"I shall try. It willnae be easy, for my head is filled to overflowing with thoughts of how I was a Murray, how I have always been a Murray, and how do I stop being a Murray now?"
"Is it such a bad thing to always be a bit of a Murray?"
"Nay, not a bad thing at all, not e'en if they cannae accept me as a Beaton. Of course, all of this worry may be for naught, as we are still stuck here. For Balfour and Nigel to ken the truth, I must speak to them, and I dinnae see that I will be doing so verra soon."
"Have faith in your new sister, Eric,” she murmured as she watched the guard take his seat outside of their cell. “I have nay been raised as gently as you, and I have a few sly tricks up my ragged sleeve."
"Can I help?"
"Aye, ye can pray verra hard that I think of a clever and successful plan, or that your brothers decide that now would be a verra good time to come to your rescue."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seventeen
"Market day at Dubhlinn draws a comfortingly large crowd,” Balfour said, cautiously adjusting his sword beneath the cloak he wore as he looked around the crowded streets of the town.
They had left Donncoill before the sun had risen and reached Dubhlinn before the heavy mists of the morning had been completely burned away by the sun. Balfour had been concerned that the hard, swift journey would leave his men too exhausted for battle, but they were still as eager as he was to repay Beaton for the humiliation they had suffered at his hands the last time they had marched to Dubhlinn. Nigel and a large group of his men waited in the hills just beyond Dubhlinn and would slowly inch forward, waiting for the signal to attack. Another group wandered about dressed in ways that disguised their clan association as well as their purpose. That had been the slowest part of his plan to implement, for they had all had to arrive a few at a time and blend with the villagers and travelers in small enough numbers not to raise any suspicions. They would all slowly make their way into the bailey until enough of them had gathered to hold the gates. Once they held the gates of Dubhlinn, the rest of his men would rush in and Beaton's reign would be brought to a swift bloody end. So far, all had gone as they had planned, and Balfour prayed that their good fortune would continue.
"Aye, ‘tis a busy and profitable marketplace,” agreed Douglas as he stepped up on Balfour's left. “Dubhlinn's fields and pastures produce weel."
"Yet his people dinnae look plump and happy."
"Weel, I didnae say the bastard shared it, did I,” drawled Douglas, then he frowned and pointed at an old woman walking through the market stalls with a younger woman and small boy at her side. “That is the old widow Maldie stayed with. I dinnae think she will grieve her laird's death too long, for ‘twas his blood-hungry dogs who killed her poor old cripple of a husband."
"Mayhap we shouldnae speak of Beaton's impending death too freely,” murmured James from Balfour's right, as he warily watched the crowd milling around between them and the road to the keep.
"Nay, we should just continue to slip up the road to the keep,” agreed Balfour. “Can ye see if our men are drawing any closer to those open gates?"
"Nay,” replied James and he smiled faintly. “And that is a good thing, laddie, for if I could see them then, mayhap, so could one of Beaton's men."
"Of course.” Balfour laughed softly and shook his head. “I am as nervous as a page following his laird to his first battle."
Before James could say anything, Balfour stopped dead in his tracks. There, set upon a small rise at the far end of the village, was the scaffold. There, if he was not successful, Maldie would soon hang. Balfour had to take a deep breath to quell the urge to go and tear the thing down.
The thought of the danger Maldie was in had tormented him since Douglas had first told him of her fate. He could not stop himself from wondering if he was somehow at fault for her being there, for her attempt upon Beaton's life, and, ultimately, for the death sentence she had been given. Nothing James or Nigel had said had eased that fear. Neither of them had been able to explain her actions to his satisfaction, in a way that made him certain he was not to blame in any way. There seemed to be no other reason for her to have done what she did than to prove her innocence. Balfour knew he was doing all he could to get her out of Beaton's grasp, but that was not really enough to ease the guilt he felt. Only Maldie's forgiveness could do that.
"Come, laddie,” James said quietly, taking Balfour by the arm and tugging him in the direction of the keep. “The lass willnae suffer that fate if we all keep our heads."
