Rogue Highlander: The King's Command

by Sondra Grey

  But the priest had opened his wooden case, and had taken out a long, wicked looking needle.

  “The test is a simple, if inconclusive one,” he was explaining to the magistrate figure. “The usual ritual is to strip the witch to find her witches mark. But if the lady is who she says she is, that might not be our best course of action. Instead, we will do a simple pricking test.”

  “If she bleeds?”

  “We shall see.”

  Without much warning, the priest struck. Grabbing her forearm in a hot, dry grip and jerking the needle into her skin.

  Isla cried out at the force, at the depth to which the needle sunk and then was pulled out. Blood welled at the puncture wound and spilled down her arm.

  “She bleeds. Is she not a witch then?” asked the magistrate, frowning. Isla was panting, tears streaming down her face.

  “The test in inconclusive, as I said. Perhaps she is not a witch; perhaps she is a very good witch and was able to get her guard down in time…”

  “If it’s inconclusive you imbecile than why did you jab me!”

  “Quiet!” The priests’ hand came up and struck Isla across the cheek so sharply that her head jerked back. She felt her cheek start to swell immediately and knew it would be raised and bruised the next day.

  “Are you Isla MacLeay of Elleric?”

  “Have you sent word to my husba…”

  “Put her back in her cell. If she’ll answer no questions, she’ll eat no food. And keep her awake. She’ll not sleep until she’s answered us.”

  The next hours were the most miserable of Isla’s life. More miserable than running through the woods in the middle of the night. More miserable than the ride from Dundur to Cairnie not three months before. More miserable than her brother’s death, or her father’s, or her mother’s. Isla was exhausted. At first, whenever she would drift off to sleep, the guards would bang a wooden stick against the bars, but when that failed to rouse her, they took to dousing her with water whenever she drifted off.

  Tired, cold, soaking wet, and hungry, Isla huddled in the corner of the cell, as far away from the bars as she could get. She tried to keep her eyes open. It was that or be doused again. The hole on her arm was scabbing over, but had trickled blood a long while. Her face hurt where she’d been slapped.

  As the morning came and it was evident that neither Calum, nor Maire, nor anyone from Dundur was coming for her, she began to feel hopeless. Perhaps this was the plan all along. Send Greer to get rid of her for good. She’d be strangled and burned, or hung, and Calum would be rid of her.

  Would they wait until she had the child?

  She’d not felt the baby move in a while and it worried her. She pressed her hands to her stomach, promising her baby that she wouldn’t let any harm come to it. That even if Calum wanted to get rid of her, he wouldn’t get rid of their baby. He wouldn’t. She knew it.

  And that was how she knew he’d come. If not for her, he’d come for his child. She clutched her hands over her stomach and prayed she was not wrong.

  They questioned her twice more before the day was over, and Isla had been “pricked” thrice. By nightfall she was so cold and so tired, she was beginning to hallucinate. She saw creatures on the walls, people where there were no people. She’d never been this tired before, and knew now that it was even more dangerous to open her mouth. So, she kept it shut.

  The hours passed. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be dry and warm, and she was beginning to speak her thoughts out loud. She knew this only because the guards kept yelling at her to speak up! And did she have something to say?

  It seemed like the middle of the night when she heard horse’s hooves. She knew she was hallucinating, because there was no shouting, no banging, no demanding, but she could swear she heard Calum’s deep, warm voice echoing through the floor boards. She’d imagined his voice at least three separate occasions, but her hope rose again, even more so when the floor began to vibrate, indicating that someone large was coming down the stairs.

  But it wasn’t Calum. It was the large man from the kirk, staring at her with distaste. Isla smiled at him, her eyelids heavy. She felt drunk. Loopy, and when she saw him she laughed.

  “Enough of this,” he said. “Get her up.”

  He looked nervous, she thought, as the two guards entered her cell and hauled her to her feet. She must have said that out loud too because the man glowered at her and told her to mind her tongue.

