Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  Drew did not want to leave his wife at a time like this, but he knew Morag was right. More than likely by the time he returned, the Laird would no doubt be gone. Still, he knew it had to be so. They would want to be here now. He silently left and made his way back to the stables. He would take a fresh mount and ride to MacCollum. He would be there by late afternoon and if the heavens permitted, Caleb’s family would make it back in time to say goodbye to the Great Laird. The task weighed heavily upon him, but as he headed out toward the courtyard, he saw his daughter sitting upon the steps sobbing so deeply. It was a sound he was not used to. She was not prone to bouts of tears, but he knew that his heart was not the only one with heavy burdens to bear. He placed a comforting hand upon her back and she raised her face to her father. “Oh da’, T’is all my fault. Had I nay gone to the Samhain Fete, Grandfather would nay have escorted me home.”

  “All of our actions have consequences, my daughter, but you cannot blame yourself for what has happened today. Our days are written in the stars and when it is time for us to be called home, nothing we can do or wish can change that. Now, go and be with your mother. She will need you greatly at this time.”

  “But, I love Grandfather so much. I canna’ bear to lose him.”

  “I know that. And he knows that, too. Go. Make your peace with your mother, now. I must ride to MacCollum. Your uncles will need to come. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  Jenna threw her arms around her father and she wept into his shoulder. Drew was filled with emotion and his throat tightened as he held the woman who was no longer a little girl. A daughter’s tears were bitter in a father’s heart. After a few moments, Drew stood up. Jenna’s hand reached out to hold Drew’s a minute longer and she spoke through her sobs. “What h-have they done with Tavish?”

  Drew had not given the man another thought. Ian said he would be dealt with and Drew was happy to give over that responsibility.

  “I do not know, Jenna.”

  “Da’, he could nay have hurt Grandfather. I know it.”

  Snatching his hand to his side, Drew sternly said, “We know very little about him. He may be capable of anything.”

  “But, why would he hurt Grandda’? Besides, he is Nan Morag’s son.”

  “He is still from a place that is very different from our own. He was not raised as Clan. He does not know our ways.”

  Drew was not sure if he was more angry with the lad for his part in Caleb’s demise or for the place he now held in his daughter’s heart. With clipped words, Drew said, “Go to your mother. Think not upon the man who may have brought sorrow to our doorstep.”

  “But, Da’….”

  “What,” Drew snapped. He regretted his tone immediately upon seeing Jenna’s sadness etched like scars on her beautiful face. With her head lowered; possibly the first time he had ever seen her so submissive, Drew heard her murmur, “Ye’ were nay raised as Clan either, but no one would accuse ye’ now of yer’ disloyalty to it.”

  “That’s different. I loved yer’ mother.”

  “And Tavish loves me.”

  Those were the words that cut into a father’s heart. He had wanted his only daughter to find a mate of her own, but he could not know if the mate she had chosen was all he appeared to be. He did not know what motivated the man or just what he was capable of. He had been training in the lists and now Drew was not certain why he had chosen to do such a thing. Did he have mad plans of usurping the lairdship based on his own claim to the MacCollum line? Would he have unwisely thought that with Caleb out of the way, he could take what he thought was his rightful place? All these things Drew did not know. Seeing the laird bleeding and dying put a terrible hitch into Drew’s heart and it formed a place of distrust. It gave him someone to blame.

  The other thing Drew did not wish to bring to light was that the fate of the man may have been sealed upon the arrival of Jenna’s uncles. Drew was not going to tell his daughter that more than likely, Tavish’s life may have been as good as forfeited. Forgetting his own trial at the hands of Caleb when he vied for Bronwyn’s hand a lifetime ago, Drew gruffly said, “You best go to your mother, Jenna. Save your tears for your grandfather and waste not another one for the likes of Tom Callum.”

  The use of his modern name was a clear message that her father did not approve of Tavish. It was like he hated him for more reasons than the possibility of his part in her grandfather’s injury, which Jenna could not really understand. There was no way he would have known about what had happened between them, or could he? Fathers were funny like that. Perhaps her father hated Tavish because he knew that Jenna had been with him.

  With legs that felt as heavy as lead, Jenna pulled herself up the stairs and she knew she had to face the aftermath of the events she had set into motion with her rash decisions. If before she had wanted to be considered a grown woman, Jenna wished she could retreat to the innocence of her childhood one last time. All vestiges of innocence were lost now. Jenna would never taste that sweet bliss again.

  ~

  Chapter Forty-Eight ~

  Tom knew that any matter of torture was possible in this God forsaken time. His mind conjured each horrible image at what was likely to befall him just for being in the wrong place at the right time. Ian had the guards take him and drag him down to the pit beneath the castle walls. It was an open cell that clearly had not been used in many years. It seemed Jenna’s family was not in the business of holding prisoners in the bowels of the keep because the dungeon had been empty of human inhabitants for a very long time. Of all the tortures Tom could conjure in his mind, this one was the most horrible. The guards had dragged him below the twisting passageways and tossed him into the cold cavern. From what he could tell, the cell was not a small one, but one that could hold many prisoners at one time. Even with the torches of the guards, the darkness was like a living thing and it closed upon him like the walls themselves.