"I ken it. ‘Twould be folly indeed to expose us all by tearing that down, and it wouldnae save Maldie for more than a day or so, only for as long as it took them to build a new one."
"Nay,” murmured Douglas, “not even that long. ‘Twould only save her for as long as it took them to find a tall tree.” He shrugged, but took a cautious step away when Balfour glared at him. “Beaton wants her dead, and when that mon wants someone dead he isnae in the humor to let a broken scaffold deter him."
"Ye are a true comfort to a mon, arenae ye, Douglas,” said James, unable to fully suppress a chuckle.
"I dinnae think Maldie's impending execution is a matter for laughter,” said Balfour, scowling up toward the keep.
"Cease your fretting, Balfour. The lass will come through this day hale and saucy."
"How can ye be so sure of that, James? Have ye suddenly been gifted with the sight?” Balfour inwardly winced, knowing James did not deserve his sarcasm, but even his confidence in his plan did not ease the worry that knotted his stomach. That fear of failure and of how dearly it could cost him made his temper short.
James ignored Balfour's ill humor. “Nay, I just ken the lass. She has wit and, though she be of gentle blood, she is as crafty as any city wench. She will keep herself safe. If she is with the lad, she will keep him safe as weel. And this is a sweet plan, one that probably couldnae fail e'en if we were all drunk and stumbling. So, rest easy and keep your mind on getting inside those gates ere the alarum can be sounded."
"That old woman is watching us,” hissed Douglas, glancing furtively behind them.
"What old woman?” asked Balfour, more interested in trying to see which of the many figures on the road were his men, but they were all so well disguised he could not tell them from the villagers and people of the keep.
"That Eleanor woman the young lass abided with for a while. She watches us."
"Do ye think Maldie told her something?"
"Mayhap. If the lass suspected ye would attack, she might have told the old woman to watch and hie for safety if she guessed that something was afoot. Maldie would ken that the woman couldnae look to her laird for protection. In truth, most of Beaton's people already ken that."
"Curse it, do ye think she will sound an alarum?” Balfour risked a glance behind him and saw the old woman, her gaze fixed firmly upon him and his companions even as she wended her way through the many people trying to sell their wares.
"Not to warn Beaton and his men,” Douglas said. “I told ye, they murdered her husband and Beaton has done little to win the love of his people. The ones who fight for him are mostly hired swords. Nay, the only thing that could cause us some difficulty is if she has told too many others. Beaton could get a wee bit suspicious if the whole village suddenly took to the trees."
"Oh, aye, just a wee bit."
Balfour inwardly cursed. He could understand if Maldie had wished to warn her friend of approaching danger, but he prayed she had chosen well in giving her warning. If Eleanor had the wit to tell only a few people and to slip away quietly, they could still be successful. If the old woman had indeed told the whole village, they could easily find the gates slammed in their faces, for even Beaton's hired dogs, who were obviously heartily enjoying the drink and whores that accompanied market day, would guess that something was wrong if all the villagers disappeared.
He tensed as they drew near to the gates, increasingly afraid that they would be discovered a
nd he would have to watch all chance of victory slip from his grasp. There was no cry from behind as they stepped through the gates and no guard confronted them. Beaton's men had obviously failed to notice that the whores they gathered round were strangers, and that many of them were very reluctant to sell their wares.
It had been Nigel's idea to use the women to help distract Beaton's men, ensuring that Beaton's guards were too busy to watch who came and went from Dubhlinn. The idea had been sound, but Balfour had been reluctant to use it, not wishing to put women in danger. Once it had been presented to the women, however, they had had no lack of volunteers. Several of the women were ones who had had their men killed or wounded by Beaton in past battles, and they were eager to help in his defeat. It was obvious that the plan was a good one and was working well. Balfour just prayed that the women they had recruited would not pay too dear a price for their aid.
"We can begin,” whispered James.
"All of our men are gathered?” asked Balfour even as he prepared to throw off his cloak.
