Once Upon A Haunted Castle: A Celtic Romance Anthology

by Eliza Knight

  “He ordered her to marry a man of his choosing and she refused! Stood right in front of him and the rest of them and refused.” Brodie crossed his arms over his massive chest in a mocking action, showing how the girl had done it. “But, Robbie,” he nodded at the elder who’d spoken as Alex’s gut twisted, “the lass yet lives.” Brodie shrugged. “Well, she did when I left there two days ago. Whipped bloody for her refusal, but bowing and scraping now.”

  Dear God in Heaven, what had happened? When he had left her, he’d promised to come back and claim her. He just needed to make his case to his own father and gain his support so they could be together. His father had not been at Knock though. Alex discovered that he had been on his own journey and only arrived back this morn. And now, this?

  “She’s worth more as a marriage boon than a dead one,” someone else called out.

  “A ruthless bastard he may be,” his father said. “But he kens her value. He made his point and she learned it, fear not.”

  A few nods and words from all of those present over The MacLeod’s ruthlessness, his iron rule and his understanding of the value of his daughter followed as Alex struggled to keep his tongue behind his teeth.

  He needed a plan and he needed it now. As usual, no one noticed as he left his father and the rest while Brodie was finishing his report of the recent activities at Dunvegan and on the MacLeod lands.

  Or so he thought.

  “What did you do?” Connor asked, coming up behind him and grabbing his shoulder to slow him down. Alex crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged.

  “I did nothing.” Connor shook his head as one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

  “Nothing is it? Someone who does not ken you might believe it, but I ken you, Brother. I’ve been with you when you get on the wrong side of trouble.” Connor’s gaze narrowed. His brother was tenacious when something teased his curiosity. “Then why did you go as pale as Granny’s skin when Brodie talked about the lass?”

  Alex considered his options. His brother could not keep anything secret. Connor had never been able to stay silent in his whole life and Alex had been punished many, many times because of his older brother’s loose tongue. Still, he could use an ally in whatever he needed to do to get to Isabel and his brother might be one.

  “I ken the MacLeod lass.”

  Other than a narrowing of his gaze, Alex could not tell Connor’s reaction to his words. His older sibling was not stupid, so Alex knew he would understand it soon. A swift indrawn breath told Alex the moment Connor had.

  “Ken?” Connor’s gaze grew both knowing and intense. “In the biblical sense or in the ‘you passed her in the village and greeted her’ way?” When Alex did not reply right away, Connor shook his head and laughed. “Good Christ! You have a way of walking into piles of shite, do you not, Brother?”

  “I must. . . I have to. . .,” he began without truly knowing how much to reveal. His brother held up his hand and shook his head.

  “First, tell me nothing,” Connor advised. “Then, if Father asks me about your absence or your actions or your plans, I will be able to truthfully answer that I knew not of them. Unless you want him to ken?”

  When had his brother realized his failing? Alex could not remember Connor’s acknowledgement of his weakness in the past, but he was glad of it at this moment.

  “If you had not left the hall when you did, you would have heard Father order Brodie back to Dunvegan to discover who The MacLeod betroths her to. There has been speculation for some time over which clan he will ally himself with using her hand in marriage.”

  “Who does Father think it will be?” Alex asked. He needed to ken who his enemies would be when he claimed Isabel.

  “There was a half-hearted attempt to put me forward some months ago. Talk of a formal peace between us and such,” Connor explained. Brother or no, he could feel the anger build at the thought of such a match. Connor waved him off. “Could be the MacKinnons or even the Macleans of Mull.”

  He was already so late in returning to her. He had promised her that he would speak to his father, gain his support and then bring her home. Never expecting The MacLeod to move so swiftly towards a betrothal with someone else, he had waited for his father to return. And knowing Isabel as he did, he understood that she would not quietly acquiesce to her father’s demands, not even to gain time for Alex to act.

