The Highland Commander

by Amy Jarecki

  “Too right. Do you ken if they’re conducting an investigation?”

  “They damn well had better be, unless the judicial system has completely collapsed under our incompetent aristocracy. Regardless, I dispatched a missive to the Earl Marischal from Coldstream two days ago.”

  “And what do they plan to do with Lady Magdalen now they have her locked in Edinburgh jail?”

  Aiden thumped his fist on the table. “That, my friend, we need to find out.”

  “True, but you’re not the one to do it.”

  The hairs on Aiden’s nape stood on end. He needed to do something before he jumped out of his bloody skin. “I’ll not sit idle while Her Ladyship suffers in the bowels of the castle’s dungeon.”

  “Agreed, but first I’ll have my man-at-arms make some inquiries.” Seaforth downed his ale and stood. “Come. My town house is only a block away. No one will be looking for you there.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alone and cold, Maddie crouched in a corner of the tiny cell and stared at nothing. A dim glow came from the passageway, but it was not enough for her to see much of anything, which was probably for the best. Judging by the stench, she didn’t want to see overmuch. She hadn’t eaten a morsel of food since they threw her into Edinburgh Castle’s jail. Her fingers shook uncontrollably—worse than they usually did when she was hungry.

  Surely they didn’t starve people to death in this hellhole.

  Do they?

  She’d slept some, but couldn’t be certain if it was day or night. The eerie glow from the passageway hadn’t changed much. It had flickered a time or two, but that was all.

  Her hearing had grown more acute in the darkness. Sounds of moaning and misery resounded from somewhere below. She guessed she was imprisoned in a cell halfway between purgatory and hell—hell being from whence the eerie voices arose.

  Something metallic scraped above, like a key in the lock of the gate of Dunnottar Castle. Sitting erect, Maddie looked toward the sound. Footsteps neared, as if they were descending stairs, coming closer with each step. More than one set of shoes clapped the stone in a stoic cadence. At least the visitors appeared to be in no hurry.

  The light grew brighter and the footsteps more even.

  Two dragoons stopped outside her cell, their leathery faces appearing like skulls in the torchlight.

  Maddie held up her hand to block the blinding glare. It hurt her eyes like the sun. “Who are you?”

  “Our names are not important.” The man used no courtesy.

  She clenched her teeth. “I beg to differ. I want to know who my jailors are.”

  One shoved a key into her cell’s lock. “I’m Corporal Payson, dragoon in charge of recording your confession.”

  Maddie stood, keeping her back to the wall. “Confession? But I am innocent—how can I confess to a crime I did not commit?”

  “You’ll confess. They all do.” The door screeched on its iron hinges.

  Dear Lord, they couldn’t do something rash. Could they? She licked her lips, looking beyond Payson to the other blank-faced sentry. “Is it morning? I haven’t been given anything to eat or drink since I was tossed into this vile cell.”

  The corporal sauntered toward her, his face blank, unfeeling, and unreadable. “Eating will only make you puke.”

  She clutched her fists beneath her chin, her nerves fluttering like moth wings. But this was no time to cower. “How dare you use such vulgar language with me? I am the daughter of an earl, not a tinker.”

  The man grasped the chain between her manacles and yanked. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who you are. Word is you plotted to assassinate the queen.”

  “No. How many times do I have to repeat that I did nothing but change the candles on the queen’s chandelier? I swear it. I will pledge an oath before the magistrate, before His Holiness the pope, if necessary.”

  With a shove in her back, the corporal marched her out of the cell. “You’re a Catholic, are you?”

  A clammy sweat sprang across her skin. Dear Lord, she knew better than to mention His Holiness. “I am but an honest Highland-born woman.”

  The guard holding the torch inclined his head toward the bowels of the prison. “This way.”

  With no choice but to trudge onward, Maddie tried to avert her eyes from the horrors. Half-starved men dressed in rags, their eyes sunken and ghostly, stared at her through iron bars. Coughing at the stench, she moved her hands to cover her nose and mouth. “These conditions are deplorable.”

