Keira crossed herself, then quietly murmured the words that would begin the ritual, “Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been many months since my last confession.”
“What has kept ye from the church?”
“We have a church, Father, which I do visit regularly, but my clan has no priest.”
“And why is that?”
“My father said he was a mon of wickedness and sent him away.”
“And do ye believe he was wicked?”
“No, Father!” she blurted out. “Father Bryant was a good and honest mon.”
The day her father sent the man away angered many of her clansmen. Father Bryant was an old and frail man; too old to be traveling at his age. He had been Clan Sinclair’s priest for as long as she could remember. It was only after her mother’s death that her father disagreed with Father Bryant’s teachings, though she never truly understood why her father had experienced such a change of heart.
“And, do ye believe in the Roman Catholic Church, the one true Universal and Apostolic Church to save yer soul?”
“I dinna know what to believe. I am afraid, Father.”
“What fear is in yer heart to no’ allow ye to attest your belief in Christ and His church?”
Hot tears burned Keira’s eyes. It was the question she refused to answer. She knew if she spoke the truth, she would be condemning her own father. For years, he had brainwashed her into believing that the Catholic Church was more about power and control and that what was known as the House of God was corrupted. As the Protestant reformation grew throughout the Highlands, more Scots were renouncing the Catholic Church following those who sought freedom from religious persecution. Her father and many of her clansmen were among them.
Torn between the God she’d grown to love, and the one she had recently been taught about, Keira was at a crossroad. She knew divulging her secrets about her father would condemn him for heresy and she would also be condemning herself. She had sat and listened on several occasions to the teaching of Protestant ideas and opinions on the matter, simply out of curiosity. But spiritually, she herself did not know what to believe.
It was an ever-changing world and Keira desperately wanted to be a part of it. It had only been a matter of a few months that she learned of King James’ actions to charge those who acted against the church. But would it be so wrong of her to tell Father Ambrose? He seemed to be a reasonable man, a man of curious nature himself. Perhaps, he would offer her leniency and help answer many of her questions.
Keira allowed the words to flow like a strong current in a stream. She started at the beginning, telling him about the death of her mother, the change in her father, and the Protestant men who came to visit them. She did not realize how desperately she needed to tell someone her secrets. It was true that her father knowingly committed a crime but not the one Ian accused him of.
As the words came, the more she felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders; a sense of freedom she had not felt in a long time. She had not realized how burdened she’d been and how it had affected her until now.
As she finished her disgraceful story filled with death, sin, and dishonesty, Keira felt whole and revived, like after a long peaceful rest. The priest, however, remained silent as if he was still processing all of the information she had divulged.
“Do ye think God will forgive me?” she asked, hoping to hear a comforting response.
“God is all-loving. E’en if we spend an eternity in hell, we are still children of God. Ye must say the Our Father and pray the Rosary every morning and every night. Only then will ye earn forgiveness,” he commanded.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…” she said as she began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but before she could finish, she heard the door open and close from the Priest’s booth.
Has he left? She wondered as she continued the prayer. Moments later, the door to her confessional swung open, and two large men stood outside the door; behind them stood the priest with an accusing glare.
“Bring her to the tower until the Laird has returned and dinna allow her to leave!” the Priest commanded, barking out his order.
Keira trembled. What have I done?
~*~
Leland watched as the priest left the booth and walked over to the two guards near the door. Keira however, was still inside the confessional. The grim expressions on the priest’s face portended something dire. Keira had clearly upset him. He watched as the priest led the two men to the booth. Forcing the door open, they drug Keira out, even as she still knelt in prayer. Leland withdrew his sword and ran up the aisle toward them.
“What is the meaning of this? Remove yer hands from her at once,” he demanded.
The two guards and several other Mackenzie warriors drew their swords, pointing them at Leland.
“We are detaining Mistress Sinclair until our Laird returns,” one of the guards replied.
“And what gives ye the authority to do so?”
“She is being held on allegations of acts of heresy,” the scrawny priest replied. “She just confessed.”
“Codswallop! That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. I demand ye release her!”
“Tis the truth!” the priest said. “Ask her yerself.”
Leland glanced over at Keira, giving her a questioning look. Over the past several days, she had not been so docile. The look of shame in her eyes told him what he needed to know, but he was unsure exactly what this all meant.
“I am her protector and I demand ye release her,” Leland growled, gripping his sword tighter.
“There is only one of ye and a room full of us, I dinna see how this will end in yer favor,” one of the MacKenzie guards replied.
Leland glanced around the room. A dozen eyes gazed back at him. They were right, for the moment there wasn’t anything he could do until Laird MacKenzie returned and he demanded her release. He had to get to Ian, and fast.
~*~
Keira sat alone in the modest quarters of the tower room. With nothing but a bed, a hard wooden chair, a table, and a fire pit that could scarcely contain a log was all the room had to offer. At least there was a small window to allow some light to enter. The guards did not have the decency to give her a candle or basin of water with which to wash.
She had been locked in here for several hours now wondering where in the devil Leland was. When the guards came to bring food, they did not speak. Keira had no idea what was going on. She only knew that revealing her secrets to the priest had brought about much more than the freedom from her burden she had sought. It may very well have cost her her life, or at least that of her father.
Keira had always known that one day, it was only a matter of time before someone found out about her father turning away from the church and forcing his clansmen to do the same. Whether by her own confession, or that of another, Keira’s father was doomed. But that did not explain why she’d been locked away in the tower.