  Sometimes he wished she could be a meek lass. He smiled then, remembering all the reasons he was pleased she was not so. If she had been, they would never have met and never would have loved. They would never have. . . .

  “Alex!” His name shouted from down the corridor caught his attention and he turned as Brodie rushed towards him and Connor. “I must speak wi’ ye.”

  “And I must leave,” Connor said. With a nod, his brother turned and left quickly, passing Brodie without another word.

  Alex motioned to Brodie to follow him outside. Once in the yard, he led the man to a place away from the keep and closer to the stables. Assured that no one was close enough to overhear their words, Alex nodded.

  “A lass approached me outside Dunvegan.”

  “Was it The MacLeod’s daughter?” he asked. Was she even well enough after such a punishment?

  “Nay. That one goes nowhere without several servants and a guard behind her now.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye, now. Once she rose from her bed and begged her father’s pardon again-,”

  “Again?” Alex grabbed Brodie’s cloak and pulled him closer. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

  “Well, he locked the lass away for several days when she refused him. When she agreed to beg his pardon, he had her whipped and then let her agree to obey him.”

  The bile rose in his gut and he sickened at the thought that he had left Isabel to the questionable mercies of her father. Why had she not simply given in? She must ken he would find a way to her side. She must.

  “You said a lass approached you?” Alex brought the talk back to its subject.

  “Aye.” Brodie reached inside his tunic and pulled out a small square of fabric. “She asked me to bring this to ye. And not to tell anyone else about it.” Alex held out his hand and Brodie placed it there.

  “And did you? Tell anyone?”

  “Nay,” he said with a broad smile. “She made it worth my while to do her bidding.” Then he shrugged. “Besides, I care not who ye tup, MacLeod or other.”

  Alex turned away and opened the small package, finding a folded piece of parchment within the layers of cloth. Her words were curt and dire. He would have only days to get there and get her out of Dunvegan and away from her father. He was to seek out the kitchen maid who had given this note to Brodie when he arrived. No words of love, though truly none could be risked in such a communication.

  “When do you return there?” Alex asked as he turned to face the man.

  “On the morrow.” Brodie stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “Does this have anything to do with her? With The MacLeod’s daughter?”

  “I am coming with you,” Alex said, ignoring the other’s question. “I will meet you at dawn.”

  “Alex! God Almighty, tell me ye are not tupping the MacLeod’s daughter!” Brodie blocked his path and grabbed him by his shoulders. “Ye would not be that stupid, would ye?”

  “At dawn,” he said, pulling free from the man’s hold. “And bring a few trusted men, I will need help.”

  Brodie relented in his questions when he realized Alex would say no more on the matter of The MacLeod’s daughter. But the truth of this was much worse than that.

  Alex had married The MacLeod’s only daughter and heir.

  The next morning found him and a small group of men aboard the small birlinn that would take him north and west to the edge of Skye and to Dunvegan. Brodie would take his place back in the village outside the keep and watch for the kitchen maid who had so pleasurably given him orders to bring the message to Alex. Alex had come up with a plan, a da
ngerous one, and he prayed that he would arrive in time to save his wife from whatever else her father could do to her.

  Chapter Three

  “She is in the tower there, nearest the cliff,” Brodie explained. “The maid said she is accompanied at all times by the laird’s leman and has a guard posted at her door.”

  “So her father trusts her not?”

  “Just so.”

  Brodie nodded and turned away, blocking Alex as several MacLeod warriors passed them. For safety’s sake, Alex lowered his head and tugged his hood down over his forehead. He could take no risk of being recognized here and now.

  “The leman sleeps in her chamber or returns to The MacLeod’s bed?”

  “Lara says she remains in the lady’s chamber. I would guess the chieftain is not happy over the lack of a warm body in his sheets.”

  “Lara is it then?” Alex watched the ruddy man’s face color even more at his question. For all his burliness and rough ways, Brodie had a soft heart for the lasses. Much as Alex had until he had met Isabel that day some months ago.

  “Aye. Lara.”