  “It is a jail, miss.”

  “‘My lady,’” she corrected him.

  Marching onward, the dragoons ignored her until they entered a chamber with a chair, a bucket, and a table pushed against the far wall.

  “Sit,” ordered the corporal.

  Maddie did as commanded while the other dragoon removed one manacle and forced her arms behind her, then locked them to the back of the chair. “You think I am so dangerous that I must be chained?”

  No one uttered a sound.

  “Have you received word of the investigation into what truly caused the chandelier to fall?” she asked, trying to sound as haughty and in command as Queen Anne herself.

  “No.”

  The other dragoon moved behind her and placed his heavy palms on her shoulders.

  Maddie swallowed and looked up at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

  Corporal Payson took a cloth from the table and dunked it into the bucket. “I’ll ask you one more time. Were you involved in the plot to assassinate the queen?”

  Maddie watched the water drip from the cloth. “Of course not. How many times do I need to say it?”

  The corporal’s jaw twitched when he nodded to the man behind her. After sliding one arm across her shoulders, the brute grasped her forehead, yanking it back.

  Maddie gasped. Her mouth opened wide as her neck kinked with the force.

  A snarl stretched across his lips as the sadistic swine wadded the cloth and jammed it into her mouth. “You are guilty as accused.” He smashed his hand over the rag.

  Maddie’s eyes bulged as she convulsed, trying to shake her head from side to side. The rag wasn’t drenched in water. Vinegar filled her throat, threatening to drown her. She couldn’t breathe. She kicked her legs, her lungs craving air.

  Yanking the cloth from her mouth, the corporal glared. “Confess.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I cannot.”

  He slapped her across the face. “You pox-ridden whore, how dare you thwart the truth?”

  Her cheek stung as if a hundred angry bees had unleashed their ire. “I am telling the truth!” she shouted, her voice hysterical. Trapped with these vile beasts, she had no place to hide—every horrid thing she’d ever heard about government troops had proved to be true.

  By God’s grace, she would not bend to their will.

  Every muscle in her body tensed as she helplessly watched the dragoon dunk the cloth again. Barely wringing it out, he stood over her. “Admit to being in collusion with the Earl Marischal of Scotland, you filthy Highland bitch.”

  “Never! My father would nay stoop—”

  The soured cloth again filled her mouth.

  Gagged her.

  The bitter liquid gurgled in her throat, threatening to take her to the drowning depths of hell.

  Eyes rolling back, Maddie fought to keep her wits. The memory of craving air while sinking deeper into the sea filled her mind with fear. Her fingers splayed as she stretched her wrists against her manacles. The corporal pushed the cloth harder and deeper this time. “I will not abide liars and murderers!”

  Praying for death to take her from this nightmare, Maddie lost control of her limbs as they shook. With her hands chained behind her back, her fingernails clawed at nothing. Her toes curled. Her lungs burned, her eyes rolled back.

  Again the corporal pulled the cloth from her mouth. “Admit your deviousness.”

  “I will never,” she snarled back, the conviction infusing her with stre
ngth. She knew enough about the law to know confessing would send her to the gallows. Regardless, she was doomed. The only thing she had left was the truth. She refused to give up her honor by lying.

  She endured the cloth twice more, gagging and gulping, but forcing her mind to a place of strength. She learned to control her urge to kick and scratch. She overcame the violent tremors and retches. The last time Corporal Payson shoved the vinegar-drenched cloth in her mouth, he levered the heel of his hand up—trying to make her swallow it.

  But she clenched her teeth and stared him in the eye.

  I vow I will never yield to tyrants.

  He took his time drawing the rag from her mouth.

  Maddie gave him a steely-eyed glare, swallowing and clearing her throat so that she would be heard without question. “I am the daughter of the Earl Marischal of Scotland, and I do not lie, nor do I engage in plotting against Her Majesty. I will die before I confess to a crime I did not commit.”

