William was a neighboring clan chief’s son, noble bred, tall, dark and wickedly handsome. The moment she bumped into him at the market, it was lust at first sight. How quickly William had turned her into a wanton lass, she thought. In no time at all they were scampering off to secluded places to be alone.
Effie stopped her horse just shy of the twin-towered gatehouse. Memories flashed before her of William, down on bended knee, asking her hand in marriage. It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. As they were celebrating the moment hidden in the horse stable, naked, wrapped up in passion, Tavish walked in and saw them. To this day, the mischievous look on his face was still branded on her mind.
As soon as they knew they were in company, Tavish seized the opportunity to his advantage. He called her a whore and began to call out lies about her. She could still remember the look on William’s face, ashamed and humiliated. She had tried to stop him and make him listen to her. It was of no use, the damage had been done. William walked away.
Pleased with his outcome, Tavish reassured Effie that he would indeed keep her premarital bedding a secret, but she would have to pay. At the time she had no choice, it would kill her father if he ever found out. Knowing now just how much it had cost her, she wished she had rethought her options.
Still to this day, she didn’t know what conspired between William and Tavish. All she knew was William never called upon her again and she was left to be blackmailed by her brother. Five years of hell would have been more pleasant then the sins she was forced to commit. Effie shook her head, trying to quell her burdensome past. No amount of redemption could save her soul. She was Tavish’s whore.
It had to be the fatigue setting in, causing her mind to swirl with plagued memories. Time was against her. It was time to be brave and walk through the gates of her childhood home.
There was a part of her that wished her dragon was here to protect her but that hope slipped away, for she knew it was silly to believe such nonsense. Conall could not have found out her true identity.
Clucking her horse forward, she passed beneath the arching entrance of the gatehouse. What has happened here? When she had left, the castle was in tiptop shape inside and out. There were no signs of weathered stones, yet now they were covered in moss and lichen. Whereas the bridge leading to the gatehouse was once strong, cracks had broken through the foundation, weakening the structure.
As she trotted her mare across the bridge, her heart dropped. The north tower, once a powerful stronghold, lay in ruins as if it had been attacked.
Before she came to a halt, she was greeted by a stable hand. Effie observed the castle, confused, as she dismounted. The hand took her horse, walking it to the stable.
“Good eve, Mistress Maxwell!”
Maxwell? She almost didn’t recognize her auld name. She hadn’t been called a Maxwell in so long that it had become foreign to her. It hadn’t dawned on her that everyone here knew her as Effie Maxwell.
A man she recognized all too well came into view. “Sir Neil, ’tis good to see ye.” Effie greeted him with a warm smile. Not only had the knight been close to her father and a trusted friend, he was clan chieftain and commander of the Maxwell war band. “Where’s father?”
The Highlander fell grim. “’Tis best ye rest and eat. I’ll escort ye to yer chambers.”
Effie found his behavior a wee bit odd to say the least, but agreed with the knight’s orders anyway. Following Neil up the stairs to the gatehouse tower where her bedchamber awaited, she had to admit, a bath, some food, and a bed sounded like heaven.
HIGHLAND STORM
CHAPTER SIX
The frigid chill of winter bit through Effie’s bedchamber as she awoke to a shiver. Pulling the furs around her neck she snuggled deeper into her bed, not wanting to get up. Soon after last eve’s bath, she meant to take a short rest, then meet her father for the last meal, but her body had succumbed to sleep.
The door groaned open and she could hear light scampering of feet brushing the stone floors.
“Conall!” Effie quickly sat up in bed.
“Nay, my lady. ’Tis me, Maggie.” The chambermaid busied herself stacking wood next to the hearth.
Effie plopped back down into the bed disappointed that her visitor wasn’t Conall. She must have been dreaming. Aye, a beautiful dream.
“Good morn, my lady,” greeted the maid.
Effie stretched her arms high over her head. “Good morn.” She yawned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so soundly.
Effie took in the view of her childhood chamber; nothing had changed much. It was a spacious room with colorful rugs placed neatly on the floor, and matching tapestries hung proudly on the walls. One tapestry stood out from the rest, one she was happy to see still hanging. As her mother had lain in bed dying of fever, Effie had made a beautiful embroidery of a wee girl holding her mother’s hand as angels looked down upon them from the heavens above. After it was finished, Effie had placed the tapestry over her mother’s body. She believed the angels would protect her as her mother slipped in and out of consciousness. Effie closed her eyes, not wanting to cry. I miss ye, ma.
When her eyes opened, a white sheet covering an oddly shaped object lying on a chair, came into view. Effie flung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Wrapping the fur around her shivering body, she walked over to the object and pulled the sheet off.
The gold shined anew, the strings were tight, and the embedded Celtic knot work was still unforgettable. It was her harp. Running her hand over the strings, her fingers itched to play.
Melody, she had named her harp. When life was rough, and it had been, Effie would lose herself behind the harp, playing Melody as if it was second nature to her. It was an escape she often took to bring her clarity.
“I have a fresh gown and shoes for ye.” The chambermaid brought the dress over to her.