"All that are needed to hold the gates so that the rest may rush in."
"Shall we begin quietly or with a roar?"
"Oh, aye, let us roar. I want Beaton to hear his death approach."
Balfour grinned as he threw off his cloak and drew his sword. The women clustered around Beaton's guards were watchful and were already hurrying out of reach of the men when Balfour sounded his clan's war cry. James and Douglas heartily echoed it and quickly struck down the Beaton men closest to them. As Balfour began to fight his way to the keep itself, he saw the bailey fill with his men and felt the first sweet taste of victory. He fixed his mind on finding Eric and Maldie, knowing that any victory would never be satisfying unless he got them both back to Donncoill safe and unhurt. He prayed they had the sense to stay out of the midst of the battle until he could lead them to safety.
Maldie covertly watched the guard watch her. There was a dark, hungry look on his pockmarked face that she easily recognized, but his lust did not frighten her. No man at Dubhlinn would touch Beaton's daughter, and she was sure everyone knew who she was now and what she had tried to do. Such news would have spread through Dubhlinn so fast it would have reached the village by the time the cell door had shut behind her. Even though Beaton intended to hang her at the end of the day, in a strange way he was also protecting her. Maldie was just not sure if it was fear of Beaton himself that made his men just look but not grab, or fear that she might carry the seed of the disease that had so ravaged their laird.
Eleanor would have heard what had happened to her, too, she thought, and sighed. Maldie hoped that the woman was not too worried and did not do something foolish to try and help her. She wished she had had the time and opportunity to explain things to Eleanor, to tell the woman the truth. It was probably for the best, she decided, for it would have made the woman uneasy to know that she sheltered one of Beaton's bastards, one with murder on her mind. Maldie just hoped that Eleanor could forgive her.
She looked at Eric, who dozed on the filthy cot she sat on. They had talked until the early hours of the morning, until neither had the voice left to speak and their exhausted bodies had forced them to go to sleep. Eric was still heartbroken, still found it difficult to think of himself as a Beaton and not a Murray. He was also deeply afraid of how the men he had called brothers for all of his life would treat him once they discovered that he was the son of the enemy. There was nothing she could do to ease that pain and fear, but she knew that Eric now saw her as family. More than blood bound them now. If the boy was set aside by the Murrays—and she did not want to believe that Balfour could be so cruel—he knew that he would not be alone. Maldie just hoped that that would be enough.
All the flattering things she had heard about Eric were true, she mused, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the boy's brow. He was clever, sweet of nature, and loving. She was proud that they were related by blood. One could not have asked for a better brother. Maldie prayed that Beaton and Nigel would feel the same.
Those concerns had to be set aside for the moment, however. Their most important and immediate need was to get out of Dubhlinn. Maldie was disappointed in herself, for she had not thought of any new, clever plan to get away. Instead, she was going to use the same ploy she had used to flee Donncoill. Instinct told her that the scowling man Beaton had set in front of her cell would be as offset by talk of a female's various ailments as Balfour's man had been. She wondered briefly if she should warn Eric of what she was about to do, then decided that he would probably behave more appropriately if she did not. Later, when her plan showed signs of succeeding, she would tell him, for she would need his help. She hoped he would forgive her trickery.
After taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she clutched her belly and groaned as she bent over double. Eric immediately woke, his face paling as he sat up and put an arm around her. The fear on his young face made her feel very guilty, but she just groaned louder.
"What ails the lass?” demanded the short, heavy guard as he stepped closer to their cell.
"I dinnae ken,” Eric replied. “Maldie, are ye in pain? What is wrong with you?"
"'Tis my woman's time and it comes on hard,” Maldie said, rocking back and forth and moaning. “I need a maid's help."
Blushing furiously, Eric looked back at the guard. “Ye must bring a woman to help her."
"Why?” the guard snapped even as he backed away, staring at Maldie as if she had caught the plague.
"Because she is in pain, ye great fool. Why, she might even die if she doesnae get some help."