  Her feet had a life of their own and she was half dragged half carried up the stairs, through the jail, and then out into the night, where torches flared, illuminating the ground in front of the prison.

  Isla blinked. She must be hallucinating. It looked as if there were two dozen men in the square. No. A dozen. No. Six. Maybe six.

  One of them was Calum, and Isla had a thought that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. He was water at the end of a drought. He was the first rays of sunshine after a moonless night…

  He strode closer, and Isla could feel the men on either side of her start back up, but then stop. Calum’s hand came down and cupped Isla’s cheek. He was so beautiful, like a biblical angel, beautiful. “Isla, lass, hush now.”

  “Am I being loud?”

  “Yes, dear, and I need you to hold your tongue.”

  His hand felt so warm, there was no way he was a hallucination.

  “Magister, that is, indeed, my wife you have in your possession.”

  “My Laird Dundur, your wife has been charged by the very serious crime of witchcraft. I’m afraid it matters not if she’s your wife or she’s the countess of Argyll. She has yet to confess and will be tried in a month’s time, when the Privy Council sees fit to investigate.”

  “My wife is carrying our child. She is wet, bruised, bleeding, and seems to be having some sort of fit. I will not leave her here under this kind of care.”

  “You are not above the law, my lord.”

  Isla felt herself losing her footing and was dragged upright by the two guards holding her.

  “Well then, by highland custom, I declare the right to fight for my wife’s honor in a trial by combat.”

  “My Lord, a trial by combat in this instance does not apply. For starters, your wife would be the combatant, and she would need to battle her accuser – and given the identity of her accuser and the fact that she is not present, this would be quite impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” said Calum, and he sounded dangerous. “The law allows for champions. Isla,” Calum whirled and strode back to her, cupping her face again in his hand, he stroked back a piece of damp hair. “Do you claim me as your champion?”

  “Do you want to be my champion?”

  “Yes, love,” he said, kindly. His thumb brushed lightly over her bruised cheek. “Will you have me?”

  “Yes.”

  “There,” said Calum, withdrawing his hand and turning away. “And now I have the right to choose to face my wife’s accuser.”

  “That is quite impossible…”

  “Is it?” snapped Calum, angrily. He signaled to one of the six men standing to the side, and Isla recognized Geordie. Geordie came forward, dragging with him a small, blond woman. Isla gasped. It was Greer. Geordie was dragging Greer.

  Isla felt more awake now, if no less drunk, her eyes roved wildly over the bunch, coming to rest on where Fergus stood, hands pulled behind him, guarded by Allan. Fergus looked stoic, but pale.

  “Is this the woman who accused my wife?”

  Greer was sobbing as Calum took her forearm from Geordie and dragged her into the torchlight, where the priest and the magistrate could see her.

  Isla saw the priest frown, and the magistrate looked on Greer with pity. “My lord, that is the woman. What have you done to her…”

  “Not as much as I wish to do, that I promise” said Calum, darkly. “Gentleman this is the woman who accused my wife. She did so out of malice and opportunity. And I will challenge her to combat. She can choose whatev
er champion she wishes. If my wife is a witch, then god is on Greer’s side. If she is not...” Calum released her and Greer sobbed and stumbled towards where Fergus stood.

  “This is the lady who accused your wife,” said the magistrate, sounding conflicted. “Lady,” he said to Greer. “By rights you may choose your champion…” He shook his head.

  “I will stand for her.” Fergus spoke out, stepping forward. Isla saw Allan reach down behind Fergus and then the man’s hands were free. Fergus rubbed at his wrists. He looked wan, pinched. “I will stand for her.” His voice was raised a bit higher now.

  “Fergus, no!” Greer sobbed. And Fergus turned to look at her, his expression pained. “Yes. Greer. Yes. For what have I to live for?” He turned and stared at Calum and there was sorrow in his eyes, not loathing. “My wife has always loved another. And she betrayed her clan, and I – in my love of her – betrayed as well. Cousin, do not forgive me. I do not forgive myself. But know I did it for love.”

