by Mary Wine
Stop it!
Her fingers were on a solid wall. She forced her mind to function past the paralyzing fear.
Nareen had told her she’d need courage, and she had enough to see her way back into the light. She would not die beneath ground.
She slipped her hands along the surface and bent her knees until she was near the ground. The stones gave way to smooth wood, and she shook with relief. It was so overpowering her legs gave out. She landed on her backside in a puddle of silk and musty wool.
But her fingers found the latch. It was bone-chilling cold and slick with something she decided she was better off not identifying, but it was preferable to the costly silk she wore. Smoothing her fingers back and forth along its length, she discovered the direction to move it.
The latch resisted, the damp interior of the passageway having corroded it. She struggled and her breathing increased, but it refused to budge. Courage had seen her to the door, but she needed fate’s blessing to make it to freedom. Or perhaps some clear thinking.
Leaning her back against the wall, she struggled to move the silk skirts aside and raise her foot. She wedged it against the latch, gritting her teeth as the delicate slippers offered her little protection. She drew a deep breath and shoved with all her might. Pain bit into her, threatening to steal the strength from her knee, but she persisted. Her cry echoed along the passageway, the pain becoming white-hot. The latch slid.
She cried out again, this time with joy. She scrambled out of the way so she might pull the door open. Desperation drove her to yank hard on the door, even though one of her fingernails began to tear. It was worth the effort.
The night was dark, but not as pitch-black as the passageway. She crawled out, tearing her skirt as she pushed with her feet to propel her body out of what had felt like a tomb. She collapsed onto the dirt, breathing in the fresh air as though it had been years since she’d smelled it.
Thank you… thank you… thank you…
Clarrisa wasn’t sure who she sent her gratitude to. God? Fate? Nareen? Or perhaps herself for refusing to allow her fear to rule her. It didn’t matter.
She forced herself to stand. She’d come out in the forest a short way from Bronach Tower. She could see the fires along the battlements twinkling like stars.
The woods should have frightened her. There were sounds all around her: the scrabbling of something and the whistle of the wind. But she seemed to have no fear left in her. It felt like it had washed away, leaving her content in a deep sort of way she couldn’t completely understand.
Yet it felt miraculous. Empowering and confidence-filling—as if she could do anything she pleased without the fear of failure.
Now all she need do was decide what she wanted. The question confounded her as she closed the door and began walking.
The only thing she was sure of was that she wanted away from Norris Sutherland. She was a thing to him, a material possession. The knowledge stung even more when she recalled how charming he’d been with Nareen.
Many would call her a fool for longing for Broen instead of taking the chance to be claimed by the heir of an earl.
Well… not Edme.
She smiled as she thought of the woman who had borne Broen. Satisfaction filled her as the lights of Bronach Tower faded. She had no idea how long a walk it was to the village, and she began to shiver.
She heard a horse and somehow decided it was Broen. Maybe she was too cold, or perhaps she’d collapsed in the tunnel and was only dreaming of freedom. People went mad in the Highlands at night. The dark hours were the time when witches and ghosts reigned supreme.
She heard the blood rushing past her ears, and the sound of the horse seemed to keep time with her heart. The rider appeared in front of her, cast in slivers of moonlight that fell in tiny, sparkling drops.
A specter… Broen… She wanted to believe he was both. Just for a moment, one perfect moment, everything was as she wished it. She felt him look at her and watched the way he pulled the stallion to a halt. Recognition rose from someplace deep inside her, someplace still warm.
Yes… Her moment of perfection.
“Broen…”
It was her last word before she slid to the ground, her strength spent. She didn’t notice when her body failed, because she was locked in her moment of joy.
***
“What would ye have of me, woman?” Shaw demanded. “Would ye have me ride up to Laird Chisholms and admit I’ve no idea where me laird is?”
Edme wasn’t impressed with Shaw’s tone. “Ye must do something. Ye’re the head of me son’s retainers!”
Shaw froze, along with a half dozen men near enough to hear what Edme shouted. Several younger lads serving as gillies also heard, and their eyes widened.
Edme realized what she’d said, one hand covering her lips as silence surrounded her.
Shaw recovered first. “Well, I suppose I can understand yer nerve now. But I still do nae know which direction to go looking for me laird and cannae ride out now or risk ruining the tracks he left. We’ll have to wait until sunrise.”
A bell began to ring from atop the gate. “Rider approaching,” the guard cried out.
Shaw climbed to the top of the wall and peered over the battlement. The horse that materialized from the early-morning mist was one he thought he recognized, but a lifetime of Highland fireside tales made him question what his eyes showed him.
“It’s the laird. Lift the gate,” Edme cried.
He was so tense Shaw almost sent his fist into her face because her voice startled him so badly.
“Jesus Christ, woman! What are ye doing on the battlement? Have ye gone daft?”
“Ye’re the one lacking sense if ye cannae see the truth which is right in front of ye,” she accused.
Broen let out a whistle and several more in a prearranged pattern that sent relief through Shaw.
“Lift the gates, lad! I told ye all no’ to worry. Our laird is pure Highlander, and no midnight ride could have an ill effect on him.”
