by Barbara Bard
Unable to help herself, she locked eyes with Declan and instantly regretted it for she hated seeing the betrayal in his eyes. She had just condemned him, and it was the worst feeling imaginable. But at least now she had the chance to help him in some small way, all she had to do was think.
“Well then, I'm glad that matter is settled. Now, the only question left is what to do with this man. He's clearly a reprobate whose mere existence is a stain upon the world, but I feel that an execution would be far too swift a punishment for one who has caused my family such suffering. No, take him to the dungeon and he will endure enough sorrow that will make him plead for death. Do not fear, daughter, he will never see daylight again.”
Declan struggled and writhed as he was taken away. His impotent screams were muffled by his gag.
Catherine knew that he was calling to her, trying to get her to recant her lie and speak the truth, but she turned her back on him and wiped the tears from her eyes. That was the most awful thing she had ever done, but she knew that it was the only thing she could have done. The only thing that gave her a chance to offer him aid. But would Declan believe her, or would he think she was a heartless, opportunistic girl?
Her father walked up to her and she went rigid as she felt his bony hand upon her shoulder.
“I will have words with you in a moment. It seems we have much to discuss,” he said, his breath like a cold wind. Catherine's heart froze. She was back home, but she did not feel safe at all. She was sure that if she had returned on her own terms things would have been different, but the bandits had to go and ruin everything.
The doors slammed as Declan was taken away and she tried to push all thoughts of him out of her mind, but she was unable to do so, and thus her homecoming had only brought her sorrow.
Chapter 14
Declan's eyes were apoplectic with rage. The only saving grace of this whole endeavor was that he hadn't been sentenced to death, although he was sure that his imprisonment would be a difficult thing to endure. The elder Lord Flynn did not seem to be a kind man. Indeed, Lord Harold Flynn must have gotten his cruelty from somewhere.
So too must have Catherine.
After their embrace, after all they had gone through, Declan had been sure that he and Catherine shared something special, something that made both of them stronger. Despite their backgrounds being different, the individual feelings were similar. He knew from the kiss they shared that her desire was real, and from the way his heart beat his love was genuine. That made her actions hurt all the more. She had stabbed him in the heart and he felt as weak as if blood had spilled from every pore of his body.
That moment when she lied he had barely been able to believe his ears. He knew that she had been capable of putting herself before him, but she could very well have condemned him to death with her denial. To think that she could cast aside what they had shared.
Perhaps he had been right about Sassenach women all along. Perhaps he should never have let his feelings get the better of him. He was a prize fool, and instead of winning the respect of his clan and his elders he was going to lose his life, being left to rot away in some dungeon without any hope of being free. The only love he had ever experienced had betrayed him. Happiness had deserted him, and it was a dark day for all the Highlanders for surely the Sassenach lord would continue with his attack. Even if Catherine had been telling the truth to him when she convinced him that bringing her back to her father was for the greater good of the clan, he doubted that she would be able to sway such a cruel man from his actions.
Declan had looked into that man's eyes and saw only death.
“You're going to have fun down in the dungeon. We could use another of your kind, it's been a while since the last one arrived. I bet you think you've gotten off lightly as well, avoiding a hanging. Well, you'd better change your mind quickly because nothing could be further from the truth. Oh yes,” his guard sneered, cackling with laughter, “your punishments will be quite inventive. I think Lord Flynn likes the idea of letting his enemies rot in his dungeon, knowing that he has supreme power over life or death. If you're lucky he might grant you some mercy and end your suffering, if you beg him.”
The guard led him across the courtyard to the far side of the estate, far from the house where Catherine was probably clad in luxury, a happy homecoming indeed. He was near the stables and the stench of manure filled his nose. It was so intense that his eyes watered with the smell, and already he was wishing that he was anywhere else.
There was a hole in the ground and they descended steps which led into darkness. The guard took a torch from nearby and pushed Declan down. The light was so dim that Declan couldn't see where he was going. As a result, he tumbled down the stairs and almost cracked his teeth, for he was unable to put his hands out to steady his fall.
“Get up,” the guard said derisively, dragging Declan forward. He heard the clink of keys and then he was tossed into a room, a door dragged shut. He rushed up and leaned against the bars.
“Hold still,” the guard said as he reached in. Declan was about to struggle some more, but was quickly forced into stillness as he felt a knife against his skin. The guard removed the gag and then the restraints from his hands. Declan ignored the aching pain that came with his freedom.
“Stop this! Let me out!” he cried, but the guard merely laughed. He whistled as he left the dungeon, taking the torch with him, plunging Declan into misery.
Declan huffed and tested the bars. They were sturdy, and the rock into which they were embedded was entirely natural. It didn't seem as though there was any hope of finding a weakness. He slumped down, his legs aching, and tried to not let himself become overwhelmed with the situation.
