Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Well, then,” Angus said as he looked around at the men and rubbed his hands together as if he anticipated something wonderful was about to happen. “Ye’ve assessed the situation properly, lads.”

  “Wee William!” Angus called out to him.

  Wee William turned toward Angus.

  “What say we get that bonny wife of yers back,” Angus said with a devious smile. “I say she’s been on English soil long enough, aye?”

  Wee William stood quietly for a moment before his lips turned upward. His wife was alive, and according to Daniel and David, she was well. He would lay aside his guilt for the time being. There would be time for guilt after he had his wife safely back in Scotland.

  Angus drew Wee William and the other men near as they made plans to rescue Nora and finally seek the retribution that had been long over due for Horace Crawford.

  Nora couldn’t imagine what was taking her husband so long. She had been stuck in the blasted hole for days. David had promised her that William was on his way when he had visited her again last night to replenish her food and water supply. He had reassured her that it would not be long now.

  Nora angrily asked him what his definition of ‘not long’ was. Either he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer her question. Instead, he begged her to remain steadfast and strong. It won’t be long.

  When David had first appeared he had lifted her spirits immeasurably. She had danced around her little prison, hummed and sang to herself, and mentally made plans for her return to Gregor. He had informed her that there was a regiment of English soldiers occupying the village. It was far too dangerous for him and his small band of men to rescue her. They simply must wait for their own reinforcements.

  Now she fumed and paced and cursed her husband, along with David and Daniel and everyone else she could think of. She had gone from blissfully ecstatic to sullen and angry. She’d lost the urge to laugh and sing and had returned to bouts of crying and fretting.

  It should not be taking him this long. Foolish man! Does he not understand how upsetting this is? I’d like to see him spend hours stuck in a rotten hole, wearing the same clothes for a fortnight! Sleeping in dirt, having people who used to call you ‘friend’ come now to call you whore and adulteress. I’d like to see how long he would last under these conditions!

  Her anger would soon turn to worry. But what if he can’t come? What if he were injured while trying to find Bree? Something must have happened to him, otherwise, he would have been here by now. What if he’s been gravely wounded? Who is taking care of him? Will he live? And if he dies, how long before word reaches David and Daniel?

  So back and forth she went between outs of anger and worry as the hours stretched on. The longer she remained in the hole, the angrier she grew with herself. It was not like her to fret and worry to the point of vomiting.

  Nay, she was a planner, a thinker, a doer. Aye, she may worry over situations, but she usually managed to come up with a plan or solution. Though it was true that most of her plans failed, at least she could think of something to do.

  Now she was a muddled mess and was unable to think clearly. No matter how hard she tried, she could not think of a way to extricate herself out of her current predicament.

  Though David had brought her more food, she found she could not eat. Food, blended with the worry over her husband and her fate, turned her stomach. Everything tasted foul and smelled like the damp and musty restrains of her prison.

  She mulled over David’s promise that if things were to get ugly they’d not wait for William; they would rescue her without him. Nora snorted indignantly and wondered how much uglier things would need to get before she was rescued from this dark, black place.

  Through a drunken stupor, Horace Crawford assumed the rumbling sound he heard in the distance was thunder. It had been raining steadily for two days so the sound of thunder did not surprise him.

  As he sat at a table in a dark corner of the inn, he smiled as he conjured up the image of rain seeping into Nora’s grave. If starvation and freezing nights didn’t do her in, then mayhap she’d drown. The image brought only a small amount of relief to his frustrated, black soul.

  Horace looked around the empty inn. It was not quite the noon hour and aside from the old innkeeper, he was the only one there. Donald still slept in a room above stairs, having drunk himself stupid the night before. Apparently Donald was angry that they’d left Nigel behind in Scotland and thus, refused to speak to Horace. Donald’s silence didn’t bother him in the least. Horace was too angry with the lot life had given him of late to worry over either of his brothers. As far as he was concerned, they could rot in hell with Nora.

  He had sold everything he owned in order to go to Scotland. Now, he was left with nothing to his name but a few coins and the clothes on his back. No farm, no home, and no treasures.

  When he had first learned that the treasures the Scots had stolen were nothing more than meaningless baubles and trinkets, he had never felt more the fool. It was all for naught. His only comfort came with believing that Nora would die soon.

  He blamed his current predicament on everyone from his father to his stepmother to Aishlinn and Nora. As he drank, he mused how he should have sold Aishlinn to slave traders in the north. He could have earned quite a pretty penny for the stupid girl. And he should have chosen his wife a bit more carefully.

  The thunder in the distance drew nearer. Good, he thought to himself. He lifted his tankard as if to cheer some creature that sat invisible before him. May the grave the stupid bitch sings in be beset with a deluge of rain! He laughed aloud which caused the innkeeper to eye him curiously. Horace cared not what anyone else thought of his outburst.

  He drained the last of his ale and slammed the empty tankard down on the table and ran a hand across his face. One of the first things he had done when he had returned to England was to shave and cut his hair. Every time he caught the reflection of his long hair and bearded face, it reminded him of Scotland and all that had been cruelly stolen from him. He was glad the reminders were gone.