  Once he had been shoved into the cell, bars on rusted hinges were swung shut and with a loud clank, Tom knew he had been locked in. Without any further words, the guards turned to leave and as they retreated, the torchlight receded into a pinprick of light until Tom was left in utter and total darkness. His chest heaved rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. He put his hands on the bars and tried to pull them free from their fittings only to realize that despite their rusty deterioration, they would not budge an inch.

  “No,” he called, feeling panic flare inside of him. “Let me out of here. Do what you will to me, but let me out!”

  He thought he heard laughter echoing off the slick stone walls of the winding maze leading to this place, but he could see nothing. Gulping terrible breaths of the fetid air, Tom tried to get a hold of himself. He needed to keep his wits about him if he were to survive. He rationalized out loud, “They can’t keep me here forever. They will have to come for me eventually.”

  Or would they? Was this like the oubliettes that he had read about where they just left people to rot? Tom felt like a trapped animal and he paced the perimeter of the walls, feeling his way as he went. He needed to know just how big the cell was. Perhaps, if he knew its size, he could calm himself down. After all, he had only just recently realized he was claustrophobic. So, since that had not been a known problem before, it should be something easily dealt with. Good, he thought. I am able to make rational summaries, at least for the moment.

  As he felt his way over the stones, judging the distance from the walls back to the barred door, his hands on more than one occasion felt a sickening ooze of some sort of slime. He wiped his hands on his plaid and he fought the urge to vomit. Despite the sweat that trickled down his spine, Tom could feel the dank cold permeating his heated flesh.

  Once his panic would subside, Tom knew that the chill of the underground prison would get into his very bones and it would only be a matter of time before that sweat turned icy on his flesh. He tried to stop dragging large amounts of air into his lungs because he could taste the horrible odors that lingered in
the damp earthen depths of the cell. With each breath he drew in, the smells and humors coated the back of his throat like a thick vapor, leaving a terrible taste like death itself in his mouth. It really was a miracle that he did not puke on the spot. That was still a definite possibility as the stench of the place seemed to grow with every passing second.

  “Dear God”, he pleaded. “Get me out of this place.”

