by L. L. Muir
Only one Percy, Wickham had said. Only one Percy now. And so, by accepting he was also the old Percy, he accepted that he had been one of the Gordon’s lads—mean-spirited enough to snatch up Laird Ross and deliver him into his father’s wicked hands. He could only hope that God would see that he would have turned out differently raised in the home of Quinn and Jules Ross, and perhaps make allowances for it.
There wasn’t enough sackcloth and ashes, however, to make him worthy of wee Emmie’s love now.
The last staircase lay at his feet. He could already smell the rot with a dozen more steps to go. Cinead was there to follow him down, and when he heard that one’s high-pitched sniggering, Percy wondered if he might be about to break his neck the same way Dunc had.
“Dinna fash, Percy. I wouldn’t want ye out of yer misery so quickly, aye? Surely ye’ll want to stretch out yer martyrdom as far as William did. Shall we make a wager? If ye last even one day longer than he, I will let ye go. Twelve days, was it? Ye need only last thirteen. Only it will be more difficult without Betha bringing ye cups of water now and again, to draw things out. Do ye think she knew she did more harm than good?”
Blind Martin Woolsey came forward and fumbled with his keys as he stood before the cell that held William’s remains. Though Percy felt the anguish of his brother’s loss as if it had happened a day ago, he kept his emotions in check.
This cannot be the end of me. It cannot. Betha will help me.
He pushed aside the knowledge that Betha had loved William dearly, and that hadn’t saved him. This was no time to entertain the negative. And as he stepped through the bars, he began naming all the people in the world, or who would be in the world, who loved him. People in addition to Betha, who had given him years of happiness.
Cinead held the last torch as he strode to the bottom of the stairs. He turned back with a well-lit grin on his small face. “Do ye intend to forgive me as well?” He laughed.
“Certainly, brother.” Percy relished the flash of confusion in the wee man’s eyes. “But I think God and Dunc might not be so lenient.”
“Weel, now. Ye shall be the first one able to ask them.” And with that, The Runt worked his way up the stairs, taking the light along with him.
“Martin, ye’re there?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Can ye bring me a blanket, do ye suppose?”
“I dare not, young Percy.”
“T’isn’t for me, mind. I would like it for William.”
“Auch, now. Dinna be saying his name—”
“William, William, William! And I’ll go on saying it until I have something I can wrap him in. If I have to claw up the dirt myself, I will see him buried, even if it is in a dungeon.”
He stopped threatening so he could listen to the sound of a blind man hurrying away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
So.
He was finally on the inside of one of his father’s cells with the gate locked. If Percy were honest, he would admit that he’d always feared ending up there, the same as William. After all, how could anyone with a conscience allow The Gordon to treat others so cruelly?
Of course there were plenty of people with consciences throughout the settlement, but few with the liberty to speak up and fight back as William had. Which led to the question—before Percy drew his last breath, would he have a chance to speak out against injustice to anyone besides Martin Woolsey?
He’d assumed he could make a difference if he came back, but that wouldn’t be possible now. Even if he was released and given a chance to prove himself loyal, Cinead would be waiting for the next opportunity to eliminate him. And if he watched too closely, he’d catch Percy trying to steal Betha away, and his return will have been in vain.
He had to hold onto that hope, though. He’d promised. He had to keep it tucked inside. Never give it up. But oh, how hard it was to do it.
Footsteps whispered on the dusty steps. Martin said nothing as a torch descended into their dark world. A woman’s skirts. It was Betha! And she’d brought a blanket.
The lass paused to pass her torch to Martin, then covered her mouth and nose with her free hand as she moved toward the cells.
“Sister!” He reached toward her, through the bars.
“Percy! Oh, Percy,” she cried. “I thought ye were well away from here. I thought I’d never see ye again, and forgive me, but I was glad of it.”
“How could I leave ye behind, Betha? Truly.”
