by Amy Jarecki
“I cannot allow that, m’lady,” Tormond said from behind.
Yes, her guard would always be tenacious. Though Meg was the daughter of a peer, the man thought he had complete authority over her. She ignored him and spurred her mare faster.
Outside the ugly black doors, Meg didn’t wait for assistance. She quickly dismounted and pulled the latch. It didn’t budge.
“Allow me.” Tormond heaved on the door, and it slowly opened.
“My thanks.” Inside she was met by guards with their battleaxes held across the passageway. “I demand to have an audience with Lord Campbell immediately.”
“And who might you be?”
“I am Lady Douglas, daughter of the Earl of Angus.” She poured forth the words with such authority that no one would dare question her power to march into the gaol.
The guard looked at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. “I cannot allow a woman—”
She pushed his battleaxe aside. “Take me to the baronet forthwith, and I’ll not hear another word of dissension from anyone.” She glanced at Tormond and spread her palms out to her sides. “Besides, what harm could a mere woman possibly do?”
She marched down the dank stairs, her mouth growing dry, the stench of human excrement burning her eyes. Meg wasn’t about to allow them pause. If she showed a modicum of weakness, they might toss her into the courtyard and ban her from ever approaching the gaol again.
She tipped up her chin, hoping she looked important and in control, though her fingers shook like a nervous dog. In no way could she allow the guards to sense her fear. She would see Duncan this day, and she would do anything to ensure her success. Tormond followed closely behind.
At the bottom of the stairs, the stench nearly overcame her. She pulled the collar of her cloak over her nose and turned full circle.
“This way, m’lady.”
The guard led her down a dank passage lit by a sole torch on the wall. The further they went, the colder it became. They stopped outside a cell, shut off by iron bars. When Meg’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she gasped. A man lay curled in the middle of the tiny room, wearing only a pair of woolen chausses.
Duncan. “Open this gate immediately.” She wrapped her fingers around the bars and squinted. To her horror, the flesh on Duncan’s back oozed with blood.
Her guard stepped beside her. “Lady Meg, ’tis not proper.”
She gave Tormond a solid whack on the shoulder. “I will see the prisoner now, and fetch my satchel. It has a vial of avens oil to soothe his wounds.”
Tormond scratched his beard. “He won’t be needing any remedies where he’s going.”
“Pardon?” Meg clenched her fists and faced him. “This man is innocent of all charges, and I will see him released. Hurry.”
The hinges creaked as the king’s guard opened the door. “If he survives,” the sentry mumbled under his breath.
There was no time to argue with the oaf. Meg dashed forward and dropped to her knees. Afraid to embrace him, she grasped Duncan’s filthy hands. “Duncan, can you hear me?”
His eyes opened and closed. “Lady Meg?” His voice rasped hoarsely and he grimaced. “Now I ken I’ve lost my mind. I’m even imagining her in the cell with me.”
Meg shook his hand and held it to her lips. “Duncan, ’tis me. I’m here.”
This time his eyes opened and focused. “Lady Meg? What? Why?”
She cared not if it was dirty, Meg cradled his hand to her cheek. “Hush. What matters is that I’m here and I know you are innocent.” She lightly touched his shoulder. “What did they do to you?”
Duncan hissed. “Singed off my flesh, then lashed me until I lost consciousness.” He licked his lips, but no spittle formed.
“Bring water,” Meg screeched. “Quickly.”
“Ye are an angel”—he sucked in a ragged breath—“sent from heaven.”
“I do not know about that, but I shall do what I can to see you released.”
Tormond entered with her satchel and a cup of water, followed by a guard carrying his battleaxe as if Duncan were going to jump up and give them a good fight.
“I should never have allowed you in here,” the guard said.
Meg grasped the satchel and pulled out the oil. “Your treatment of Lord Campbell is deplorable.” She pulled out the stopper. “I will have words with the king as soon as I’ve tended his wounds.”
As gently as she could, she spread the oil on each weeping welt. “Am I hurting you?”
“Nay . . .” Duncan’s voice trailed off.