  But as if God had truly forsaken him, too, the only answer he got was the scurrying of something over his foot. It felt much bigger than he imaged a mouse should feel. How he wished he had never followed Kiera to the Standing stones; but then he would not have met Jenna and deep in his heart he knew that even if death awaited him, it would have been worth it just to have a few moments with her.

  ~~~~~

  Rory MacCollum rode alongside of his brothers Liam, and Shawn. Jamie was farther north in his Highland home and they had sent messengers out to him with the grim news of their father’s attack. His stepmother, Mara sat quietly beside Brielle. She knew that she would be a widow again very soon and she whispered silent prayers for the man who had given her a second chance to love and to have a family of her own. Their sons also fell in line with the riding party that was to give their final farewell to a man who was father and a leader to the clan. The men were silent with their memories on their short journey to the Campbell Castle. Even though it had been her childhood home, Brielle had not stepped foot in the place for many years. There were too many bad memories of her own within those walls, but this day Brielle insisted on accompanying her husband to face this terribly sad time for them all. She, herself, thought of the many times that Caleb had been her champion. She remembered the day that seemed like yesterday, when he had come to Campbell to rescue her from her brother’s clutches.

  Tears flowed that day when she refused to go with Caleb in order to save Rory. Brielle knew that Roderick would show no mercy to her husband and so she sent Caleb away with sadness pinned in her heart. Now her tears fell again this day so many years later, at the thought of losing Caleb. As she looked over at Rory, she could see he was deep in his thoughts. Lines of worry and grief etched his handsome face. He had seen so much sorrow in his life and Brielle wished that she could have erased all of it. If he could read her mind, Rory would tell her that she had; that she had given him so much joy and made his life worth living. Instead he sat stoically as his wife wept silently beside him. Brielle had sworn to never venture into the walls of Campbell again, relinquishing its control over to Drew and Bronwyn. This day, she would to honor her husband and honor the man she had loved like a father from the first day she had arrived at MacCollum Keep.

  As the solemn riding party approached the fortified walls of the castle, the recently festive atmosphere of the Royal visit was now cast with a pall of bleak sorrow. There were no revelers milling out in the courtyard. The gates were heavily guarded as were the battlements of the crenelated walls. Even now, the riders knew that bowmen were aimed and ready, should the call be made to let loose their arrows.

  Drew called up to the watch and as the portcullis was lowered, it seemed to ring out a death knoll into the frigid night. The three brothers gave over their reins to stable hands and Shawn helped Brielle down off her mare while Rory assisted Mara, who was showing quiet restraint as the wife of the clan’s laird.

  Shawn hugged Brielle and with a stifled sob, he whispered, “Thank ye’, my sister, for being with us this night. I know how horrible a place this is fer ye’ and I am grateful fer’ yer’ sacrifice.”

  Patting the back of this big gruff giant who was not too manly to show his grief, Brielle sniffed back a sob of her own and she said, “My place is here. I am MacCollum, after all. I owe our Laird that much.”

  Placing a trembling hand within her brother-in-law’s strong clasp, she walked toward the entry of her Grandfather’s keep and saw it had been restored to its glory as it had been when he was alive. Torches lit the sides of the stone façade and Brielle saw how what was once a crumbling ruin was now a great edifice that would have done her grandfather proud. Her brothers had let the place sink to disrepair, but Drew and Bronwyn had seen to its refurbishment. Even though their task was dire, Brielle was comforted in the glorious reestablishment of the dream that was Gavin Campbell’s so long ago. Rory came behind her, putting a hand at the small of her back and he spoke softly.

  “I know ye’ did no’ wish to see this place again, but now that ye’ are here, are ye’ goin’ to be alright?”

  Turning her lavender eyes to her beloved husband, she said, “I am fine. See to Mara. She looks to need yer’ strength now. Dunna’ worry about me, my love. This is nay about me, now. I am here fer’ ye’ and I am here fer’ Caleb. Besides, look how beautiful the keep is. T’is almost like it was ne’er my home at all. T’is a long time since my grandfather….”

  She stopped herself. She did not want to say ‘died’. It would bring the reality of Caleb’s mortality home. Instead she said, “Lived here; t’is a long time since Gavin lived here. Ruiri, I’m so sorry.”

  Rory kissed her and said, “I know. I am, too. It means so much to me that ye’ have come with us this night.”

  “Where else would I be, husband, but at yer’ side? Now go to Mara. I’ve got Shawn to lean upon.”

  As the party of Clan MacCollum shored themselves up, Drew led them inside. He was greeted by his wife, Bronwyn. Morag was nowhere in sight, and he suspected she was at Caleb’s side. After Bronwyn embraced each of her brothers and her stepmother, she hugged Brielle fiercely. She had been so much like a sister to her and she needed to feel the comfort of a kindred spirit. Both women wept openly and Shawn asked, “My father, is he….”

  “Our father still breathes, Shawn. I think he is waiting for all of ye’ to come. He has not awakened, but I know he will rally, at least for a time now that ye’ are all here.”

  Bronwyn felt her heart breaking at speaking those words. Before she trusted Drew with her life and her heart, the man she adored most in the world would soon no longer be the steady force she had come to depend on. So many thoughts rang through her mind; so many cherished memories crushed her heart that she almost felt like it would stop beating. She could still hear his voice, bittersweet with tenderness on the day of her wedding. He had so wanted to protect her and he wanted her to be happy, but he had his doubts about an Englishman as her husband. She loved him so much at that moment and she assured her father that Drew was the man that would make her happy and she had not been wrong. Her life with Drew had its challenges, but it also held great joy. Caleb knew that, as well. Ah, if only she could go back to that day.

  “And the king,” Drew asked breaking into Bronwyn’s thoughts. He really did not care so much where Richard was at the moment, but duty called him to inquire. He placed a tender touch on his wife’s arm. She was losing her father and Drew realized it was a pain that she almost could not bear. Drew wished he could comfort her in some way, but he knew there was nothing he or anyone could do now, except be with her to see her through it. In truth, he was not sure how it was possible that the old laird was still alive. His wound was grave and lesser men would have succumbed already. It was a testament to the fortitude and strength of the man who had led his clan for so many years.

  “Erik is with him. He has ordered a search party to take to the hills to find de la Pole. Apparently, our daughter wounded the man intent on assassinating our royal guest. I pray, for that, he will be lenient on us for our deception.”

  “Well, what we have done cannot be undone. We have more important matters at hand.”

  With a somber nod of her head, Bronwyn directed her family up to see their father. Their grief was already palpable and Bronwyn knew she had to be strong for them all, but she was not certain she could muster to the task.

  When all of Caleb’s family surrounded his bed, it was as if he found the strength in their presence and miraculously, his eyes opened. Mara went to him with tears streaming down her face and she kissed
his weathered cheek, grabbing hold of his hand. It was cold; unnaturally cold. “Caleb, my love, we are all here, except for Jamie. He will come soon.”

  Caleb answered with a barely discernible nod. Morag had been by his side; tears dried upon her face. She was getting too damned old to see another of her dearest friends leave her behind. He had been sleeping the sleep of death and so she had to speak to his spirit before it was too late. They had arrested her son for his part in what had befallen Caleb and she knew that Tavish would not have done anything to harm him. She sat with him and stilled her breathing so that she could meld her spirit to his. She asked him outright if Tavish had harmed him and he had whispered, “Nay.”

  He was so weakened that there was not more she could get from him. She prayed that the brothers would stand to reason. She could not bear to lose her son again. Not now; not this way. Each person came forward and kissed the man who lay so still in the large bed. This was a man who was bigger than life and to see him laid so low was daunting to those who loved him.

  Morag had done a good job of binding his wound so that those who came to see him did not see the extent of the damage done to his body. It was a gruesome wound to be sure. Morag knew from all her days as a healer, it was a mortal wound; one that even so strong a man as Caleb could not recover from. It was only a matter of time now. She was grateful that all those who could come were there at his side. Each one came to say goodbye in his or her own way.