She was not pleased. “Leave me behind? Of course ye should leave me behind. I am in no danger here. Not as ye are. Father would never harm me more than a slap now and then. I have too much value. One day I will wed a laird.”
He dreaded pointing out the obvious, but he needed to ken if she was in her right mind.
“Ye ken Montgomery Ross is dead, aye?” At least everyone had been led to believe it.
Her brow lowered like a storm. “He died in our very hall, Percy. Do ye think I be daft, then?”
“I needed to be certain. No offense meant, sister.”
She nodded, accepting his half-apology. “But Montgomery Ross is not the only laird in Scotland wanting a wife and an alliance, aye? One day, I will have another clan, a home where I will wield a bit of power myself. Whether a father or a brother arranges it, I will have it.”
“Or…”
She was instantly suspicious. “Or what?”
“Or ye could come away with me. I came back to take ye out of this place, to find ye a good home, an agreeable home. There are many a happy place in the world, Betha. I’ve seen it for myself.”
She snorted. “Auch, aye? In the whole sennight ye’ve been away? The whole world, ye say.”
“I didnae say I’d been around the whole world, but I’ve learned about a great many places, and met people who do not live in this misery.”
Betha’s lips pinched while she pushed the blanket through the bars. “Dinnae waste this on William. Keep yerself warm, and when ye hear anyone coming, be sure to push it into the next cell. ‘Tis what… ‘Tis what William did.”
She backed away, but didn’t leave. Her face darkened to dusky rose and her gaze lowered. “Cinead sends a message.”
Well, at least she’d had the decency to blush, for dealing with the man who was obviously Percy’s enemy.
“Tell me.”
“He said he would likely set ye free if ye deny ye’re Father’s get. Ye see, then ye’d be no threat to him.” She shrugged, but wouldn’t look him in the eye. “He suggests ye tell Father…yer mother confessed she was already with child when they wed.”
Percy gasped. “And what good would I be then? Family is all.” He would never dishonor William’s memory by denying they were brothers. Never. And though she might think it such an easy betrayal, he’d never deny her either.
Betha bit her lip and turned away.
He grabbed the bars. “Sister! Ye’re my only hope. Take the key from Martin and let me out. We can be away from this place before morning!”
Her head began to shake before he’d even finished. “Nay, Percy. My best chance is to stay and wait to be used in an alliance.” She finally looked at him. “My best chance, Percy. I have to think of myself, now. Please understand.” She backed toward the steps. “I’m not brave like ye. I would weep and wail and go mad if I were left down here in the dark, to starve and die. And if I give ye aid, Father will lock me up no question.”
Percy’s only consolation, as his sister fled from the dungeon, was that there were tears on her cheeks as she’d turned away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Percy wondered how far Betha would get before she regretted not taking the torch along with her. Blind Martin sat at attention, holding the light aloft. Either he didn’t realize the lass had gone, or he was using the flame for a bit of warmth.
As it happened, he’d been holding it for someone else altogether.
Out of the shadows moved a hulking form with shoulders twice the width of a normal man. His father.
Percy would have panicked, worried what the man might have heard, but what was the point? There was naught worse his father could do to him than take his life. Quickly or drawn out, it made no difference. He had nothing to fear anymore.
He stood his ground and stretched to his full height. By hell, the man would see how he’d grown. He would see the potential he was sacrificing in favor of a meaner, miniature-hearted heir. And as The Gordon drew near, Percy realized they might be of a height already.
“Ye’ve grown,” the other man said. “When ye’re not skulking about, ye’re a tall one. I’ll give ye that.”
Percy spit through the bars. “Give me nothing.”
The man hissed. His arm swung wide and the cat o’ nine he often carried struck the bars and made them ring. But strangely enough, he winced as if he regretted the sound.
He stepped closer. “Give ye nothing? Would ye not welcome a reprieve, if I offered it?”