  Horace turned toward the innkeeper to call for another tankard of ale when he noticed the innkeeper had stepped toward the door of the inn. The old man stood in the open doorway, his attention drawn to something up the street. The sound of thunder had grown quite loud. Horace assumed it had been the storm that had drawn the innkeeper’s attention. But when he saw shock on the old man’s face, he realized it had to be more than lightning or thunder that had gained the man’s attention.

  Horace pushed himself away from the table and staggered toward the door. Impatiently he shoved the old man aside and took a step out to find out what the bloody hell was going on. He was at first, confused by what he saw. His current state of inebriation did not help. When it finally dawned on him what was happening, he could feel the dread and fear clear to his fingers and toes.

  Damned bloody Scots!

  They were pounding toward him and leading the pack was the damned giant that all of Scotland seemed to be enamored with. There were hundreds of them.

  It did not take long to surmise why they were here.

  Nora.

  He would kill her before he let the Scots steal her away again.

  Nora was soaked to the bone from the rain that had seeped in through the dirt walls and the wood planks above her. Her teeth chattered incessantly, her fingers were stiff, and her entire body ached. Certainly Daniel and David would take her away soon, for she couldn’t imagine her current conditions improving. Things were ugly and she could not see them getting better any time soon.

  Her dress clung to her skin and the blanket felt as heavy as lead from all the rain. Puddles had formed throughout the small prison. If she had figured correctly, it had been close to a fortnight since she’d last bathed, eaten a good meal or slept in a warm bed. She imagined she smelled and looked as awful as she felt.

  Nora tried walking around the tiny area, bouncing from one foot to another, rubbing her hands over her arms to keep
warm. Her efforts failed miserably, but she knew she had to keep her spirits up. Tonight, she was certain, would be the night that Daniel and David would rescue her from this horrid place. When they came later to give her more food and water, she would demand being removed no matter how many English soldiers might be milling about. She simply could not take any more. She hadn’t the strength or will left to suffer through another day in this dark hellhole.

  She leaned her shoulder against the wall, fearful of sitting on the waterlogged ground. She let her mind drift to visions of warm, dry places where sunshine, clean clothes, and hot meals were abundant. She would take at least two warm baths each and every day. She would have candles lit all through the night even while she slept. Never again would she be in total darkness.

  It was difficult to keep standing or to remain awake. She had to get out of here and soon for she knew she would not survive another night. Death would claim her before the sun rose again on the morrow.

  As she leaned against the wall, she thought she felt the earth begin to shake around her. Terrified that the walls were collapsing in from all the rain, she jumped away and stood in the middle of the room. Water and mud seeped in through her already waterlogged boots as the earth continued to shake and the planks above rattled. Never in her life had she heard or felt thunder of such magnitude. It drew nearer and nearer, vibrating the walls and the earth where she stood on.

  The sound was so tremendous that it drowned out the sound of her hammering heart. There was nowhere to hide from it or from the chunks of dirt that fell all around her. This was it. Her end. Her death. She was going to die under a wall of dirt and mud.

  Just as she resigned herself to her fate, the thunder came to an unexpected halt. She stood with her arms out, bracing herself for the earth to come crashing down around her. Moments later, the planks overhead were lifted and thrown aside and what little light the clouds hadn’t blocked came streaming through the opening.

  Either she had lost her mind or a promise had just been kept.

  Wee William felt his heart plunge to his feet when he saw her there. Standing below him, covered from head to toe in dirt and mud, soaked, her teeth chattering, her hair matted to her head, was his beautiful wife. Seeing Nora alive, albeit in less than perfect condition, nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. She had been put through hell, but at least she was alive.

  When she fell to the floor in a sodden heap, he was tempted to forgo the ladder and jump in after her. But within moments, Rowan was lowering a ladder down into the darkness. The rest of his men had fanned out, acting as a barrier to anyone dumb enough to try to stop Wee William from getting to his wife.

  Just as he was beginning to lower himself down into the hole, a voice called out his name.

  “Wee William!” John called out. “Behind you!”

  Wee William spun around, drawing his sword from its sheath as Rowan did the same. Coming toward them with his own sword drawn was Horace Crawford.

  It was then that Horace noticed John, standing just a few steps away. Horace had reached John before the lad had a chance to draw his own sword. In the blink of an eye, Horace grabbed John around his neck and pulled him into his chest, using the boy as a shield.

  “If you do not want to see this boy die, you will walk away from that hole!” Horace yelled at Wee William and Rowan. Both men froze in place and stared at Horace.

  John struggled, tried loosening the tight grip Horace had around him. His struggle to free himself angered Horace. He tightened his hold. “Settle down you little brat or I’ll kill you before I kill your sister!”

  John quieted himself and began to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth as Wee William had taught him to do on the training fields. One of the lessons Wee William had taught was how to clear your thoughts and steady your breathing in order to assess any situation with a calmer mind.

  “Let the boy go, Crawford,” Wee William said calmly.

  “Nay,” Horace said shaking his head and pressing the sword against John’s chest. “I don’t believe I’ll do that. If you want him to live, you’ll do as I tell you.”

