no’.”
“How does Alexander ken it?”
“Angus MacDonald discovered it at the Battle of Dunkeld when my faither was injured and delirious with fever. He only kept the secret out of a love for my maither. Apparently now that she is dead, he nae longer felt the need tae do so and informed Alexander. They had planned tae attack and take our lands in an attempt to recover the glory o’ the Laird of the Isles once more.”
“Those days are long gone.”
“I would agree.”
“So that is the true reason behind the feud?”
“Aye, ‘twas born of distrust, resentment, and blackmail.”
“Ye were ne’er a Campbell? The feud was for no’?”
“Aye,” Duncan nodded his head in confirmation.
“I have nae quarrel with the Clan MacGregor. I will keep yer secret, but I hope that someday ye will once again be able tae reclaim yer name.”
“Lachlan had wished for us tae risk all and reclaim our name. He ne’er understood the lengths my faither went tae protect our people. The Campbells would have nae qualms about descending upon us like locusts were the truth e’er tae emerge. Those o’ us that survived would be homeless, beggars and mercenaries.”
“Ye will always be welcome on the Isle o’ Jura, lad, but I dinnae ken what we would eat afore the harvest,” he chuckled, obviously thinking of his own somewhat homeless state. “So perhaps it would be best if we avoided the secret getting’ out for now.”
“Aye, that would be best.” Duncan agreed smiling at Ian. “I thank ye, Ian, for yer friendship.”
“Och, what’s a bit o’ comradery between former enemies, aye?” Ian leaned back in his chair and studied Duncan’s face. “So we need a plan?”
“Aye, a verra good plan.”
They sat for a moment in thought, staring into the flames. “I visited Skye when I was but a lad with my faither. ‘Twill no’ be easy tae defeat the laird in his own fortress.”
“Nae, it will no’. I have ne’er been. If Ewen were here, he would be able tae tell us exactly what tae do tae approach the fortress. When he was there with Marra, he made many observations about the lay o’ the land, but he was nae allowed access tae the innermost parts o’ the castle.”
“Nor was I when I was there. I was but a lowly lad. We will be goin’ in blind.”
“Aye, it would appear that way unless we can discover the spy in our midst and force them tae aid us.”
Ian nodded thoughtfully. “Now that I can help ye with. Let me talk tae my people and see if any o’ them are the culprit.”
“Aye, but hurry. I fear we dinnae have much time.”
“Ye love her verra much,” Ian observed.
“Aye, I do. She is my wife.”
“Yer wife?!” Ian looked at him in surprise.
“Aye, we were handfast just moments afore she was taken.”
Ian’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “Was it consummated?” he asked.
“Aye,” Duncan nodded. He grew even more angry as the sight of Alexander hauling Marra’s nearly naked form away flashed through his mind.
Ian stood, then bowed gallantly. “My laird,” he murmured with respect, then stood tall. “I will deliver ye yer spy afore the day is out. Ye have my word.” He turned and left the room.
Duncan sat for a time staring into the flames, allowing their heat to relax his taut muscles. He would need to be in fighting shape before he attempted a rescue against the laird of Skye. I am comin’ for ye, Marra. Dinnae lose hope, my bonnie, his soul whispered to hers across the water.
Marra stood in the middle of her prison and awaited Alexander’s return. She knew it was only a matter of time before he attempted to make good on his threat against her. He had been called away, but that was only temporary. She looked about her for something to stab him with. She no longer cared if his people killed her afterward, she was not going to become his whore to assuage his own vanity. She could not help but wonder if James had any idea the man his father truly was. She knew that if James knew his father’s plans for her, he would have killed his father himself, but as it was it fell to Marra to do what was needed.
The gall o’ the man threatenin’ tae expand his progeny in such a fashion. Does he think that James will just sit by and allow it all tae transpire? Does he believe that his son will think the bairn is his own after the illegal marriage is consummated? Marra was dumbfounded by the laird’s audacity. How could my faither tie me tae such a laird for a faither-in-law? Did he honestly believe that he was doin’ right by his only daughter? ‘Tis doubtful indeed. She hated to have such negative feelings for her deceased father, especially since he was no longer alive to defend himself, but after what Alexander had said to Duncan, she no longer felt that she knew her own father at all.
Finding nothing in the room itself, she moved to examine the wood that burned in the fireplace, considering how she might turn one of the pieces into a weapon. She could just imagine the sharp end of a wooden stake entering his throat or belly. The idea pleased her far more than she was comfortable with. Unfortunately, she did not see a way to create such a weapon from the charred wood logs that burned before her. She did not have a knife or axe to cut and sharpen the wood with. She contemplated hitting him over the head with one of the logs, but she ran the risk of harming herself via the burning of her flesh far more than she would do him harm. ‘Twould be more likely tae bounce off o’ his hard head than it would be tae damage it.
Sitting down upon the floor in dejected silence, she gave way to the tears. When she was done, she stood and studied the room once more. I will no’ give up ‘til I have defeated my enemies or lie dead in the tryin’. Her bloodshot eyes fell upon the chamber pot in the corner, and she contemplated what ability it might have to crack open a skull, or at the very least, dent one. She took a step toward it with the intent of picking it up and hiding behind the door with it when she heard the grinding sound of the bar lifting, and the door swung open.
“I see that yer bath did no’ last long,” he referred to her soot covered state, gesturing toward the black stains on her skin and clothing from where she had pulled Duncan’s tartan from the flames. “Ye will simply have tae do it again. I have received word that James intends tae return tae Skye sooner than I instructed and will be arriving any time. I want ye tae be the epitome of feminine beauty and docility upon his arrival. Remember, ye are a willin’ and joyous young bride, eagerly awaitin’ her new husband.” He stuck his head back out into the hall and bellowed for the maids to return to cleanse her once more.
“Ye are an auld fool if ye think that James will believe yer act for one moment.”
“’Tis nae my act that he had better be believin’, lass,” he warned ominously. He stepped forward into the room and grabbed her by the hair. “Ye are mine tae do as I wish. Ne’er forget that.” His teeth were stained yellow and his breath smelled of rotten fish. He ran his gnarled finger down her neck, his filthy nail biting into the flesh.
A maid cleared her throat from where she stood in the open doorway. “My laird?” she questioned as to whether to enter.
“Aye,” Alexander answered, releasing his hold on her hair. “Remember,” he hissed into her face and then walked away, leaving the maids to their work once more.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Ye have a guest awaitin’ ye below stairs, my laird,” one of the kitchen maids announced as she brought him a plate of bannocks, meat, and a tankard of ale.
Duncan turned his head toward her in concern. “Who?”
“I believe he is of the Clan MacDonald, my laird. He is speakin’ with Ian MacDonald in the great hall.”
Duncan nodded and arose from his chair. He moved slowly, but he was stronger then he had been when Ian had found him tied up on the ground. He descended the stairs to find James MacDonald standing and talking to Ian. “James Alexander MacDonald!” he roared in chal
lenge as he crossed the space between them.
“I swear tae ye that I did no’ ken what my faither was tae do. I just found out from Marra’s kinsmen here,” James gestured toward Ian. “I had come tae tell Marra o’ my faither’s agreement tae leave ye in peace and nae pursuit the matter further when Ian near ran me through with his blade.”
Ian raised a brow. “I still might.”
“Good man,” Duncan nodded at Ian.
“Duncan ye ken that I would no’ do anythin’ tae harm Marra,” James half pleaded, half chastised.
Duncan studied his distraught face and knew that he spoke the truth. “Aye, I ken it well enough.”