“Welcome it, aye. But beg for it? Never. Ye ken well enough that I did not kill Duncan. And yet ye put me here?” His arm rose to point at William, but he hadn’t meant to, so he dropped it again.
His father closed one eye and frowned with the other. “Ye’re prouder, of a sudden. And ye would not deny ye’re my son, even if it means Cinead will see ye dead?” He shook his head. “Are ye daft as ye thought yer sister to be? Is that it? Ye’ve spent time on Ross land and now ye’ve been touched by their madness?”
Percy laughed when he realized how close his father was to the mark. But he shook his head in the end. “I am not daft. I am, and always have been, the eighth son of the Chieftain of Clan Gordon, in the Year of Our Lord, fourteen hundred ninety-six.” He lifted his chin and dared the man to deny it. “Brother to William.”
His father sucked in a breath and fairly choked on the smell. His gaze darted to William’s bones and back again, but with a blank face, there was no telling what he was thinking. Even so, Percy had to give him credit. He did not run away in search of cleaner air to breathe.
“Ye were named after me. Did yer mother ever tell ye that?”
Percy nodded. “‘Tis why I was called Young Percy. Yet another reason for Cinead to see me as a threat.”
“I cared for yer mother, though I’ll never own it.”
“Indeed?” He all but laughed.
His father shrugged his big shoulders. “As much as a man like me could care. But then, after she was gone, I couldnae bear to have ye looking at me with her eyes. Seeing me for what I am.” He strode deeper into the shadows, turned on his heel, and came back again. “I’ve done ye no favors in this life, but there is no sense trying to make ye into a leader here. Ye’re too soft, and…” He peered between the bars and straight into Percy’s eyes. “Yer mother’s look is back in yer eyes.”
The man growled and headed for the steps. Martin jumped to his feet and the torchlight wobbled. Instead of leaving, however, The Gordon came back, key in hand.
Percy stared in disbelief as his father turned the lock and opened the gate. “I will do this one thing for ye. I have made certain a blind eye is turned as ye leave this place, and I’ve ordered yer brothers to gather in the hall, so none will stop ye. Now that Cinead has had a taste of family blood, I think I will not be long for this world, and I’ll not stomach another regret like William in the meantime.”
Percy moved to the opening, half-expecting the gate to slam in his face. “Ye could stop Cinead. Lock him up. Take away his power.”
Father shook his head. “Ross’ prediction may come true. Or mayhap his words only made yer brother believe it. Either way, Clan Gordon will have a fearless, merciless leader, or it will have a canny one, no matter which brother wins out. This is why it will remain one of the most powerful clans in Scotland.”
Percy knew differently. At least this group of Gordons wouldn’t last. He’d seen the dark walls of Gordon Keep in ruins with nary a tour guide to tell the tale. But he wouldn’t crush the only dream his father seemed to have.
He stepped out of the cell, then remembered William and dashed back inside, to collect the bones in the blanket.
“What do ye… There is no time!”
Percy carefully extracted the hand bones from the wall shackles, stacked his brother in a small pile on the blanket, and tied it into a sack. “I will be taking William with me. I’ll bury him in the Highlands and bless him myself if need be.”
There was commotion on the stairs, but even if it meant he’d wasted precious time, he couldn’t have left William behind.
Meldrum hurried into the light, spared Percy only a glance, then pulled his father aside to whisper. When he was done, Father nodded and shooed him away before moving to the open gate. “Aye. Take him and go. And Percy…”
“Aye?”
“Cinead is speaking with the tanner even now, about a bribe you gave him?”
“Oh?”
“And a certain lass ye fancy…”
His warning was clear. Cinead would be looking for Shona Marr if only to use against him.
“Thank ye, Father.”
They exchanged the first friendly gaze Percy ever remembered.
He took it and ran.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Percy dared not stop to rest in the night. Even if Cinead did not yet know that he’d escaped, his brother could have a small army headed for the wee house in the hills. In fact, he’d been so fearful about what The Runt might do to her, he’d stolen a horse, hoping to reach her first.