  “I strongly encourage ye to listen to the man, Horace,” Rowan said coolly.

  “Why would I want to listen to a filthy Scot?” Horace barked.

  “It be fer yer own good that I warn ye to heed him. Let the lad go and we might let ye live to see another day,” Rowan took a step sideways.

  Wee William climbed off the ladder and quietly assessed the situation. With a nod of his head, he could order his men to kill Horace. But Horace had his sword pressed against John’s side. He might stab the boy before anyone could kill him. If any harm came to John, he knew Nora would never forgive him.

  Horace Crawford did not see the dagger coming. Naively unaware of the fact that John had been training with the best warriors in all of Scotland, Horace had not been prepared for the boy’s assault.

  As Horace had been arguing with Rowan and making threats he could not possibly keep, John had been stealthily removing the small dagger from his belt. Curving his fingers around the hilt with the blade pointed down, John lifted his hand ever so slightly and thrust back and upward with all his might. The moment John felt the blade tearing through Horace’s skin, he pushed himself forward and headed toward Rowan and Wee William.

  Horace reeled backward, clutching his side, unable to believe that the boy had just stabbed him. The blade had only grazed his skin, though it did begin to bleed considerably. As John scurried toward Rowan, Horace reflexively chased after him as he drew his sword over his head, ready to slice off the boy’s head.

  In the end, it was Horace’s arrogance and over-confidence that killed him. That combined with Wee William’s intimidating speed and strength as he thrust his sword through Horace Crawford’s stomach. Horace spoke no final words as blood gurgled up his throat and out of his mouth.

  The sickening rasp of metal sucking through skin, flesh, and muscle when Wee William pulled his sword from Horace broke the deathly silence that had fallen around them. Horace Crawford slumped to his knees before keeling over, unable even to clutch his hands against his wounds.

  He died alone, just as Aishlinn and Nora had warned him he would.

  John had turned as pale as milk, his eyes wide, staring at the sight of Horace Crawford as he died in a thick pool of blood. John had never seen a man killed before. This was not fun and games, this wasn’t he and his friends playing as warriors fighting against evil. This was real life. Or real death, depending on one’s perspective.

  Wee William wiped Horace’s blood from his sword by running it back and forth across Horace’s legs. One of his men stepped forward and offered him a dirty cloth so that he could more fully clean the blood from it. Wee William waved him away with his hand as he sheathed his sword. He’d worry about cleaning it later. For now, he had to get to his wife.

  As Wee William climbed down the ladder to his wife, Rowan stayed above with John, who continued to stare at Horace’s body.

  Thinking the lad felt remorse or guilt or worry over what had just taken place, Rowan placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Ye did good, lad, with yer dagger. Ye should be verra proud that ye didna let fear get the better of ye. Do no’ worry or feel guilt over the death of Horace Crawford.”

  John had only been half listening to Rowan. It was his statement about feeling guilt that broke his quiet contemplation. John blinked and tore his gaze away from Horace to look Rowan in the eye.

  “I carry no worry or guilt over his death, Rowan. Horace Crawford was a mean son of a whore and the world is a better place without him.”

  John took a deep breath as he knelt down and began to clean his dagger using the water from a sizable puddle. He would lose no more sleep over Horace Crawford.

  The stench of vomit, musty air, and damp earth assaulted Wee William’s senses. Infuriated with the harsh treatment shown his wife, he dropped to his knees beside her and lifted her head gently onto his lap. He ran his hands across
her arms and legs, looking for signs of broken bones or bruises. The relief at finding her in one piece, unharmed save for filthy and soaked clothes, he allowed a sigh of relief to escape through his lips.

  Nora trembled and shook as he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the ladder. Rowan carefully took Nora from Wee William’s arms only so that he could climb freely. John stood anxiously next to Rowan.

  “Is she alive?” John asked with a trembling lip.

  Rowan offered him a slight smile. “Aye, she is lad. Cold and soaked to the bone though, but we’ll remedy that shortly. To yer horse now lad, and be quick about it.”

  John fought back tears of relief before running off to gather his horse.

  Black Richard hurried to the small group, pulling Wee William’s horse along behind him. “How is she?” he asked apprehensively.

  Wee William answered as he mounted his horse. “She fainted when she saw me and has yet to wake,” he answered curtly. He leaned over and took Nora from Rowan’s arms and settled her in on his lap. Black Richard handed up a blanket that Wee William wrapped around his wife.

  As he settled his wife in, he took in his surroundings. His men still encircled the area but none of the villagers had yet made any attempt at stopping them. Nor had anyone stepped forward to tend to Horace. Wee William knew that the serene atmosphere could change in the blink of an eye.

  “Mount up, men. We’ll meet Angus and the others at Castle Firth and then be gone from this stinkin’ place!”

  Wee William tapped his feet against the flanks of his horse urging him forward. Many of his men were still mounted, their senses on full alert, scanning the crowd of villagers that had formed for any sign of trouble. They offered a safe barrier as they parted to let Wee William ride through.