  A fortnight had passed, and Aiden was ready to wring Seaforth’s neck. The earl continually yammered about gaining an audience with the Duke of Argyll. The only problem was that the goddamned duke kept eluding Reid’s requests. Argyll was the greatest known backstabber in all the gentry. He’d even had a hand in the Glencoe Massacre, the bastard.

  Aiden had the patience of a stallion sniffing a filly in heat, and sitting idle while they built their case and waited for some sort of word from London drove him to the ragged edge. Every waking hour his mind devised ways to launch a rescue. But the goddamned fortress was impenetrable. They locked the prisoners in a dungeon below ground with no windows and no way out.

  Aiden knew well enough. He’d dubbed the passageways the catacombs of hell long ago when he’d walked through the prison with his da. Aye, he knew the abominable conditions in which Maddie suffered. And every time he closed his eyes, an image of the torture chamber came to mind—archaic and medieval. Some of the most heinous devices ever made resided in that dank hellhole.

  Well, he’d had enough. No longer would he tolerate hiding in Seaforth’s town house. After securing his weapons, he found the earl in his drawing room.

  Seaforth leaned back in his chair. “You look like you’re off to fight a battle.”

  “I’m achieving nothing here. I’ve decided to ride to Blair Atholl and ready my army.”

  “To do what, exactly? It would take ten thousand men to seize Edinburgh Castle. That is a fact that has been proven many times over.”

  Aiden gripped the hilt of his sword. “I’ll find a way.”

  “You’ll get your throat cut.”

  Christ, he’d had a gutful. “You think me a bumbling fop, do you?”

  “Of course not. No man who can take me on in the sparring ring is any sort of fop. I’ve received word from Argyll. Says he’s making room in his calendar for a meeting.”

  “Aye? Mayhap he’ll find the time come Yule—”

  “M’lord.” Seaforth’s man MacRae marched into the drawing room. “They have Lady Magdalen locked in the pillory in Grassmarket Square.”

  “The pillory? They’re treating her like a bloody commoner.” A fire roiled in Aiden’s gut. “This is the last straw.” Grumbling under his breath, in two strides he reached the door.

  But Seaforth was just as fast, his big hand clamping around Aiden’s elbow. “Think before you charge out there like a mad bull.”

  “You’re telling me to think?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’d best release me before you force me to do something rash. I am not only your senior peer, I have two years in the navy under my belt. I’ll not cower in these rooms while Her Ladyship suffers the wrath of the mob with her head and wrists trapped between two locked planks of wood.”

  “By going out there you will risk all we have put in place to see to her release. Not to mention, if anyone discovers you’re staying under my roof, we’ll never gain an audience with Argyll.”

  Aiden yanked his arm away from Reid’s fingers. “Dammit, can you not see I have no choice? What kind of man would I be sitting but a block away from where the only woman I’ve ever loved is suffering public humiliation?” He glared into his friend’s eyes, ready to fight his way out the door if need be.

  Reid’s expression softened, though he narrowed his eyes. “Go, but if you’re followed do not come back here until well past the witching hour—and use the servants’ entry behind the close.”

  Aiden grasped forearms with his friend, giving a Highland handshake. “Ye ken I would never put your house in jeopardy. And I truly am grateful for your unfettered hospitality. I’ll stay clear. Mark me.”

  With that he slipped out through the servants’ quarters and made his way to the Grassmarket. He stopped dead in his tracks when the pillory platform came into view. The wind rushed from his lungs as if someone had thrown a fist to his gut.

  A crowd of hecklers surrounded Maddie, shouting jeers and taunts. Her head and hands hung limp as if she’d given up the fight. Her dress was torn and filthy, her lovely blonde tresses in a matted mess.

  Clenching his fists, Aiden ran. Two dragoons guarded the rear of the platform, while another pair stood across the square, looking on with their arms folded. The two across the way had muskets slung across their backs.

  Take one thing at a time.

  As he barreled past the first dragoon, Aiden laid the unsuspecting varlet flat with an elbow to the jaw. The second saw him coming and drew his sword while the crowd grew louder. Aiden snatched his dirk and stopped in a crouch. Circling, he took in deep breaths, resisting his fierce desire to bury his blade in the varlet’s gut. “Give me the keys and I might let you live,” he growled.