"What matter that? The lass is for the scaffold in but a few hours."
Maldie inwardly cursed. She had not considered that complication. At Donncoill no one had wanted her harmed, so they had been more than willing to get her all she needed to stay hale and happy. Here everyone knew she was soon to hang, that she was as good as dead, and a dead woman did not need any pampering. Then Eric began to speak in a cold, commanding voice, and she decided she needed to have more confidence in the boy.
"I think Beaton would want her to still be alive when he hangs her,” Eric said. “Aye, alive and fully aware of her impending death. He wants to send her to hell and he willnae be verra pleased if he learns that ye sat by, idle and uncaring, whilst she took herself to that blighted place. If ye value your ugly hide at all, ye had best fetch her a woman to tend to her."
Maldie heard the guard curse, then hurry away. She waited a moment before looking to be sure he had gone. When she finally looked straight at Eric his eyes widened as he stared at her. She knew she would not have to waste much time in explanations.
"I am not ill, Eric,” she reassured him, watching and listening closely for the guard's return. “This is how I got out of Donncoill. He will be bringing me a maid in a moment and when he unlocks the door to let her in, we must be ready for him."
"'Twill be two against two,” Eric said, frowning slightly as he considered their chances. “That is a verra big mon, and neither of us is verra large."
"'Twill be us against him. The maid will do naught. All we must do with her is make sure that she doesnae get free and cry out an alarum. The guard must be rendered useless enough so that we can get past him, out of this cursed cage, and lock him up within it."
"I understand."
"Good, for he is returning."
Maldie wished they had had more time to make a plan. Neither of them really knew what the other would do. It was going to take a great deal of luck to get free. She took another deep breath and firmly told herself not to worry as she returned to her act of being in severe pain. Eric was a clever lad. Even in the short time they had been together, he had proven that time and time again. She would put her trust in his instincts.
The door opened, Maldie heard the soft rustle of skirts move toward her, then heard the guard bellow. She looked up, saw that the plump young maid was not watching her, and moved quickly to take advantage of that. She grabbed the mai
d by the arm and, when the woman turned toward her, punched her. The woman grunted once and started to fall. Maldie shoved the maid toward the cot, let her slump over the thin, hay-stuffed mat, and then turned toward the cell door.
Eric was clinging to the guard's back like a tenacious child. His slim arms were wrapped tightly around the man's thick neck and his long legs encircled the guard's soft waist. Beaton's man was trying desperately to shake free of the boy, slamming him up against the thick iron bars and the stone walls and clawing at Eric's arms. One look at the pale, strained expression upon Eric's face told Maldie that the boy would not be able to hold on much longer.
It was not easy to get a clean swing at the man as he thrashed around the tiny cell, waving his arms to keep her at a distance and then trying yet again to loosen Eric's grip. Then the man began to stagger, Eric's tight hold on his neck finally making it too hard to breathe. The guard's eyes closed as he gasped for air and frantically tore at Eric's arms. Maldie made her move. She hit the guard on his very prominent jaw as hard as she could. She heard Eric curse as the man stumbled backward and hit the wall, but he did not go down. She hit him again, echoing Eric's curse as pain shot through her arm, but this time she succeeded. Eric barely got off the guard in time as the man took a few steps toward a rapidly retreating Maldie, then reeled and fell, banging his head on the filthy stone floor with a loud, sickening thud.
"Are ye alright, Eric?” she asked as she hurried to the boy's side.
"I dinnae think there is one part of me that doesnae ache, but ‘twill pass,” Eric replied, wincing as he looked over the torn sleeves of his shirt and his badly scratched and bruised arms. “Some clean water to wash in wouldnae be amiss, either."
"True, but that will probably be a long while in coming.” Maldie gently flexed the fingers of the hand she had hit the guard with. It was going to be livid with bruising, but she was sure it was not broken. “He was a hard mon to knock down."
Highland Destiny [Murray Brothers Book 1] Page 21