Now that the guard had gone and his eyes had adjusted, Declan could see that a few pinpricks of light broke through the rocky ceiling and fell into the dungeon. He was in a huge chamber, and he seemed to be the only one in there. It was cavernous, cold, and he was completely alone.
The more he thought about his plight the more he hated himself, and wished that he had been smarter, or seen the signs earlier. He had been so concerned about Drew and Blair being blinded that he had fallen prey to his feelings. He should have been more careful. Every time he thought he was casting aside his youth he made a dreadful mistake that only reminded him how far he needed to go, although at the moment his prospects did not seem good. He had been captured, and he was not being given the same luxury as Catherine had been.
“Why, lass, why did ye hae tae gae and say that?” he cried out, imploring the fates for an answer, but none came.
“Nae, it cannae be!” another voice cried out. Declan was taken aback by this for he had been sure that he was the only person in the chamber. He pushed himself back and raised his hands to his face, ready to defend himself. His eyes darted around, trying to see the origin of the voice, but it seemed to be all around him.
“Ye dinnae need tae be acting sae worried. I am nae here tae harm ye,” the voice said again. Declan looked all around the chamber, head moving this way and that.
“I must hae lost my mind,” Declan whispered to himself, frustrated that he was showing the signs of madness already.
“Ye are nae mad. If anyone hae the right tae be, it's me.” Declan sensed movement near him and he turned to see someone emerge from the shadows. The figure shuffled forth, clad in a tattered cloak. The voice was hollow and reedy, and the man was gaunt, but the closer he got the more Declan could see that he had a sturdy build, and was still strong.
“I cannae remember how many years I hae been stuck here alone. I pity yer fate, but I am also glad ye are here. It is good tae hae some company again,” he said, and took Declan's hand, as if to check that Declan was not a wraith or some hallucination.
“Who are ye?” Declan asked.
“In truth, some days it is hard tae remember,” the man said, settling beside Declan. “I hae been on my own for sae long that my mind has been troubled. I think my name is Alastar, at least that's
what it is today!” he said, and then chuckled to himself. Declan edged away, unsure if it was such a blessing that someone was sharing his cell.
“Declan,” Declan said. “I did nae think there would be another Highlander here, which clan are ye from?”
“Oh, I am nae from a clan. It was just me and my father, and when he died I was all alone,” Alastar said.
“I am sorry tae hear that,” Declan replied.
“And ye?”
“The McCall clan.”
“A fine clan. Ye must be a worthy warrior! Tell me of the Highlands. It has been a long time since I hae gazed upon the rolling hills and ridden through the valleys. Thoughts of home are the only thing that hae been keeping me from losing my mind. What news dae ye hae, and how did ye come tae be here?”
“I'm more interested in knowing how ye came tae be here. Ye cannae hae been captured in the battle, how did ye come tae be here?”
“Battle? What battle? Please dinnae tell me there is a war again! I cannae know that my brethren hae been dying while I hae been locked up!”
“Just the one battle, and the Highlanders won. Lord Flynn was killed by my cousin Drew,” Declan said, beaming with pride as he relayed the news.
“Elder or younger?”
“Younger.”
“Ach, they got the wrong one. The elder is far more dangerous, if ye did nae know that before.”
“I'm beginning tae realize that. Was it he who captured ye?”
“Aye, if it had been the other one he would hae killed me on sight. He didnae have much patience when it came tae prisoners, but that old wily lord is much different. He likes tae make people suffer, and I hae suffered enough for ten men.”
“Why? What did ye dae? Or was being a Highlander crime enough?” Declan asked, incensed that this man could have been treated this way for so long without anyone coming to his aid. It offered a grim portent for his future.
While they were talking, Declan examined his new acquaintance carefully. The man had long tousled hair that came to his shoulders, a long beard that had not been maintained and reached to the middle of his chest, and these features made him look older than he actually was.
From their conversation Declan deduced that he was a good deal older than him, and some years older than Declan and Blair as well.
“Being a Highlander nae doubt played a part. The man hae a hatred for us that runs deep. But I was ranging, helping a man called the Blue Thistle.”
Declan's eyebrows raised at this, for he remembered Mont mentioning the name, but he hadn't had the opportunity to tell Declan anything more about the man.
“Ah, I see ye hae heard of him. I'm glad that he is still remembered.”
“I dinnae know of him myself, but someone did mention his name. They said that he was the finest swordsman ever tae hae lived.”
Alastar smirked a bit.
“I dinnae know about that, but he certainly had some skill. Still, ye really know nothing of him?”
Declan shrugged. “Only that he was a gifted swordsman, and he was somehow involved in the last war. Other than that I dinnae know a thing.”
“Then it seems ye are lacking an education. Sit yerself down, lad, and listen tae a story of one of the greatest warriors that these Highlands have ever produced,” Alastar said, and went into the tale of the Blue Thistle.