“I thank ye kindly.” Effie took the green woolen dress from the lass; it was one of her favorites.
“Will ye be needing help?” The maid stood by, eager to please.
“Nay, I shall be fine.”
The bashful maid never made eye contact with her, always peering down to the ground. Effie couldn’t stop thinking that perhaps Tavish had something to do with Maggie being so timid. She was young and cute, a perfect victim for her brother to sink his teeth into.
“Maggie, I would like for ye to be my personal chambermaid from now on.”
Maggie’s eyes grew large and she nodded her head.
“And I want ye to be honest with me. If anyone tries to hurt ye, ye come and tell me. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“Good.” Effie smiled.
As Maggie straightened the sheets on the bed, Effie began to dress quickly. Even with the hearth’s blazing flames, the chamber pricked with cold.
Sitting down behind her dressing table, brushing through her unruly red curls, she grew curious and full of dread at the same time. After years of living with the guilt of never saying goodbye to her da, she knew it wouldn’t be an easy task to ask for his forgiveness. She needed to face the fact that there could be a possibility her father might not want her back, for it must have hurt him terribly the way she had left. However, being one beating away from death, she had no choice but to leave. Though he must want something; he had sent for her with urgency.
Being as though she was righting the wrongs in her life, Effie had to come clean with Conall as well. He deserved to know the truth about the woman he was about to marry before they wed. She was ready to start anew with her father and Conall, and this gave her hope for the future. If all else failed she supposed she could settle as the blacksmith’s wife. And ye be pulling the wool over yer eyes, Effie.
It seemed like she had a lot of explaining to do and little time to do it in. Hopefully when the dust settled and the air cleared, Conall would still want to marry her.
As Effie finished her last comb through, she was in too much of a hurry to plait her hai
r, so pulling it back and wrapping a strap of leather around the mess of curls would have to do. She stood up and instantly the room spun and her stomach rolled. Bracing herself with a hand on the back of the chair, she took slow and easy breaths. Either her nerves were getting the best of her or it was hunger that was causing her to feel ill, she thought. More than likely she needed food.
“Are ye alright?” Maggie called out as she rushed over to her.
“Aye, I stood up too fast, ’tis all.” Effie wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled at the maid. “I’m a wee bit hungry.”
~~~~~
The great hall was humming with clan Maxwell’s elite. Faces had changed in the past five years, Effie thought as she looked round the courtyard for her father. Even though the townsfolk recognized her as they glanced knowingly at her in passing, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember one of them.
No matter how much she had changed, the fact remained that she was the laird’s daughter, the heart of clan Maxwell. Of course people would notice her. But what struck her as odd was the pity in their glances and stares. It was as if someone close to her had died. If she was lucky, they were mourning Tavish. Aye, but she knew better than to rely on luck. Mayhap she should find Neil; he had to know what was going on.
Trepidation threatened to take over as she stood on tiptoes overlooking the great hall. A strong hand gripped her arm from behind. Oh for the love of saints. She blew out a breath of relief, it had to be da.
She turned around. Her eyes widened, her heart raced, and every torturous memory rushed her and slammed into her like a bolt of lightning. Even though she was strong, the house of horrors prevailed in weakening her, propelling her back to a time where mental and physical abuse were no strangers. She felt as if she was that little, broken-down child she’d been five years ago. “Tavish.” Her voice shook.
He hadn’t changed a bit. Still tall and slender with the same evil twinkle in his eyes. Charm had been his virtue, she supposed it was the only way he could manipulate people, though she found it to be disgusting.
“’Tis good to see ye sister. Five years is a long time to be away.” He smiled and hugged her.
Lying arse! He was as happy to see her as a thief was happy to see a pillory. His repulsive grasp nauseated her to the point she felt the bile rise in the back of her throat. “Where’s father?”
Tavish broke their not so loving embrace. “Have ye eaten?”
Effie shook her head no. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her where her father was?
“Here let’s sit and eat.” He motioned over to a table where a man sat eagerly spooning porridge into his mouth. “I have someone I want ye to meet.”
Effie knew the only way to survive was to stay strong. So she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She was not the same person she had been five years ago. Show no fear, she reminded herself. No one can hurt you now.
The man at the table came clearer as they approached. He peered up from his trencher of food and smiled. Aye, how could anyone forget Sir Henry, Baron of Lancaster and younger brother of Sir Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, one of England’s wealthiest and most powerful families? Even though they had never been formally introduced, his reputation had been spread far and wide.
A fine, vigorous English knight, he’d conquered and seized several borderland castles all in the name of the late King Edward I. An honorable knight for a Sassenach, she supposed.
As an addition to his power, he wasn’t bad on the eyes as well; strong jawline, white straight teeth, short black hair, and light brown eyes, indeed he was quite handsome. When he stood to bow his greeting he must have been over six feet tall. “Good morn, Mistress Maxwell, ’tis good to make your acquaintance.” Another asset to add, chivalry.
“Effie, this is Sir Henry of Lancaster,” Tavish introduced.
Effie bowed her head. ”Good morn.”
Sir Henry scooted his trencher over and motioned for Effie to sit. “Please, sit.”