The gate lifted, the chains grinding loudly enough to drown out any further conversation. Shaw took the moment to breathe a sigh of relief, but when he opened his eyes, he was staring at Edme, and the muscles along his neck tightened once more.
The laird’s mother?
***
“Come back to me, lass.”
She smelled him, the scent of his skin. It made her smile, and she snuggled down into the warmth surrounding her.
“Clarrisa…”
She frowned, a pain stabbing through her forehead like a dagger. It grew white-hot, sending a burning pain down her spine. It radiated to every limb, not stopping until even her toes hurt. She didn’t want to wake up, not to the pain. She wanted to die in her perfect moment, safe where nothing else existed.
“Ye need to allow her to rest.”
Edme spoke softly, but Broen growled at her, “I must wake her. She’s hiding in this fever.”
“Ye cannae know such a thing.”
He didn’t know it; he felt it. Just as he’d felt her fear. He clamped his lips shut recalling how easily he’d condemned Faolan. He knew better now. There were ties that made no sense, connections a man couldn’t rationalize or even understand. He stroked Clarrisa’s scarlet cheek, feeling her slipping away from him as surely as he felt the heat of her skin against his skin.
“Come back.”
She muttered something and smiled as her breathing became slower. He heard Edme smother a sob. She reached out and placed a hand on top of his.
“It’s time to summon a priest.”
“I refuse to give up.” He reached for the hilt of the dagger tucked into the top of his boot. “And I refuse to believe Clarrisa would give up.” He reached for one of her braids, clamping his teeth tight as he cut it. The second one met with the same fate as Edme nodded approvingly. She needed cooling, and her hair was only keeping her warm. It was a desperate attempt to interfere with fate, but he’d take it since it was his only sliver
of hope.
Someone rapped softly on the door, and he turned to see a priest entering. Edme covered her mouth but waved the man inside.
It was a damn thin sliver of hope.
***
The night was alive.
Clarrisa rose up, not sure how she’d lain down to begin with. It didn’t matter, though. She felt so light; her feet didn’t even touch the ground. It was a miraculous feeling. Around and around she twirled, until her hair floated away like a cloud, but it didn’t matter because she felt so cool and free.
Nothing mattered at all.
***
“Ye belong to me.”
She jerked, trying to flee, but she was paralyzed. Norris Sutherland was no longer charming, but cold and controlling. His face transformed into her uncle’s as he loomed over her.
“Ye shall do your duty.”
She tried in vain to move again, but her limbs lay useless. Her mouth was parched and too dry to form any words. All she could do was wait helplessly for Norris to take what he would.
No… She wanted more… She wanted her lover…
***
Rain fell down on her, the drops soaking into her dry tongue. She opened her mouth, greedy for more. More water slipped over her face, easing the tightness and carrying away the heat. She wanted to wake but couldn’t find the strength; the task of lifting her eyelids was beyond her. So she drifted off into sleep as the rain receded.
***
“I’ve come for ye, lass!” Argyll’s voice pierced her slumber, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
“No!” she screamed, sitting up and kicking the bedding off her legs. “Get out of my chamber, you letch!” She stumbled across the floor to the table, fumbling to grip the first thing she felt there.
“Get out!” She hurled the pottery bowl toward the mirror, at the laughing face of Argyll. It smashed, flowing onto the floor like melted silver. “And stay away from me!”
Her entire body shook, her knees knocking together. The chamber door slammed into the wall as Broen kicked it open with such strength.
“I dealt with your ghost,” she informed him before he began to chastise her. His face was twisted into an expression of amazement. “Indeed… I did.”
Her throat was raw, and her legs refused to support her. All she could do was look at the floor. She was helpless to stop herself from collapsing. Broen caught her, sweeping her off her feet just as her knees buckled. He clasped her close, his arms quivering—she didn’t understand why.
“What—”
“Shh… Lass, ye’ve been at death’s door for three days…” He laid her down as gently as though she were a babe. He lifted a small cup from the bedside table and placed it to her lips. The water tasted sweet, and she grasped his hands, trying to tip it faster.
“No’ too much, else it will come right back up.”
She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed. Broen took the cup away when Edme spoke, and she opened her eyes to search for it.
“More,” she insisted.
Edme carried a single candle, but that flame was bright enough to make her eyes sting. But that wasn’t the worst. She wrinkled her nose when she realized the stench she smelled was coming from herself.
“Lord… I need a bath…” Mortification gave her the strength to lift one hand and push against Broen. “Go—”
“The stench of hell itself couldn’t move me from yer side, Clarrisa.” There was a tremor in his voice that drew her hand to his face. Several days of beard covered his cheek, and dark shadows hung beneath his eyes. He angled his head so her fingers cupped his jaw completely, his eyes narrowing with pleasure as he gently gripped her forearm to help her maintain the contact.
“’Tis glad I am to see ye defying what everyone expected of ye, lass.” His voice caught, thick with emotion. “Right glad, indeed.”
***
“Do ye think I do nae know ye must have shown her the way out?”
Nareen stiffened, but she didn’t jump. There was no need, for she’d been expecting her brother to confront her.
“I know ye are an intelligent man.”