If he were lucky, no one would be certain where Shona Marr lived. After all, she’d gotten along on her own for years, and a pretty lass like her couldn’t have chased away every man who would come knocking on her door, if the whereabouts of that door were common knowledge.
What worried him most was the possibility that Auley, the tanner, had such good hearing he might have learned the directions to her house just by listening to the conversation on the road.
Percy couldn’t remember now. Had they been standing fifty feet away from the wagon? Or farther?
Dear God, let it have been farther.
Even in the dark, he found the glen she’d spoken of. A great stone, twenty feet high at its peak, stuck out of the ground and pointed toward the stars. Surely, there could not be two such stones along the same road.
He urged his horse for a mile along a small burn that only filled its banks by half. The summer runoff had waned. Autumn would be coming soon.
Next, he found the Kissing Craigs—two hillsides that had crashed together at the highest point, leaving a sharp triangle of space large enough for a horse to ride through. But that was not the way.
As Shona had instructed, he doubled back, rising above his previous path by veering to the right and riding along the ridge. When that path moved around the front of a hill, he turned sharply to the right and traveled the path behind it.
The trail grew too narrow to trust his horse in the dark, so he climbed down and took the lead. Off to his right would be another short canyon with Shona’s home at the end, but in the darkness, he might miss it, especially when he had to watch where he stepped.
His horse whinnied nervously. It was his only warning before a pair of dark figures appeared in his path. He held tight to the reins and tried to make out the faces, hoping they belonged to clansmen he could reason with.
But alas, they were women. And familiar ones at that.
“Wheesht, Percy Gordon. Ye must stop here. Yer brother’s men hide inside the wee house. Come away with us, and quickly.”
“Nay.” He whispered. “I must help Shona!”
His hiss was met with another. “Easy, lad. We have her. Those men wait for her return, but not for long. We must flee before the sun rises and points them our way.”
The trail was just wide enough to turn his horse. One sister went ahead on foot while the other insisted on bringing up the rear with their single horse in tow. When they reached the triangle, below the Kissing Craigs, they went left, beneath the rocks, instead of
the way he’d come.
“This is the shortest route,” one of the sisters assured him.
He would have followed no one else so blindly nor for so long, without proof they had Shona safely hidden. But these women had been in Castle Ross, in the room below the tomb, helping Jules and Quinn. That alone gave him enough faith to follow them a bit further, though he was anxious to reach the lass and see that she was safe.
“Trust us,” said the sister behind him. “Shona Marr is unharmed and waiting in a safe place.”
“Why are ye doing this? How did ye ken she was in danger?”
“We’ve been watching over ye, laddie. For Wickham’s sake.”
“Anything for family,” called her sister.
But that didn’t explain how they knew to rescue the lass. Unless…
Unless the twins were Muirs.
~ ~ ~
Percy and the strange sisters had been riding for nearly a half hour when they finally veered right off the path and rode toward the dark shadow of a craggy hillside. He dismounted when they did, one sister hooted like an owl, then they waited.
From the left came a rustling of leaves. Shona Marr emerged from the shadows leading a horse. Her smile said she didn’t hold it against him that she’d been chased from her home. It also said she hadn’t been shivering in fear.
“Have ye been waiting alone, then, brave lass?”
“Auch, away with ye now. Haven’t I lived alone these past years? What good would it be to whimper?”
He couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and take her hand, then tug her closer. “I am sore sorry, Shona. The Runt no doubt hoped to use ye to drive me mad. And even though I’ve escaped from the dungeon, I dare not guess how soon it would be safe for ye to return home.”
She shrugged and donned a brave face. “Not much to leave behind. The sisters here gave me a moment to gather a few things. But I’ll not greet over the rest.”
He turned to one of their rescuers. “Where now? I dare not rest until there is more of Scotland between myself and my brothers, aye?”
