Everything In Its Time

by Dee Davis

  *****

  Katherine jerked awake with a start. It seemed she had been huddled on the floor for hours. She sat as still as she could, listening for the sound that had pulled her from her fretful doze. She heard a voice outside the door, calling something, and then a clanking noise as something was removed from the door. She stood up, raising the stone over her head, her body tense, ready to bean whoever entered the room. The door cracked open and a wooden bowl scooted past the door as it began to swing shut again.

  "Wait, please." Katherine shot out from her hiding place, leaving the rock behind. "Don't close the door. I need a chamber pot. Please." She didn't have to try too hard to sound pathetic. Her voice cracked, and even in her own ears she sounded on the verge of begging.

  "Verra well, I'll bring ye one in a bit. Eat the food while it's hot."

  Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She'd have another chance. But she needed a new strategy. Obviously, the guard wasn't planning to come into the room with her. She stirred the gray slop that passed for dinner. Gruel would have been more appetizing. She forced herself to eat a few bites. It tasted foul, but it was warm and that was more than she could say for the accommodations. The light was fading fast and tendrils of mist were already drifting into the room through the ruined window. She choked down a few more swallows of her dinner, an idea forming in the back of her mind.

  With some effort, she managed to move the pallet of straw into the center of the room. Settling down, she curled into a ball, attempting to look like a woman in agony—which, actually, wasn't much of a stretch. She really did hurt from head to toe. She lay on her side, facing the door, holding the rock next to her chest, hidden by her hair and the straw.

  This time she didn't have long to wait before she heard someone remove the bar from the door. Tensing in anticipation, she curled tighter and writhed in her best imitation of wracking pain.

  "I brung ye a pot. I'll just be leaving it by the door."

  "Would you please bring it to me? I'm sick and I don't think I can make it that far." Her voice sounded weak and, she hoped, pitiful. She held her breath, throwing in a retching sound for good measure.

  "Alright then, here 'tis." The man shuffled over to the pallet and bent to place the pot on the floor, his back to Katherine.

  With speed fueled by desperation, she rolled to her knees, and scrambled to her feet, slamming the stone on the back of the guard's head before he had time to rise again. The phrase 'dropped like a stone' came to mind as he slumped over the pot. She dropped the rock and dashed out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Relieved to find that the coast was clear, she rammed the bar into place. That ought to hold him a while. Now to get out of this hellhole.

  She took a precious moment to assess her surroundings. The door opened directly out onto a staircase. Stairs spiraled down below her and twisted up into the ceiling. She was reminded of the game dungeons and dragons. She was the princess locked in the tower. Only this was real.

  She forced herself to take calming breaths. The most pressing question at the moment was 'up or down,' and given her history with heights, she chose down, praying that there either weren't other guards or that if there were, they'd all gone for take-out.

  She took the stairs two at a time, her heart beating a cadence for her feet. Reaching a landing, she stopped. Voices echoed eerily from the stairwell, the distortion making it impossible to tell if they were above or below here. She ducked through an archway into a large room. Her eyes scanned the chamber, looking for cover. It was empty except for a few pieces of broken furniture and a dilapidated wooden screen leaning drunkenly against the wall. Panicked, she listened as the voices drew nearer. An open window beckoned mockingly, but she resisted, having already seen the view. There was no other way out.

  Footsteps clattered on the stairs, the voices discernible now. She dove beneath the rickety screen, wedging her body between it, the wall and the floor, trying not to think about what she might be lying on. She held her breath, trying not to move a muscle for fear of making some small noise. The voices drew closer. There were two of them. She pressed herself farther under the screen.

  "I tell ye, she has to be here somewhere. Ain't no way she could have gotten past Beag Dougall."

  "Well, if I find her, the woman will wish I hadna."

  Katherine prayed for invisibility as the two men walked into the room. She couldn't see them, but she recognized the threatening one's voice as that of the man she'd hit.

  "Easy now, lad. I understand why ye would want to strike the wench, but ye heard the mon. No one is to harm a hair on her head."