Kael moved into her chamber and sent the maids scurrying with a snap of his fingers. A quiver did shake her belly, for Kael kept his emotions hidden behind his carefree demeanor most of the time. That snap was like an outburst, a crack in his impermeable shell. He was furious.
“Ye look surprised, Sister.” The door closed with a bang.
“I am. She was but an Englishwoman,” Nareen offered.
“One with royal blood,” Kael snapped. “Ye are nae a simpleton, Sister. If we offend the prince or the king, we could lose everything.”
Nareen flipped her hand through the air, trying to dismiss the importance of the matter. “None will notice her being gone. She was barely here.”
“She was here long enough. The Earl of Sutherland will know ye allowed her to go free, and it’s very possible he’ll assume ye could nae have possibly come up with the idea on yer own.”
Nareen crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that what has yer feathers ruffled? The idea that ye shall share the blame? ’Tis the first time I’ve heard ye worry about gossip.”
“This is nae a children’s game, Nareen,” Kael snapped. “Sutherland could demand ye be lashed.”
“I do nae care.”
He growled, “That stubbornness will nae protect ye when the leather bites into yer tender flesh, nor will it save ye from the fever that so often follows. Ye’ve made it impossible for me to protect ye.”
Shame came at last, and it was brutal. “Och, Kael. I do owe ye an apology, for ye’ve always been a fine brother, but I could nae live with meself. No’ when I saw the way Norris was looking at her. I just could nae stand idle while she suffered the fate I deplore so greatly.”
Kael shook his head, still darkly furious. “Ye insult me, Sister. Gravely so.”
Now she was confused. “I do nae understand ye.”
A ghost of a grin appeared on his lips. “I would never have allowed Norris to take her. I’d have taken her down to the passage meself once I was sure Norris was settled in for the night.”
He turned his back on her, but she flew after him, hooking his arm and spinning him back around to face her.
“Then ye are misplaced to judge me so harshly simply because I found the opportunity to help her first.”
His eyes were glowing with anger. She stared at the heat, mesmerized because she had only seen Kael so close to losing control once before. It was a memory she recoiled from.
“I judge ye, Sister, because it is me place to protect ye and this family.” Duty edged each word. “Never once have I asked ye to suffer any ridiculous rule set down by church or state, unless it was for the continued well-being of our kin.” He moved toward her, pushing her back with the sheer weight of his outrage. “And in case ye are unclear, Sister, I am talking about matters that affect where our winter food will come from or how our people will deal with the snow if they have no homes because another clan burned them in retaliation.”
He froze, drawing in a deep breath. “Ye will leave matters of such importance to me, or at least bring yer ideas to me before acting upon them. Now dress warmly and get into the passageway. Me men are waiting to take ye south to Cousin Ruth.”
“Ye’re sending me away?” For all that she’d often told herself she wouldn’t care if he was displeased with her, it stung fiercely.
“I’m hiding ye, for the guards have spotted Norris heading back this way. No doubt he’s failed to find Clarrisa and is likely to demand ye be punished or taken in her place. But do nae make the mistake of thinking that means he’ll wed ye. He’ll take ye up north and secure ye so his father can demand anything of our father or risk knowing ye suffer for his disobedience. The Sutherlands are earls because they know how to protect their interests. Norris came for Clarrisa, and he will nae return home with naught.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to allow the horror churning in her bell
y to show. “I’ll bear whatever he demands.”
“Ye shall nae.” Each word sliced like a blade. “It is me duty to safeguard ye. Norris will be content with the fact that I sent ye off to an older woman for instruction, or he may have at me, but ye will respect me wishes in this matter.”
“Or what?” She was playing with fire, but part of her wanted to know more about this side of her brother’s personality. He kept it so private that she found herself facing a stranger.
His lips twitched into a grin, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. Instead it was full of promise. Grim, solid promise.
“I’ll have ye bundled like a babe and taken away for yer own good—but I shall be the one facing Norris.”
He left her while she was still stunned into silence. Her temper flared, but so did her shame. It was an odd mixture, one that dug deeply into her heart. She’d been selfish, only focused on appeasing her own feelings without realizing the repercussions that might land on her fellow clansmen. Such were the actions of a child—and she was well past the age of being excused for her tender years. Curse the nature of men.
But not her brother. Kael was correct, and she wasn’t a liar. She began to dress in warm wool clothing and sturdy leather boots. She put a dirk in the top of her boot before she made her way toward the passageway, because traveling was dangerous even in the best of times. She did smile once she was surrounded by darkness, for Cousin Ruth was anything but prim. In fact, she was looking forward to seeing what the woman might teach her now that she was less of a child.
It would certainly be stimulating.
Seven
“Do nae fuss about yer hair,” Edme scolded.
“I’m not.” But Clarrisa didn’t turn away from the mirror. Her hair was chopped away at her shoulders, the ends curling upward. “I was simply amazed you trusted me with another mirror.”
“Oh well, ye were no’ in yer right mind when ye destroyed the last one. There was no reason to punish ye.” Edme was followed by two maids, who laid out a meal on the table. “Besides, we’re all still rejoicing over yer recovery.”
