by Reece Butler
“You will divorce your husband.”
“I do not choose to divorce Cormac MacDougal,” she said in little more than a whisper.
“You do not choose?” he bellowed. He swaggered over to the table, swept up the wine, and slugged half of it back. From the stench of him he’d already been drinking.
“You will divorce him. If you don’t I will keep you here until that babe is born, then I will kill it.”
“My babe is innocent!”
“You have a choice.” He held out his hand, thumb up. He tilted it to the left. “A bairn?” He tilted it the other way, as if flipping a coin. “Or a husband? Mind, once you get rid of one husband, you’ll get another.” He posed as if for a painting. “Me.”
“If I agree to divorce what will you do with my babe?”
“If you do all you’re told, I will send the whelp back to its father.”
“Alive and unharmed!”
He lifted the wine, holding it as he contemplated. “If you please me he will get the babe in one piece. Unharmed,” he added, snarling the word before slugging back the rest of the wine. “Come,” he said, beckoning. “Stand and show me your body.”
She shook her head.
“If you dinna cooperate your babe willna make it to his father alive.”
She slowly got to her feet, trembling. She did not want his eyes on her naked body. Worse would be his hands. He’d swallowed the poison. How long would it take to have an effect? Or, with all else he’d drunk, would it even work? She brought her hands to the top of her gown. His thick tongue licked ugly lips. He wavered, blinking, then caught himself.
“Mayhaps it would’ve been better to keep that other bottle for later,” he said, trying to focus. “Dinna fash. I willna touch you tonight. I’ve got sommat far sweeter, as yet untouched.”
His eyes flicked sideways, toward the hidden room. He must have stuck someone in there. Perhaps even a young girl. The poor thing must be terrified.
She would kill him.
He could not be left free to harm others. If they found her guilty the courts would let her babe be born before she was hanged. That’s all that mattered. Cormac would have an heir for Keiss. He would remarry.
William staggered over to the bed and flopped on it. He hauled himself up on one elbow, blinking as if fighting to keep his eyes open.
“Move where I can see you!”
She dragged her feet but moved to the center of the room. She loosened her bodice. It showed little but hinted at much. She bent over and lifted her skirts, watching him. He licked his lips as she revealed her bare ankles, then calves. She was almost at her knees when he collapsed.
She didn’t move in case he rallied. When he hauled in a snore she almost fell to her knees in relief. She had to find something to tie him with. She’d been afraid to approach the bed earlier, hating to think what might have happened in it. Candlelight showed something shiny at one bedpost. She looked closer, then reached. Chains rattled. He must have chained women in this bed! Her anger soared. She would do the same to him.
It took her a while to tie both his hands. She had to make sure they were tight as she didn’t know how long he’d be out. When he awoke he’d be furious. No, far beyond furious, past raging even.
If he woke again before she sent him to face the devil.
She checked the foot of the bed. No chains, but long ropes sufficed. She had no time to get his boots off, so wrapped the ropes around his ankles a few times. Only then did she approach his body. She checked for weapons first. She removed the dirk in his boot and the knife at his waist. She looked at his braes. Her stomach turned, but she had to expose him so those who found him would know why he’d been killed. She used his knife to cut the ties before hauling them to his knees.
His flaccid cock resembled an ugly pink worm. Wee willy, indeed.
He would die, but she would mark him first. A scraping sound caught her attention. She’d forgotten he’d locked someone in! Leaving the knife at his side she hurried to the stone wall. She’d still been conscious when it had been opened so long ago. She forced herself to remember. He’d thrown her to the floor and kicked her ribs. She’d lain with her head facing the door. He’d opened the wall by touching a wooden panel. She pushed where she thought his hand had been. A small crack opened.
“Is anyone in there?” she asked. “Dinna fear, I’ve tied him to the bed with chains.”
“Thanks be to God! If we push on the door, could ye pull?”
The voice was muffled, but feminine. She managed to open the door enough for a young girl, skinny and wan, to escape. Another effort opened it far enough for a young woman to emerge. She clutched ragged clothes over her bruised body. One eye was swollen shut. Her lip was split, and a gash on her cheek matched the scar he’d given Alana.