  "Ah but a mon can dream. And when we do get her, I swear I'll tie those pretty little hands of hers so tightly behind her back, she'll be wishing she never messed with the likes o' me."

  "That's all well and good, but first we have to find her."

  "She's no' in here. I say we search the cellars."

  The voices moved farther away, echoing again as they started down the stairs. Katherine released her breath and cautiously crawled out from under the screen, waiting until the voices faded altogether before she began to move toward the stairs. She slowly edged her way down the stone steps, hoping that her luck would hold and that 'Small' Dougall lived up to his name.

  She stuck her head around the end of the stairwell, only to quickly draw it back again. The door and freedom loomed only a few feet away. But an ox of a man was standing between the stairwell and the door. If this was Beag Dougall, his mother had either been a poor judge of size or had a heck of sense of humor. He was huge—there was nothing small about him. Heck, this guy made a Jets linebacker look like Mickey Mouse. No way was she going to get past him.

  She slid back into the safety of the stairwell. The other guards had mentioned a cellar. If they had gone down, then her only choice seemed to be to climb back up the tower. Maybe there'd be another way down from the top, like the one at Duncreag. Crossing her fingers, she bounded back up the stairs, passing the now open door of her prison, continuing up the remaining steps to a barred door at the top. Her breath coming in gasps, she used every last ounce of her remaining energy to pull the heavy bar up from its iron fittings. Once it was free, she dropped it, heedless now of making noise, knowing that time was running out.

  She yanked the door open and ran out onto the battlements. They were little more than a narrow stone walkway with a knee-high wall. She swallowed her fear and began moving along the pathway, searching the wall ahead for some kind of door. She rounded the first corner, still frantically looking for a means of escape. Behind her she heard the muffled shouts of the guards.

  She sped up, rounding the next corner. Surely there was another way down. Who would be stupid enough to design a battlement without an emergency exit? She rounded the final corner, only to be brought to a quick halt. The walkway ended about ten feet from the comer with a small stone wall. Beyond that was sky. Loads of sky. Katherine swallowed nervously. This was definitely not the emergency exit.

  "There she is."

  The two guards rounded the comer and skidded to a stop, one of them brandishing a vicious looking little knife. She took an involuntary, step backward.

  "Thought you could get away from old Mangus did you now? I dinna take kindly to lassies who canna stay where I put them."

  The guards began to inch towards her, feral smiles decorating their ugly faces. She stepped back again, this time feeling the mortar of the retaining wall against her knees.

  "Come now, girl. Let old Bartus hold ye close, eh?" They laughed and moved near enough that she could smell their fetid breath. Beag Dougall had rounded the corner now and was coming toward them. Three to one—the odds were certainly not in her favor.

  She shifted, trying to inch away from the advancing men, and the wall behind her crumbled away. One minute it was there, supporting her weight and the next minute it was gone. There was a moment of weightlessness when her heart beat out the message that she was going to fall, then Beag Dougall's hand clo
sed around her wrist, yanking her back from the precipice. Her breath coming in sobs, she looked up at her benefactor. "Ye be safe now, mistress."

  She wanted to laugh, to cry, to claw his eyes out. Safe?

  "Well now, did ye think ye'd be leaving us so soon?" The guard she'd hit jerked her hands behind her, while the other one tightly bound her wrists with a length of rope. Katherine could feel the tender flesh on the underside of her wrists tearing, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  The guard she'd attacked came around to face her, putting a grimy hand under her chin, and she shuddered at his touch. His breath was rancid as it passed across her face.

  "If it werena for the promised reward, I'd forget all about the orders to leave ye be. I'd like to feel myself sinking into ye while I ring yer lovely neck. I'll no' tolerate a wench like ye making a fool o' me. I will no' forget it, either. I may be unable to touch ye now, but ye mind me girl, he'll tire o'ye soon enough. And when he's done, I'll still be here to finish with what's left o' ye." He rubbed himself against her, leering into her face. "And ye'll enjoy it, too. I'll be betting a high-and-mighty lady such as yerself hasna ever had the likes of me afore." He licked his lips and ran a hand over her hair. She jerked her head away, but he turned it back, holding it firmly in his grimy hand.