  “Not on your life.”

  “’Tis Tullibardine,” someone yelled from the crowd.

  “Aiden!” Maddie shouted.

  His attention drawn away for a split second, Aiden sensed the dragoon lunge. He hopped aside in the nick of time as the man stumbled forward. Quickly gaining his footing, the dragoon slashed his sword through the air. “So the rumors are true. A marquis helped the vixen escape.” He chuckled like a rogue. “Perhaps if I feed the bitch your cods, she’ll confess to being a traitor just like her father.”

  The crowd grew more frenzied, the shouts louder.

  A bellow ripped from the depths of his bowels as Aiden charged in. Sword and dirk clashed with a deafening clang of iron. The men were locked in a battle of wills and strength, their faces contorted with determination. Their weapons shook. Steel scraped until their cross guards met. Stronger than an ox, his opponent bared his teeth. “I like a challenge, but you have no place to run.”

  “And you are torturing an innocent maid,” Aiden hissed with a snarl.

  “And you’re next. I can see my cat-o’-nine-tails streaking your back with its iron teeth.”

  Strength surged through every fiber of his being as Aiden gnashed his teeth and shoved the brute to the cobbles. Ready to run the man through, he froze when a shot rang out.

  Maddie screamed.

  The crowd went wild.

  Aiden followed through with his strike, but the dragoon rolled.

  Another musket fired.

  “Aiden, run!” Maddie shouted.

  He glanced toward the two musketeers across the way. Barreling toward him with bayonets affixed, they’d multiplied by ten.

  “Are you shot?” he yelled.

  “No. Run!” she shrieked.

  Aiden peered out from under the platform. Musketeers lined the rooftops across the way. Dear God, if he tried to climb the gallows steps, they’d both be shot before he reached the top.

  “Know I will free you. Know I will not stop until I can hold you in my arms!” As he shouted the words, he slunk into the crowd, keeping his head down, running away with the mob while the dragoons advanced.

  Aiden pushed into the center of a group heading down a close. Glancing over his shoulder repeatedly, he wended his way through the closes and markets that lurked on the city’s fringe. He discarded his doublet
, plucked a hat from a vendor’s table, and stole deeper and deeper into the dark alleyways walked only by the impoverished and destitute.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After the rioting throughout the streets of Edinburgh, Corporal Payson didn’t force Maddie to suffer public humiliation by locking her in the Grassmarket pillory again. In fact, she didn’t see the black-hearted monster after that. Instead Queen Anne’s dragoons left her alone for nearly a month, locked in her dank cell no larger than a broom closet. The bucket at the back hadn’t been emptied, and the stench made her eyes water.

  With not even a handful of straw to lie upon, Maddie’s body ached. The last day she’d been free, she had teased Aiden about sleeping on a feather mattress. Mercy, she’d give her entire dowry for a bit of straw and a meal. Three times a day a sentry stopped by with a bucket of water and a crust of bread—scarcely enough to keep her alive.

  She combed her dirty fingers through her matted hair, the chain between her manacles hitting her nose. Would they leave her there to rot until she died? What had happened to Aiden? With no news, she had no way of knowing whether he had been shot or had fled.

  But he’d told her he would free her—those fleeting words he’d shouted as he ran from the Grassmarket had buoyed her heart enough to keep her from sinking into a morass of misery.

  No one had spoken to her for a month. At least she thought it had been a month. She used a link in her manacles to scratch a notch in the iron bars the third time the sentry came past each day. The emotionless old man just scooped water from the bucket and handed her the ladle without a word. He wouldn’t answer a single question.

  Not only must she endure being locked in a tiny cell in solitude, the screams and shrieks from those incarcerated deeper in the bowels of the dungeon made her skin crawl. All day and all night someone howled, “Set me free” over and over. Though the pitch was high, the eeriness of it made Maddie wonder if the prisoner was woman or man. Mercy, if she could set her hands on the keys, she’d release the poor tormented soul.