“I will kill him,” she said, eying the bed.
“He’s mine,” replied Alana. “I will get my vengeance.”
“Nay.” She shook her head, then winced. “Mary, go help yerself to that food on the table. Not too fast, mind. ’Tis been too long since ye ate. Have some bread, cheese, and ale.”
The little girl rushed over. “Ye are a lady, and yer carrying a bairn,” whispered the woman. “I willna live long. Please, save my wee sister.” She dropped to her knees and clutched Alana’s skirts. “I beg ye, get Mary gone afore his men come for her. He’s promised a reward because they caught ye…” Her eyes flicked to the girl and then back up. “Ye ken, aye?”
If Alana had food in her stomach she would have lost it. William would give this child to be used by his men as a reward for capturing her? If she hadn’t had the potion for the wine… She would see if Biddy the healer wished to move to Keiss. The woman was old and found it hard to walk far. That would not be a problem at Keiss. She could have a small hut in the village and a plot of land to grow what she pleased.
“We’ll all get out,” said Alana, forcing a sense of confidence she didn’t feel.
“Nay, there must be someone left to blame. I’m dyin’. Will ye promise to keep wee Mary? She’s a good girl. Nay strong, but she makes loverly lace. Our granny taught her, and her granny afore that. We have the tatting bits hidden. Mary kens where.”
“You must come too! My husbands will be here soon. They’ll help you.”
She looked up at Alana with eyes far too old for her face. “After he beat me the first time, and used me, he gave me to his men. Six of ’em took turns, again and again. I’m bleeding, inside and out. E’en if I could live, I dinna wish to. ’Tis all for Mary now.”
Alana gently touched the woman’s shoulders, one of the few places that wasn’t bloody and bruised. “She shall be in my own home, raised with my children. May I ask your name?”
“Morag. We had a croft under Laird Sinclair. We kept praying William would die so his brother could return. David’s a good man. Not like the one ye tied to the bed.” She glanced over to Mary and back again. “We was getting wood for the fire when they came. They killed Da, and ye ken what they did to Mam. I cleaned them up afore Mary could see. But they came back and took us, then burned the crops. They are evil men.”
“If the earl dies my husbands will rule until the next Lord Caithness is of age. They are MacDougal bastards, men who had little to eat and no fuel to keep them warm. They ken what our people need.” Alana looked at Mary, slowly nibbling a piece of cheese. “They never had sisters, and will care for your wee Mary like their own daughter. As will I.”
“Take me to the bed, my lady.”
Alana took Morag’s arm. She was clearly in a lot of pain but managed to get to her feet with Alana’s help. They took slow, hesitant steps to the bed. Alana glanced back and saw the dark puddle where Morag had knelt. She closed her eyes to it, knowing the woman did not wish it to be mentioned with her sister there. When Morag looked at William her lips curled in disgust. She picked up the dagger, grabbed his balls, and with one slice emasculated him. Blood spurted. He screamed, high, like a woman. She snarled and stuffed them in his mouth, m
aking him gag.
“Now ye ken what it feels like,” she said in a low growl. “I could kill ye now but ’twould be too kind, so I’ll wait. But before I die ye will go to hell.”
William continued to scream behind his gag. He pulled at the chains, making them clank.
“They’ll hear the chains and the screams, and think ’tis ye,” said Morag.
“Dinna kill him,” begged Alana. “You will have the stain on your soul.”
“Wee Mary, did ye hear that? The lady said I wasna to kill him. When the sheriff asks ye what happened, ye tell them that. His death will be on me alone.” The small girl nodded, her eyes wide. “Best ye leave. There’s a stair hidden there,” said Morag, she said, pointing at the cupboard. “He came in without the door openin’. We could peek through from the stone room.”
“I ken it,” replied Alana. It was a dark hole, yet the only way to escape.
“Then go,” said Morag urgently. “Go now, and take the candle. When ye’re gone I’ll shove this knife in his black heart.”
“What if the guards come?”
“My screams, and his, will make them think he is still here. He barred the door, aye?”