  "I believe I need to teach you a lesson or two, girlie." His mouth came closer, and she almost retched at the smell of him.

  "Come on, that's enough. Leave her be for now." The other guard pulled his friend away. "Time enough for lessons later. For now, 'tis best we get her back into her room, afore anyone finds us here."

  The first guard nodded and stepped back, allowing the second to escort Katherine, at knifepoint, off of the battlements.

  As soon as she heard the bar slide into place, Katherine collapsed on the floor of her prison, listening to the two men laughing as they descended the stairs.

  The full horror of her predicament finally hit her. She was all alone in a ruined tower, in the middle of medieval Scotland, surrounded by men with nothing but rape and murder on their minds, with no sign of help on the way. She tried to think of Iain, to believe he would find her in time. But despair was crowding out whatever hope she might still harbor. Hot tears ran down her face, dripping onto the cold stone floor.

  Chapter 20

  "WILLIAM, LAD, WHAT are you doing up at this hour?" Iain hurried to help the boy to the chair.

  William sat carefully, stretching his leg out in front of him. "I dinna sleep so well these days," he said, eyeing Iain nervously. "My leg hurts most all the time."

  "Just how much have you overheard?" Iain stood again by the fire, warming his backside, trying to hold onto his patience. After all, William was only a lad.

  "Most of it. The room you've given me is only just there." William jerked his head toward the door behind him. " 'Twould be hard no' to hear." William shot a quick glance at Jeff. "Is he really—"

  Iain cut him off impatiently. "Aye, that he is. Now what was it you said about Sorcha no' telling the truth?"

  William stared wide-eyed at Jeff. "You're truly her brother?"

  Jeff nodded absently. Iain began to pace.

  "Your sister is a truly wondrous woman. She saved my leg most certainly and, most likely, my life as well." William's eyes gleamed with youthful adoration. "I'd do anything for her. And I'd no' purposely allow anyone to hurt her."

  "I'm sure you wouldn't." Jeff smiled reassuringly at the young man. "William, you said something about Sorcha and the possibility that she was less than truthful with her version of the kidnapping. It would help if you could tell us more than just that."

  "Right." William's look turned serious. "Katherine came to visit me the day she disappeared. She came to see me every morning, to make sure I was healing properly." The lovesick grin was back.

  "William, what has this to do with Katherine's disappearance?" Iain stopped pacing, barely containing his frustration.

  "I'm getting there, I'm getting there," murmured William, shooting a dour glance at Iain before he continued. "You see, my mother was there. She works in the kitchen. Anyway, she and Katherine talked a bit, about Katherine's marriage. Then my mother left, and I asked Katherine to stay with me until I fell asleep. She agreed. And as it happened, we both fell asleep." He shot a look at Iain, hot color washing across his face. "No' together, o' course."

  "Of course," Jeff inserted, before Iain had a chance to explode.

  Iain clenched his fists in an effort to contain his impatience with the boy's ramblings.

  "Anyway, I suppose we would have slept the day away if it hadn't been for Sorcha's bellowing."

  "Bellowing?"

  "Aye, I'll wager you could hear her all o'er Duncreag. She was yelling for Katherine like there was something on fire."

  Iain stepped closer and Jeff sat forward, both of them interested in the turn of the conversation. "What happened next?" they said almost simultaneously.

  "Katherine sat up. She'd had her head on the side of the bed. She checked to see if I was still sleeping, and I didn't want her to worry, so I pretended I was. She hurried out of the chamber then, I guess so that Sorcha wouldn't wake me. The next thing I know they're standing in here right outside the door to my chamber." He ducked his head. "I couldna help but hear, I swear it."

  Iain crossed his arms over his chest. " 'Tis all right, boy, just tell us what you heard."

  "Sorcha sounded odd, like she'd been running. She told Katherine she'd been looking everywhere for her and that Katherine had to come quickly."