Of course he was hurting. She’d never seen a man bludgeoned thus. She helped him drink the water, wishing she had some food to give him.
Conscious of the guards surrounding her, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Duncan’s ear. “Hold on, my love, for I will see you a free man, so help me God.” Tenderly, she pressed her lips to his temple and closed her eyes. Her heart twisted. If only she could take him into her arms, and lead him to a soft bed where she could properly nurse him back to health. “I thank you, Duncan, for your touching prose. You are truly a gift from heaven.”
Meg stood and faced the miserable guardsman. “Sir Campbell is a peer of the Kingdom of Scotland and you have discarded him in this cell like a common criminal.”
“But—”
She shook her finger. “I’ll hear no excuses. Your treatment of his person is unforgivable. Ensure he has a pallet of straw, food and watered wine at once. Clearly you’ve tortured him within a hair’s breadth of his life and left this valiant knight to starve.”
The man threw a worried glance to Tormond.
“I shall gain an audience with the king at once.” Meg eyed him. What could she do to ensure the guard followed her orders? She boldly stepped toward him. “If you see to Lord Campbell’s comfort, I will do everything in my power to ensure you keep your position in the king’s guard.”
“Y-yes, m’lady.”
She held up a finger. “But if Lord Campbell reports any further mistreatment, I shall make it my personal goal to see that not only you, but the entire prison guard is replaced.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She bent down and smoothed her hand over Duncan’s head. “Hold on. I shall see you soon, my love.” Then she nodded to the king’s guard and headed out. When at last they reached fresh air, she faced him. “The Lord of Glenorchy will not die. For it is your head I will call for if his health should take a turn for the worse.”
Meg turned to Tormond. “Come.” She had no idea how she’d gain an audience with the king, but she would find a way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was an answer to her prayers when Meg spotted Eoin MacGregor across the bustling courtyard. She dashed into the mass of people, shoving though. “Excuse me, pardon me.”
She’d thought she’d nearly made it when she ploughed straight into a barrow laden with pig carcasses. The claw sank into thick, clammy flesh.
A laborer strong-armed the cart to a stop. “Bloody hell, watch where yer going, wench.”
Meg caught her foot on her hem and her ankle twisted. “Apologies.”
“If these pigs had fallen and had been covered with dirt, the cook would have had me head.”
She cringed and transferred her weight to her throbbing ankle, peering through the throng. Had she missed Eoin?
The laborer grasped her arm far too firmly. “I ought to give ye a good thrashing, running into me barrow as if it were nothing. I’ll tell you, the king prefers me pork over all others.”
Meg tried to wrench away. “Fortunately, sir, there was no harm done.”
He pulled his hand back as if he were going to deliver a slap. Meg flinched and turned her head, but the blow never came.
“Unhand her now, or you’ll feel the cold iron of my dirk.”
Meg jerked her arm free. “Sir Eoin!”
He kept his dirk flush against the man’s neck. “Lady Meg. We seem to meet in the most peculiar circumstances.”
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br /> “M’lady?” The laborer wrung his hands. “Apologies.”
She gave the man an exasperated look. “You may release him, Sir Eoin. Aside from a vile temper, I believe he’s committed no crime.” Fortunately, the pain in her ankle had eased.
The man bowed and grasped the handles of his cart. “Thank you, m’lady. Forgive my disrespect.”
Meg waved him on. “I do hope there will be ample roast pork on the king’s table this eve, given your import to deliver it.” She stepped toward Sir Eoin. “We must meet with the king immediately. They’ve nearly tortured Lord Duncan to his death.”
Eoin gestured to Sir Sean and Sir Robert, who had come up behind him. “We’ve been trying to gain an audience with the king for days.”
“’Tis nearly time for the evening meal,” Robert said. “I say we march into the great hall and plead our case.”
Eoin ran his fingers across his chin. “’Tis a risk. He may take offense to our brazenness.”
Sean pounded his fist into his palm. “We’ve been waiting to gain an audience for three bloody days. As Lady Meg said, we’ve no more time to waste.”
Meg placed her hand on Eoin’s arm. “I would think three knights all in line to inherit titles would pique the king’s attention.” She stood a wee bit taller. “Besides, you’ll have an earl’s daughter standing beside you.”