Alana nodded, biting back tears. “God go with you, Morag. You are a brave woman.”
Morag took her little sister’s hand. “Do everything the lady says, Mary,” she told her. “Be a good lass. Remember Mam and Da. Ye ken where the lace bits are hidden, aye?” The little girl nodded, chin quivering. “One day the lady will take ye to find them. Ye’ll grow up proud and strong and show other lassies how to do Gran’s tatting. Now go. Go while ye can.”
Alana hated to leave the brave woman but saw how much blood was puddled at her feet. There was more on the bed, but that came from William.
“If I have a lass, I shall name her after you. For saving my life, and that of this wee one.” Alana put her hand on her belly. Light faded from Morag’s eyes. She nodded.
Alana took the candle and opened the secret door. Sound echoed, dark and dank. Stone walls leading to a black coffin. Her lungs contracted. She shook her head. She couldn’t do this!
A small hand found its way into hers and squeezed.
Alana had no choice. Three lives depended on her. She stiffened her spine.
“Hold onto my skirt with one hand, Mary, and the wall with the other. I’ll hold the candle out as best I can for you. We’ll go slow. The outside of the stair is the widest, so put your feet there if you can.”
Her last sight was Morag, face twisted in rage, lifting the big knife. Alana closed the panel, shutting out the sight, and the light. One feeble candle did little, but it was better than a tomb. One slow step at a time, first Alana, then Mary, they went down. They’d gone twelve steps when they heard a scream.
“That’s your sister killing that bad man,” said Alana to reassure Mary, though she thought it sounded more like Morag.
Silence surrounded them, other than the shuffle of their feet and their fingers against the wall. Down and down, in a tight spiral. It was a long, long way. They finally stood at the bottom, legs and arms trembling with effort, fear, and exhaustion. They held each other until they could both breathe normally. They walked down a long, very narrow passage to a door. She handed the guttering candle to Mary while she worked the lock. She’d just pushed it open a crack when the candle went out. She peeked through the crack. Fog obscured everything.
Unable to stay inside a moment longer, Alana shoved at the door. It had been oiled and opened with little noise. The cold fog swirling around them made sounds seem to come from different directions. If they escaped quickly they might not be discovered. She took Mary’s hand and, expecting any moment to have an arrow in her back, briskly walked away.
“Wife?”
The deep male voice whispered from out of the fog. Her legs almost gave out. Mary grabbed hold of her in terror. It sounded like it could be Cormac, though she’d not heard his voice so strained.
“We’re safe, Mary.” Alana’s voice wobbled in relief. “Are you here to rescue me, husband?”
What sounded like a deep choking sob, or the cry of a wounded animal, came out of the fog. A huge shape appeared, striding toward them. He lifted his arm, waving it past his face. Mary squeaked and hid behind her. Alana realized he’d swiped his eyes with his forearm. Cormac, with tears? Her own eyes watered in relief. She hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on him, knowing deep in her heart he would come.
“Aye, ’tis yer husband.” He stopped a few feet away, haunted eyes flashing all over her. He reached out to touch, then drew back. “Did he harm ye, or the babe?”
“Nay.”
He sagged in relief, dragging a hand over his face again. She did the same.
“So, ye got out afore he got at ye.” He looked toward the castle. His face and whole body went still. He looked as if he wished to kill William with his bare hands, and enjoy it. “We brought a force of men. We’ll rout him out.”
“Nay need. I drugged him, then tied him to the bed. He’s still there.”
“Ye did what?” His eyebrows almost reached his hairline. She shrugged, a small movement that told him he was too late. He scowled. “Could ye nay hold yerself back a wee bit longer so I could prove my worth as yer man by killing him and rescuing ye?”
“Cormac, you should be pleased. Our lady wife got her vengeance.”
James drawled the words from behind her. Mary cried out. Alana knelt and wrapped the terrified child in her arms. Mary’s thin body shook.
“’Tis safe, Mary,” she crooned. “These men are Laird Cormac and James MacDougal of Keiss. They are good men, like your da. They’re here to bring us home. Dinna they look fierce?” The girl’s forehead rubbed her breast as she nodded. “’Tis because they are warriors, and as your laird, will protect you from all evil.”