  Alex left that alone for now. He knew that Isabel’s father would guard his daughter against any possible further disobedience. The presence of the woman in her chamber was a difficulty but one he must overcome. The moon would be dark on the morrow’s night, so that was their best chance of escape without being seen.

  “We make our way past the guards by bringing in a wagon of goods for the kitchen and then hide until nightfall,” he repeated to Brodie. “Lara will get the sleeping draught to Isabel. Once the leman and the guard sleep, we will get to her chamber and get her the hell out.”

  It sounded so simple and yet it was a plan riddled with the possibility of failure. And failure meant death for him and, most likely, for his wife and any who dared defy The MacLeod. Brodie studied Alex for several silent moments before shrugging and nodding. That was the blunt man’s way of agreeing. Now, they need only wait until the morrow and then find the wagon and ride it into the keep.

  Alex and Brodie walked down the pathway away from the gates and guards and turned a corner heading towards the place where the maid’s brother would wait for them at midday on the morrow. Although Brodie seemed willing to trust the maid and her willingness to be part of this, Alex knew that the small sack of coins inside his tunic would ease their way for both the brother’s help and any else who needed gold to convince them.

  As they walked, something made Alex look at the keep. There, in the small window on the tower closest to the cliff, he saw Isabel, her blond hair streaming around her from the breezes. So small due to the distance, Alex could not be certain she gazed at him, but he pushed back his hood and nodded to her, hoping she saw him. He watched as she pushed open the window and leaned her face out of it.

  I am coming, Isabel. Wait for me.

  He sent the thought up to her, praying her heart would hear it and ken he had not forsaken her. When she turned away and tugged the window closed, he knew not if she had.

  Damn, but waiting for another day before he could take her from here to safety would nearly kill him.

  *

  It was Alex!

  Isabel fought not to reveal her joy and relief as she closed the window as Evanna ordered her to do. Her message had made it to him and Alex was here to help her. She took a deep breath, pushed her hair over her shoulders and turned to face the dreadful woman in her chamber.

  “I did not realize how cold it was when I opened the window,” she said softly. “Pardon.” She longed to grind her teeth over the insult of this woman’s presence near her, but the whipping had taught her to resist her impatient urges.

  What her father saw in this woman of plain features and a nasty disposition, Isabel knew not. Even with her auburn hair arranged neatly and a new gown covering her curves, Isabel saw nothing that should appeal to a man like her father. He usually favored women with dark hair and voluptuous curves. And women who raised not their voices to question or to plead or to request. This one, though, was none of those things.

  Isabel used all her control to nod in a polite way at her father’s whore and walk to the chair in the corner. Picking up her embroidery, she let her thoughts free even as her fingers flew over the fabric, weaving a plan as her threads wove a pattern. She must wait on his word, though how it would reach her, she knew not.

  The silence grated on Evanna’s nerves, Isabel realized, and the woman grew more moody with every hour she spent here, banished from Isabel’s father’s bed and forced to watch over his daughter. Whatever threat or promise her father had made to his leman must have been serious and impressive for her to accept this absence.

  Even though it was not a topic worthy or appropriate for the chieftain’s unwed daughter, Evanna made no secret of her appetite for pleasures of the flesh. There was not a woman in the keep or village of Dunvegan who had not heard the stories of excess. Most likely, even The MacLeod’s wife was privy to the knowledge of it, for neither the chief nor his lover practiced discretion around Elizabeth Matheson, Lady MacLeod.

  Another hour passed before she calmed enough to slow her work. A glance around the chamber revealed that her gaoler had fallen asleep in her chair. Isabel rested her hands and the fabric and needle on her lap and let out her breath for the first time all day.

  He was here.

  Though a good distance sat between them, she would have—and did—recognize him even so. Isabel would admit, only to herself, that a small bit of doubt had entered her heart during the worst moments in these last weeks. He had promised his love, his name and his protection, but here, deep in The MacLeod’s control and demesne, she did worry. Murmured promises in the dark were not always the most reliable; she had both understood and feared that.