Eoin shook his head. “I daresay you should stay away. We all could be seized by the guards and thrown into the dungeon merely for our association with Lord Campbell.”
“Aye, that would be smart of the king.” She grasped his forearm. “He’ll end up with half the gentry in his gaol, and anarchy will run rampant throughout Scotland.”
“If you come with us, will you promise to stand aside where you’ll be free from harm should a skirmish break out?” Eoin asked.
“Aye.” I’ll no sooner stand aside than I would stay away.
Robert leaned in. “Lady Meg, we thought you were at Tantallon. How did you know Duncan was imprisoned here?”
“You will not believe it.” She scanned the scene for Isaac, but he was nowhere to be seen. Odd. “Lord Percy’s man-at-arms came to call—said he could no longer tolerate the earl’s tyranny.”
Eoin and the other knights exchanged glances. “Percy?” He looked to Meg. “Do you think he has had a hand in these false charges?”
“Though Sir Isaac did not specifically state thus, I have no doubt that somehow Lord Percy is at the root of our woes.”
Sean planted his fists on his hips. “It seems he will never let go of the rift he had with your father.”
“That man is a hater,” Meg agreed. “I fear it appears he will never leave my clan alone, or anyone who comes to our aid.”
With Tormond remaining in the shadows, Meg followed Duncan’s Highland Enforcers into the great hall. She’d dined here with her brother many times, but presently the enormous chamber seemed foreign. As usual, the king sat in the center of the table upon the dais. Meg took in a quick inhale. Lord Percy sat to the right of the king, and behind the earl stood none other than Isaac.
Gooseflesh rose upon her skin.
Percy’s man-at-arms met her gaze with a quick nod and then glanced away. What on earth is Isaac playing at? He has turned traitor, but for whom?
At the dais, Sir Eoin was stopped by two guards who blocked the steps with their battleaxes. “Sire,” Eoin boomed, raising his voice above the throng. “I am Sir Eoin MacGregor, firstborn son of the great MacGregor chieftain, and with me I have Sir Sean MacDougall and Sir Robert of Struan, both heirs to vast land holdings in the Highlands. We all supported Lord Colin Campbell and now bear arms for his son, Lord Duncan Campbell, and we request a word.”
Chewing, the king spread his arms. “Can it not wait until after I’ve supped?”
Lord Percy eyed the knights, but his gaze stopped dead when met with Lady Meg’s. A fire burned in her stomach. Behind her back, she tapped her pincers.
“And who is this lovely lass?”
Meg shifted her gaze to the king. He was staring directly at her. Of course he would have no recollection of an earl’s fifth sister.
“Lady Douglas, sister to the Earl of Angus,” Eoin said.
Heat scorched her cheeks. She bowed her head and curtsied. “Your highness. I also had the unfortunate incidence of being one of the Earl of Northumberland’s unwilling guests.”
Percy’s eyes flashed wide. “’Tis an outright falsehood.”
“Oh?” Emboldened by the earl’s lie, Meg stepped forward, gesturing toward Duncan’s men. “And these gallant knights, the king’s very own Highland Enforcers, came to my rescue.” She glared at Lord Percy. “Though you had us followed all the way to Glen Orchy.”
Percy emitted a nervous chuckle. “I daresay the woman is daft. She has a deformity that proves it.”
Sir Eoin caught Meg’s arm and pulled her behind him before she could utter another word. “I can vouch for her ladyship. She was abducted from Melrose Abbey by Lord Percy’s men.”
The king assessed the Earl of Northumberland. “You kidnapped the Lord of Angus’s sister?”
“I-I can explain.” Percy tugged on his ruffled collar.
“Seize him.” His royal highness motioned to the guardsmen.
Lord Percy’s chair clattered, toppling over as he stood. “She lies! You Scottish heathens are conspiring against me.”
Isaac drew his sword and shielded the earl. Together they fled out the side door whilst the king’s sentries gave chase. The stairs now left unguarded, Meg hastened to climb to the dais. “Sire, this has all been a ruse. Lord Campbell is innocent.”