Mary’s trembling eased a bit. “The big one yelled at ye,” she whispered.
“Aye, Cormac does that, and he makes fierce faces. But he willna harm you. Can I tell you a secret?” That got one blue eye showing. “He yelled because he’s a good man so wanted to save us hisself. He’s havin’ a wee bit of a tantrum as he didna get his way.” She winked, bringing a hint of a smile. “If we thank him and tell him he’s brave, he’ll feel more manly.”
Mary peeked her face out. She trembled again, holding tight to Alana, but still looked up at Cormac. Having heard what Alana had told the lass he was pouting rather than scowling.
“Thank ye,” Mary whispered. “Ye’re a brave mon fer savin’ us.”
Cormac smiled at her. “And ye’re a brave lassie for helping my wife. Who be ye?”
“She’s wee Mary. Her big sister, Morag, says she makes the very best lace. She’s ours, now,” Alana warned him with her expression not to ask. Cormac heard the message. A look of pain flashed over his face. He shook it off and found a smile before he crouched in front of them.
“How do, wee Mary. My brother and I, and the Lady Alana, will care for ye now.” He winked at her. “There I was, all set to save my wife but ye found her for me. May I pretend to save a wee lassie instead, so I’ll feel manly? I’ve got long legs, and ’tis a long way home.”
He held out his arms. He waited, giving her time to come to him. She looked to Alana, who nodded, then went to him. Cormac hugged her back, fierce but gentle. His eyes were jammed shut, and when he opened them they were wet. He gently lifted her in his arms. She looked down at Alana.
“What of the lady?” she whispered to Cormac.
“I’ll bring her home,” said James. “Tell Cormac about your lace.”
“Ye make lace, do ye?” Cormac raised his eyebrows in mock surprise and delight. She nodded shyly. “My fingers be like sausages. I can barely tie a knot. How do ye do it?”
Cormac strode away, keeping Mary’s attention. Alana shuddered, barely able to believe it was over. James stepped close, guarding her back. A group of men appeared out of the fog. She tensed, then recognized them as men from Keiss. One, the leade
r, wore her father’s colors. She slumped. Her father would be told everything. What would he do when he learned she had a hand in William’s death? William had tortured and killed countless women and her father had done nothing to stop him. Would the earl cover up what he’d allowed his nephew to do? Or would he find another, perhaps an innocent, to blame?
* * * *
“I be Dougal of Girnigoe, Lady Alana.”
James stood behind Alana, needing to touch her. He really needed to strip her naked and make sure William had not added as much as a scratch or a bruise to her, but that would have to wait. Dougal was an older man James had known while training at Girnigoe. He bowed to Alana with respect. Dougal would be the one to speak to the earl.
“Is William, Master of Sinclair, dead, my lady?” he asked.
As the Earl of Caithness and the laird of the land Alana's father had the right to accuse, judge, and order punishment, including execution. He could excuse truth to suit his purposes but did not tolerate lies. Alana had learned to answer only what was asked.
“William was alive when Mary and I left his chamber.”
“Ye didna kill him?”
She shook her head. “I did drug him, and tied him to the bed. He had chains and ropes attached to the bedposts. I used them.”
James shared a contemptuous look with Dougal. Anyone who tied a woman down against her will was not a man. It was quite different when she wished it.
“You’ll tell me everything later, ” said Dougal. “For now, explain what happened in his chamber.”
She answered all his questions, from when she was first captured to being found by Cormac. Amazed at her ability to speak calmly of such horrors, James stayed at her back, his arms around her in support and warmth. He wasn't sure who needed it the most.
“If Mary’s sister Morag is alive, do what you can to ease her,” said James when she finished her tale. “If not, bring her home with respect.” His lip curled up. “You can leave William’s body where it is for his own people to claim.”
“When my men arrive I will question Laird Henry Sinclair for the earl,” said Dougal. “You men of Keiss will do what is necessary through this passage. Be gone afore we open William’s chamber.”