Effie accepted his offer, yet something seemed off-kilter here. Why was a high-ranked English knight here at Caerlaverock? The north tower was in ruin, no one seemed to want to tell her where her father was, and the oddity of the folks’ behavior around her was plain alarming.
Tavish sat across from his sister, giving her a trencher of the provisions. Blood pudding, porridge, and hot fresh bread had been the morning’s morsels of delight and Effie shouldn’t have been happier to finally have food in her belly, yet the smell turned her stomach ill. She really needed to get her nerves under control.
Placing a piece of bread in her mouth she asked, “Will father be joining us?”
Tavish bowed his head down and Sir Henry placed his hand on top of hers. “Tavish, There’s a lot of strange behavior here. If ye know something, please I beg ye, tell me,” Effie said.
“Effie, there has been an attack on Castle Caerlaverock and on Clan Maxwell. The Douglas’s have waged war upon us and tried to seize the north tower. But,” he nodded to Sir Henry, “Sir Henry and his English garrison came to our aid.”
Effie must have looked like hunted game about to meet its death. Her heartbeat raced and pounded in her ears. Shocked, to say the least, she couldn’t form the words she wanted to say. Clan Douglas had attacked her home, but why? It had to be a mistake.
Tavish continued, “Unfortunately, father was killed by their commander.”
Devastated, she covered her mouth to hold back her sobs. Nay, this could not be true; it had to be a nightmare. This was the moment when she would wake and everything would be back to normal, she told herself.
Sir Henry turned to face Effie and lightly squeezed her hand. “If it gives you any comfort, we have the man who killed your father contained in the dungeon.”
“Aye,” Tavish reassured her, “Most of their men were slaughtered and those who were not fled back to Angus with their tails tucked.”
Effie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clan Douglas had attacked her home and killed her father. That’s why she had been given sorrowful glances. Nay, she shook her head, there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. A Douglas would not attack her father. The Maxwells were their allies, and they owed fealty to King Robert. Her father supported the crown with honor.
In order to believe any of this she had to see this so-called man who had murdered her father.
Effie straightened and pulled herself together before speaking her request. “I want to see the man who killed father.”
~~~~~
The smell of dank earth, urine, and blood assaulted Conall’s senses as he began to regain consciousness. He felt from deep within him his dragon weakly stirring trying to heal himself. Thumping beats pulsed through his head and by the way his chest ached he knew at least two ribs had been broken. Cowards! Holding a man down to be beaten was in no matter a fair fight. Then again clan Maxwell had shown their true colors; back-biting bastards!
Swallowing past the dryness, the foul taste of dirt and iron made his stomach lurch. God help those who did this to him. When he got out of here the whole damn clan would pay, that was certain. Conall curled up on his side as he coughed up blood. “Shite,” he groaned.
“Aboot time ye got up.” Conall felt a boot kick his leg.
The mere knowledge that he wasn’t alone made Conall snap out of it at once. “Who,” he coughed, “are ye and where am I?”
The lad laughed. “Ye be in Hell, me friend.”
Conall opened his eyes and saw a young lad of what he thought to be at least twenty, sitting next to him with his back propped up against the wall.
“Me name is Caden,” the lad replied.
Slowly so as not to disturb his already ailing gut, Conall sat up holding his ribs and that was when he noticed the blood seeping through his tunic. He had been stabbed. “How long have I been here?”
“Not as long as some of us. If me guess is right, I’d say three days according to the daylight shining through that crack.” Caden pointed to a fissure in the wall.<
br />
The dungeon was scarcely lit by torches just outside the small iron-barred cell, casting eerie shadows to flicker down the corridor. The sounds of the holding chamber came alive with groans of the dying and the clanging of rusted chains banged together. Pleas for mercy were heard loud and clear that one more day in this shithole would be their last.
Coughing up blood, Conall spat, clearing his throat. “So Caden, why are ye here?”
Caden stilled and turned grim. “I’m here because of who I am.”
“And just who be ye?”
Breaking their conversation, as if all of his senses burst at once, he could feel her. As Caden rambled on, skirting around the question, Conall shushed him. Gently he got to his feet and walked to the iron bars, straining to hear a voice. Closing his eyes, he took in a long, deep breath, smelling her sweet honey scent. Aye, Effie was here but why and most importantly, how?
Joined with Effie’s voice were heavy footsteps and deep voices; she wasn’t alone. By all that was mighty if anyone had hurt Effie he would gut them where they stood. The more panicked he became, the more his dragon awakened. He paced the front of the cell as the voice drew closer. How did those bastards find her? He swiped a shaking hand through his hair.
The doors to the dungeon opened with a protesting moan. Conall stopped abruptly as shadows drew near. The adrenaline rushed through his veins like the tide running back into the sea at the thought of someone hurting Effie. If one hair on her pretty little head was misplaced--- his dragon roared to life, begging to be unleashed. Even weakened, his dragon could raise one hell of a tempestuous storm. If Conall didn’t calm his backside down right now, the dragon would prevail.
Tall, Dark, and Medieval Page 6