The king’s small eyes darted across the scene. “So say you?” Running his fingers down his chin, he spoke slowly, as if his mind was calculating. “Who then killed my beloved brother?”
Eoin stepped beside her and pointed to the side door. “I suggest you ask Henry Percy. That trickster is behind this deception for certain.”
Meg balled her fists and dipped into her deepest curtsy. “I beg of you, your most merciful highness, release Lord Campbell. He’s nearly succumbed to your . . . ah . . . the torture inflicted upon him.”
The king’s gaze darted to the side exit. “Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on his goblet, as if the life of one of his nobles were as unimportant as that of a dog. He then looked to each man standing before him. Certainly three brawny Highland knights armed to the teeth must give him pause, especially now that his guardsmen were off chasing after the earl. “You are aware Lord Campbell is also accused of killing his father?”
Sean slammed his palms on the table and leaned forward. “If you believe that, you never witnessed the love Duncan had”—he gestured wide—“we all had for the late Lord of Glenorchy. Each one of us would gladly lay down our lives for the baron, and most assuredly Duncan Campbell would give his right arm to see his father again preside over Glen Orchy lands.”
The king frowned at Sean’s aggressive stance.
Robert pulled Sean back into line. “Well put.”
“Agreed,” Eoin said.
The king leaned forward and regarded a man clad in black velvet toward the end of the table. “Lord Chancellor, has the prisoner confessed?”
The man cleared his throat and dabbed his mouth with his sleeve. “Last I heard, not as yet, sire. He lost consciousness before the executioner could extract the truth.”
“Are you mad?” The words slipped out before Meg had a chance to think. But the ire burning up the back of her neck compelled her to hold forth. “Lord Campbell is on the verge of death itself, and yet he still maintains his innocence. Is that not enough? Must you kill a man if he does not speak as you wish?”
The king narrowed his eyes and gave her a belittling glance. “You are boldly outspoken for a woman.” He smirked. “But I’d expect no less from a Douglas lass.”
She curtsied. Oh dear, I’ve made a mess of things now. “Forgive my display of exuberance, sire.”
He pounded his fist on t
he table. “I shall consider your plea once Lord Campbell’s interrogation is complete.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Now begone and leave me to dine in peace.”
Eoin led them to one of the low tables, far away from the king’s ear. Meg’s fingers trembled. She couldn’t believe that after Lord Percy had fled the dais, the king still clung to the accusations of Duncan’s guilt.
Sean grabbed a ewer of ale and four tankards from a passing servant while they all climbed over and sat upon the benches. Meg leaned forward and kept her voice low. “Duncan will not last much longer.”
“Aye,” Eoin said, sliding a tankard in front of her.
A servant placed a bowl of pottage and four pewter plates on the table. Meg held her tongue until the man moved on. “What are we going to do about it?”
“We?” He looked at her as if she were daft, then gestured to Tormond, who obediently stood behind her. “I’d say you’d best take your guard and head back to Tantallon at first light. Leave the dirty work to us knights.”
Meg’s gut clenched. “Have you completely lost your mind? I will not tuck my tail and head home whilst Duncan suffers.”
Robert raised his tankard. “This is no place for a lady. Eoin’s right. There’s nothing you can do for him now. And if we spring him, there’ll be no stopping. If found within Edinburgh’s walls, you could be arrested for conspiring against the king.”
Hogwash.
The men leaned their heads together as if she weren’t sitting beside them. Over the rumble of the crowd, she struggled to make out their mumblings. Feigning interest in her ale, she leaned a tad closer. Tonight?
Meg reached for a bit of bread and doused it in a bowl of pottage. “If I must start back to Tantallon on the morrow, I’d best locate my rooms.” She turned to Tormond. “Come.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Duncan had no idea if it was night or day. The cell they’d put him in after his last bout of torture had no cracks in the walls. But his aching body lay on a fresh pallet of hay. Thanks to Lady Meg, he’d eaten his first solid food since he’d been imprisoned. The oil that still soothed his wounds was proof Lady Meg’s visit had not been his imagination running amuck.