Declan wasn't sure if he should really pay attention to this man, but he was intrigued, so he huddled down and listened as Alastar clasped his hands together and looked to the ceiling, a wistful look coming into his eyes. It wasn't as though Declan had anything else to occupy his time either, and at least a story like this might help pass the time.
“Think back tae the last war. It was a time when heroes were forged, and great deeds were done. The fighting between us and the Sassenach took a great toll on both sides, and on the land itself. Great armies thundered across the land and clashed, making the air sing with steel, but that is nae the only way tae fight a war.”
Alastar paused, letting his words sink in. Declan leaned in closer, enchanted by his fellow prisoner's words. Alastar had been alone for a long time, and it was clear that he reveled in the joy of telling a story to his new companion. Declan understood this, for if the only company Alastar had had during the years of his captivity was the sneering guard, he would enjoy speaking to someone else.
“While the men were fighting they started tae hear rumors of a one-man army, raiding the Sassenach, sneaking intae their camps, causing havoc behind enemy lines. He painted his face blue, and was said tae be the finest swordsman ever tae hae lived. The Blue Thistle became a legend, and a talisman for the rest of the Highlanders. The Sassenach were scared of him, as though he were a legend, and in truth he frightened some of his own people as well.”
“Why?” Declan asked. The more Alastar talked the more Declan was unsure of how old he actually was. However, he was certain that Alastar was not more than a few years older than Blair.
“Because tae see him on the battlefield was tae see something conjured out of magic. He appeared out of nowhere, and it was as though nae blade could touch him. He struck at the Sassenach, then was spirited away again.”
“And they never found out who he was?” Declan asked, eyes wide with shock.
“Nay. Everyone knew of him, and there were a few rumors, but nobody ever came forward tae claim the title. It goes tae show that one man really can make a difference.”
“What happened? Did he die?”
Alastar gave Declan a cryptic smile. “I was a wee lad when I started helping him, acting as a squire. This was years after the war, and he told me everything I needed tae know. The war was long over, but there were still battles tae fight.
“Are ye telling the truth?” Declan asked skeptically.
“Oh aye, there are nae lies here. The Blue Thistle was real, and he was magnificent.”
Declan wasn't sure what to say to that. Alastar clearly thought fondly of the man, and speaking about him again brought a tear to his eye. Declan had never heard of him before this though, and knew that it was likely the Blue Thistle, whoever he had been, had died.
“His name lives on then, and ye should be proud of that.”
“Aye, aye that I should be. I would hae liked tae see him one last time though, tae see him riding intae battle, striking fear intae the Sassenach hearts. Ye hae never seen anything like it.”
A silence settled over the two of them. The weight of captivity began to come into Declan's mind. He knew that it would be a long life, to be spent here. Looking at the other man, he saw how the shoulders had been hunched and the skin was sallow. Already only a little time had passed and Drew was anxious to see daylight again.
How Alastar had coped with this captivity was unknown. Declan hoped that he would show the same fortitude and would still make his cousins proud. He was no Blue Thistle, but he hoped that if anyone spoke about him they would do so in glowing terms. With that, he hardened his heart, and resolved himself to a life of turmoil.
Just then, however, he heard a noise outside. He tensed, but Alastar placed a hand on his arm.
“Dinnae get excited, it's just the serving girl. They come in here tae give us food and water, but they dinnae speak. Probably been told that we are brutes. It is a sad thing tae see how scared of us they are, especially when we are locked up, a threat tae naebody. Still, that is what this Lord Flynn wants, for us tae be humiliated, for us tae be seen as monsters. I am glad ye are here with me, but I would nae wish this fate on anyone.”
Declan appreciated his words, and his thoughts turned back to Catherine. It still struck him as sad that she had been so capable of cruelty, and that she had been so willing to hurt him. Self-preservation had been at the forefront of her mind, which meant that she clearly didn't care about him as much as he thought she had, or as much as he cared for her.
After all they had been through it ended up like this, with him locked in an abyss, left for dead, with nothing to hope for other than a slow and
painful death. The only ally he had was the man in the chamber with him. Everyone else in the estate saw him as a monster and a threat. Everyone except Catherine, but he didn't know how she felt about him. She was out there, so close, and yet in another world entirely. He wondered if she would ever see him again, or if it would be far too painful for her to dare admit that they had shared something special.
He wondered which memory would fade first, the echo of her kiss or the painful memory of the knife in his heart.
Chapter 15
As soon as Declan was taken away Catherine almost wept. Her feet moved quickly, wanting to leave the room so she could indulge her misery, but one word from her father commanded her to stop. Trembling, she breathed deeply and tried to compose herself.
Ordinarily she was a firm, strong woman, but in the presence of her father she returned to a childlike state. She was completely at his mercy, and he was completely in control.