  Calum said nothing, but drew his sword from where it was sheathed across his back. Fergus swallowed and turned to Allan, who unsheathed his own sword and handed it to the lithe clansman.

  Turning to the magistrate, Calum declared. “Does this meet with your requirements? A challenge to the death. And if I win, then I have divine right and my wife goes free.”

  The magistrate, clearly disturbed by what was happening, nodded solemnly. The priest hissed fiercely at him, but the magistrate held up his hand, signaling the battle could commence.

  Calum charged Fergus with no further word of warning, and it was all the smaller clansman could do to get his sword up.

  Isla sucked in a breath as steel met steel. Calum was lethal, strong as an ox, and quick as a crossbow bolt. Fergus was a good fighter, but could barely get his sword around in time to meet Calum’s strike. Isla’s brain was almost too fuddled to see all of the movements, but the refrain of Calum’s song was running through her head. She knew she was singing it for one of the guards shook her to try and silence her.

  The battle lasted only a minute. Calum was all wrath and intention, and on a vicious down stroke Isla heard a terrible snap. Fergus screamed in pain, his sword dropping. Broken wrist, she thought, eyeing the way the wrist went limp. Fergus stumbled backwards, scrambling with his left hand after the sword. Calum was on him in a second, sword raised over his head to finish Fergus for good.

  “I RECANT!”

  The sound split the air on a sob. “Stop. STOP! I recant! I take it all back I made it all up all of it, every word!” Greer was struggling against Allan’s grasp on her. Calum was frozen, sword over his head.

  “Did you hear me! Stop it! Don’t kill him! I recant. She’s not a witch. I made it up! Let me go! Oh, god let me go!”

  Calum lowered his sword and stepped back. Greer wrenched away from Allan and made a beeline to her husband, who sat in the dirt cradling his wrist.

  “You made it up,” The magistrate repeated, looking dumbstruck. “But. We checked the details. We sent a man to Elleric…”

  “I made it all up, all of it!” Greer kept repeating. Her face was swollen with her tears, and she was pulling at Fergus’ shoulders, trying to hold him close. The clansman was resisting, his eyes only for Calum, who stood there staring at them both.

  “Well?” Said Calum, turning towards the magistrate and his guard. “You heard her. Release my wife this instant. Your witness has recanted.”

  “This is bullying sir,” said the priest. “You are using your might and station to bully these poor…”

  “God is my judge, priest. Not you,” snarled Calum. “Magistrate. You now have nothing in court that will hold. This woman has recanted her accusations in front of witnesses, and declared that your sources in Elleric were false.”

  “Let her go,” said the magistrate, reluctantly.

  The hands holding Isla upright released her, and she swayed forward, too far gone to regain her balance.

  It was Calum who caught her at the last minutes, his hands capturing and hauling her up into his arms.

  “Jesus, god, she’s soaking wet,” she heard him swear at the magistrate.

  You make me this way, she wanted to say.

  “Hush, Isla,” said Calum. “Stop it now. You’re hysterical. Stay calm my love and we’ll get you home. Fergus.”

  Calum rounded quickly on where his cousin sat in the dirt with his wife. “You are family, but you are no longer clan. And I will not see your face in the hills again. Either of you. If I do, I will have you killed on sight as traitors. Hugh!” He called to his nephew. “Find us a shirt, and a plaid. She’s soaking wet and she’ll not make a ride home in the cold like this.”

  Calum handed Isla to Geordie as he mounted his horse. And Geordie struggled to lift Isla back up into her husband’s arms. Calum juggled her gently until she was seated across his lap.

  “Stay awake just a bit longer lass,” he said. “We’ve got to get away from here and get you out of your clothes.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to our child,” Isla told him. “You might let me go. But not our baby.”

  Calum didn’t respond to her, but steered the horse around and gave its sides a mighty kick. They shot out of Banchor, and south towards Dundur.