  Now, a peace filled her for no matter what happened, they would face it together. Her hand slipped down over her belly before she could stop and only the knock at the door startling her saved the gesture from being seen by Evanna. The woman woke with a start and glared at Isabel as though she was the cause of the disruption. Finally remembering that she was not the nobleborn woman in the chamber, Evanna walked to the door and lifted the latch.

  “You are late,” she scolded as she pulled it open wide. The guard standing there turned to watch the kitchen maid enter. From the way he sniffed at the tray the girl carried, he must be hungry as well. “Put it there.” With a pointing finger, Evanna directed the servant to the table before the hearth.

  As the girl passed Isabel, she stumbled and the tray tilted. Several bowls and cups slid over its edge as the servant tried to right it. Isabel jumped to her feet to help while Evanna simply yelled out in anger.

  “Are you daft?” she called out without ever trying to help.

  “Evanna, that will do no good,” Isabel began as she grabbed on to the edges of the large, wooden tray to steady it. “Let me help you.”

  The girl stuttered something as she gained her balance. As Isabel knelt to gather the spilled bowls and cups, she felt Lara slide something into her hand. The glance the girl gave told her to be silent about it. Isabel stood and stepped back, closing her fingers over the mysterious bit.

  “Go! Get fresh food or send someone back who is not a clumsy fool if you cannot carry it yourself,” Evanna ordered.

  For one so dependent on the whims of a man and who could face banishment or humiliation at any time, Evanna seemed to forget her true place and to revel in her momentary power. Isabel hid the smile that crept onto her own lips, knowing that this one would face a downfall.

  Lara placed the bowls and cups on the table there and then made her way out of the chamber quickly, with a few more mumbled apologies and a wink at Isabel when Evanna had turned away. Isabel slipped the tiny packet inside her sleeve and thought on how best to open it in privacy. The place where Evanna hated the most and tended to drift away from constant observation was the chapel. Determined to seek it out, Isabel walked to the table and took a cup of ale and piece of bread. />
  “She had better bring more stew,” Evanna whispered with a nod at the closed door.

  “I am not that hungry right now,” she said, holding up the bread. “This is enough for me.”

  It took almost more patience than she thought existed within her to wait for more food to arrive and for her miserable overseer to finish it. Isabel bided quietly until she thought she had reached the perfect moment and then stood. Evanna frowned, watching her.

  “Before I seek my rest, I wish to go to the chapel.”

  She said it firmly and waited. Both she and Evanna had been present when her father had made it clear that being in the chapel, on her knees and begging God’s forgiveness for her headstrong ways was one of few acceptable behaviors he condoned right now.

  “Can you not wait until the morn?” Evanna asked, crossing her arms over her meager chest.

  “You need not attend me,” Isabel offered as she lifted the latch and pulled. “The guard will nip at my heels in your stead, if you prefer to wait for me here.”

  The guard turned at her words and bowed, waiting on her word. Humiliated and whipped before all to see, she had expected more scorn and shame from those here. But this guard, as well as any others who attended or spoke to her, showed only respect.

  “My lady?” he asked.

  “I am going to the chapel to pray,” she explained, with a glance back over her shoulder at the displeased woman there.

  “Have ye a cloak? The rains started earlier,” he offered.

  With a nod, she lifted her hooded cloak from a peg on the wall and stepped out of the chamber. She may have to endure the leman’s constant company, but Isabel had not been made a prisoner. Just uncomfortable. Pausing for a moment, she waited for Evanna to speak or follow her. With a muttered curse, the woman came along.

  Isabel must discover Alex’s plan. She must be ready for whatever happened. It took less time than she thought for Evanna to lose interest and wander outside of the damp, chill, stone room. With only one door to enter and leave, her guard remained just outside. The priest had already retired for the night, his snores echoed out from the small chamber behind the altar telling her she would not be disturbed by him.