  "Come where?" Iain asked, impatiently wanting to get to the crux of the story.

  "I'm trying to tell you. Katherine asked the same question. Sorcha told her that you had been hurt and that you were asking for her."

  Iain frowned. "Did she say where this was supposed to have occurred?"

  "Aye, in the glen at the bottom of the rise. I remember that Katherine asked if Ranald was with you. Sorcha said she didna know for sure, then something about only speaking with the wee lad who brought the message. By the time I managed to hobble to the door they were gone."

  "Why didna you say something about this earlier?"

  William grimaced. "I had no reason to believe it was important. I assumed no one mentioned your injury again because whate'er it was, it was nothing compared to Katherine's disappearance. Since I'm confined to my chamber, I get my news secondhand. When I heard that Sorcha had witnessed the abduction, I figured it must have been while on their way to you. It was only tonight, when I heard the two of you talking, that I realized Sorcha had been omitting some of the truth, if no' outright lying."

  Jeff's lips tightened into a thin angry line. "My God. Iain, if this is true then your aunt is as good as responsible for my sister's kidnapping."

  Iain felt the color drain from his face, and the little muscle in his cheek working overtime. "Aye. But I canna believe she would betray me so." He held up a hand, effectively cutting off William's effort to retort. "Nay, lad, 'tis no' that I dinna believe you. 'Tis only that it pains me to have to face the truth about my aunt."

  "Do you think she's allied herself with the Macphersons then?" William interjected.

  " 'Twould certainly seem so. But for the life of me, I canna fathom why she would do such a thing."

  Jeff sprang from his chair. "I don't give a rat's ass why she did it, I just want to know where Katherine is. Bring Sorcha to me. I'll wring the truth out of her."

  "I'll go get her for you." William tried to jump to his feet, and failed miserably.

  "Nay." The single word silenced them both. A black hush filled the chamber. Iain moved to stand behind William's chair, his thoughts bordering on murderous. "Believe me, my aunt,"—he spit the title out as though it were poison—"will tell us the truth. And then, she'll pay for what she's done. But I want to be prepared when we face her. And I want witnesses. Come"—Iain motioned for Jeff to follow as he started to walk from the chamber—"we'll go down to the hall. I'll have someone rouse
Ranald and Fergus. Whatever we find out, I'd like them to hear it as well."

  "Wait."

  Iain turned at the sound of William's voice, concern for the boy replacing some of his anger.

  William struggled to rise, intent on following them.

  "Go back to bed, William. You need your rest. You've done well this night. There's nothing more that you can do now."

  William frowned, his expression turning stubborn. "I love her too, you know."

  Iain stood in silence, his hardened gaze locked on the boy not yet a man. His heart softened and he smiled. "So you do, lad. Jeff, wait. If you'll get his right arm, I'll take the left. Come then, William, we'll help you down the stairs."

  William tilted his head in acceptance, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

  *****

  "I canna believe what you say is true. Sorcha has given the whole of her marriageable years in service to this family. I find it nigh on impossible to believe that she would so casually betray it." Fergus drew up his shoulders in anger, suddenly resembling a fearsome warrior far more than a wizened old man. "There must be some mistake. Surely you misunderstood, boy."

  William swallowed at the glare the old man turned on him. "Nay, I heard it exactly as I told you."

  Jeff sat in the great hall a little apart from the rest of the group, watching. Iain had introduced him to Ranald and Fergus as Katherine's brother. Ranald knew the situation and so was not surprised by his outlandish clothing and strange speech. Fergus supposedly knew nothing, but he, too, accepted Jeff for what Iain said he was. Either these people were extremely jaded and nothing much surprised them, Jeff mused, or they were extremely loyal to their Laird. Either way, Jeff's opinion of the fifteenth-century mind rose another notch. He watched as Fergus digested this last declaration. Iain gave a shrug of resignation.

  "Fergus, as much as I wish to believe in Sorcha's innocence, I also believe that William is telling the truth."