  Ten minutes down the road they stopped, Calum had his men look away while he stripped Isla out of her wet gown and underthings, leaving them on the side of the road. Someone had an extra shirt which they loaned her, the rest of her was bundled in an oversized plaid, swaddled like a child and held close to Calum as he kicked his horse into another fierce gallop.

  “We’re going home Isla,” he said. “Sleep now.”

  And she did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  W hen Isla’s eyes next cracked open, the first thing they saw was Calum. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his fingers tangled in the tendrils of the long strands of her hair. He looked thoughtful. He looked beautiful.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Calum blinked, his eyes lighting on Isla’s, and the relief she read there told her that she’d been sleeping quite a while.

  “I’m sorry,” said Isla, again. “You told me not to go, and I went. I didn’t listen. I wanted to help the villagers and I was…I was mad at you. I was mad that you’d returned to Dundur but didn’t send for me. I acted without thinking of the consequences, without realizing that Greer had goaded me into it. She knew just what to say to get me to act, as well. I’m such a fool. I’m so sorry.”

  Calum looked at her thoughtfully. Then he reached out and pressed a warm hand to her forehead. “You’ve been asleep two full days.”

  Isla just stared at him, and Calum smiled at her, a gentle smile. Then his smile disappeared, and he looked off towards the window. “I’m sorry, too, Isla. I don’t think I appreciated how difficult these past three months have been for you. How difficult it might have been to step into the role of a Chieftain’s wife – to be married to me.” He smiled, again. “When you left to go the Maire’s, Rob Stewart was keen to hunt again. We didn’t hunt long. Poor Geordie has terrible aim, you know? He shot one of the Stewart’s men straight through the shoulder. The man will live, of course, but will have limited use of his right arm. The Stewart holds no ill will. I don’t think he’s over fond of William Graham. As to why I did not send for you…” he sighed.

  “William was sleeping with that kitchen wench, Maggie. Maggie had gone and told the whole castle of William’s accusations. Including Greer. I was trying to figure out how far the rumors had spread, when I got word that they’d taken you prisoner. Maire sent some of her men to Banchor, but they couldn’t buy your freedom. They sent Hugh to me. I knew that we could not free you unless we found your accuser and forced them to recant. Finding out who accused you took a bit of time. Finding Fergus and Greer, and dragging them both back to Banchor took time as well. Isla, I’m sorry…”

  He reached down and gripped her hand. “It was the only way I could think of to get you out, to stop the trial.
I didn’t want to kill my cousin…”

  “But you would have.”

  “Of course. You’re my wife.”

  “Some wife,” murmured Isla, turning her face so that she didn’t have to see his condemnation. “My mother was right about me. I’m stubborn and, worse than that, I’m selfish. You deserve so much better than me…”

  “Isla,” said Calum. “You are beautiful, and brilliant, and caring, and fiery. I wanted you from the moment Allan dragged you into our camp. You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself. And I felt… I felt guilty. For wanting something at all, when I have all this,” he waved his hand to the room, to the castle. “All these things that should not be mine, I have. And what do I want? A proud, beautiful young woman who seemed so far beyond my reach…” He trailed off. “It felt wrong. I wanted it so badly that to get it finally felt wrong. And so, I kept you at a distance. Tried to mold you into something you were not – perhaps if you could learn to run the keep, I’d have been justified in choosing you, if you could be pleasing and pleasant with company, if you could be diplomatic, manage the servants...” He shook his head. “Isla, you are nothing but what you are, and what you are is everything I want. You have a calling, you have a warm and genuine heart, and I am no less a chieftain for wanting something for myself.”

  He caressed her face, hand running back and through her hair.

  “Calum,” Isla whispered. “You really wanted me?”

  “Isla, with all my heart. So badly I was terrified of it. And it was easier to blame you, easier to push you away, than to deal with what I felt. But learning you’d been imprisoned and that a witch trial was pending; knowing what they do to people suspected of being witches… Geordie and Allan had to talk me down from trying to gather men to raid the prison. I lost my goddamn mind. I had two days to think about all I would say to you if I got you back.”