Keira had admitted to attending the teachings but only to observe; not as a willing participant. Still, no one would hear her out. And what of Ian? It was clear that any hope she had to return home was not going to meet with success. What would he think of her once he learned the truth? She had accused him of lies and deceit, yet she had secrets of her own. She did not know why, but the thought of his disappointment in her bothered her immensely.
Sitting in the chair, she looked out the window at the bailey below. The clansmen kept themselves busy as they anticipated the return of their Laird this evening. She had no idea what awaited her. Her only hope was that Ian would return soon, though she had little hope that he could help her.
On the windowsill, a small, brown sparrow chirped. Keira glanced over at the food the guards had brought in to her earlier. The food had grown cold; most of it uneaten. Leaning over, she reached for the chunk of bread and broke off a small piece, tossing it to the bird. She watched the small creature enjoy the hearty meal,
“Hello, Sweetling,” Keira wh
ispered, as tears lightly trickled down her cheeks.
Ruffling its feathers as it sat comfortably, keeping her company. If only she could sprout wings, she would fly away from here as far as possible.
Chapter 13
Ian walked with purpose as he headed down the dim corridor inside the walls of Linlithgow Castle. His instructions were clear; to discuss an urgent matter with the king.
As Ian walked towards the gathering room, the dim light in the wide hallway with its high, arched ceilings cloaked his movement as he made his way down the long expanse. Had it not been for the sound of a commotion at the end of the hall, he would have been lost for sure as Linlithgow was a labyrinth of hallways, galleries, and rooms.
As Ian approached the end of the corridor, he could hear the commotion of men chattering behind the closed door, like a flock of chickens. Their voices were loud and booming as if they were in a lively debate, each one trying to crow louder than the other. Though the corridor offered little light, Ian could make out two guards standing outside the door. The one to the right nodded, allowing Ian to enter. Ian pushed opened the heavy wood door and stepped inside.
Inside the room, Ian recognized the dozen men from neighboring clans. Many of them were the King’s councilmen, gathered around a circular table, and arguing back and forth.
“We need to stress the severity of the situation to our people. If these rebels were to breach the gates of our own castles, how are we to respond? They are bloody Scotts, just like the rest of us. After all, they would simply blend in,” Alpin, Laird of Clan MacDuff rebutted.
“T’would be a foolish mon who would allow anyone to enter their gates without question. And only a fool would allow himself to be attacked from within his own walls,” Laird Gregor replied.
“We should hear ‘em out. Hear their demands before we put more of our own men in danger. They should be given a fair trial. What of the church? What is their position?” Callum, Laird MacDonald asked as he turned to the Abbott sitting at the far end of the room.
“The church, of course, stands by the crown,” the Abbott replied.
“The rebels are trying to overthrow the king. They should be hanged for treason. What of France? Is the king aware of our position?” Alpin questioned.
“My alliance wit’ France is strong but I will no’ engage him wit’ our civil issues. And I prefer him to no’ be involved. I am planning a trip to France soon as I find myself a bride. But until then, we will have to prevent a civil war between the clans on our own. I do no’ wish fer more bloodshed,” James of Scotland responded.
Ian continued to listen to the argument. James’s hope was to increase the number of his army by more than half, and hold a tribunal for each of the Highland Lairds to assess their loyalty. As for the rebels, he was unsure how to stop them, and their numbers were growing. Henry the VIII, King of England, had thrown the country in turmoil when he renounced the Catholic Church. English sympathizers started to gather, following in his footsteps. And the Roman Church was threatening to cut their funds to Scotland. It was James’s hope that his relationship with the King of France and his marriage would help overrule the new reformation and convict those charged of heresy.
Glancing over at the far end of the room, King James stood and listened, his brows furrowed. With his arms crossed, he leaned against the stone wall. The disdain on his face told Ian that he was getting more frustrated by the minute. Hours passed and no conclusions had been made. They decided to meet again in a few days during the tribunal at Inverness hoping by that time more light could be shed on who was behind the attacks.
As the meeting adjourned, the men filtered out of the room. Ian stayed and waited to speak to James.
“Sire, I have news.”
“Have a seat,” James said, in a gravelly voice.
Walking to the table, Ian waited for James to sit, then he followed suit. Though James was a young man, signs of aging could be seen in his deeply wrinkled forehead and sunken eyes. It looked as if he had not slept in a week. With his hands folded and resting on one knee, he waited for Ian to speak.
“I have no’ been successful in capturing Thomas Chisholm but we did find his hideout, and I left men behind to follow their movements. We lost several good men, however, when we were attacked on Sutherland land.”
“Sutherlands? Bloody rogues!”
“That’s not all. On the way to Chisholm’s castle, I came across a young woman who claims to be his betrothed. She’s the daughter of Laird Magnus Sinclair and I believe that he may be the mon we have been looking fer. I always thought Thomas had someone feeding him information and sending his letters to England, but I ne’er expected a Sinclair.”
“Neither did I, but I will see to it that he is questioned at Inverness along wit’ the others. I have sent Laird MacKenzie the remaining names that witnesses have brought forth to stand trial. I can only hope that once ye capture Thomas Chisholm, we will have the ledger with all of those involved. It has been two very long years since the start of this revolt. The execution of Patrick Hamilton was a necessity but has done little to ward off those who wish to follow in Henry’s footsteps and renounce the church. Without the church’s support we stand to lose greatly. The support from France and Rome is paramount to our survival. The Highland Chiefs must rule under my authority and our church. If we allow Henry’s ideas to influence the minds of the weak, war wit’ England will be inevitable. We are Rome’s and France’s ally, but we must maintain control on our own soil first. Anyone allying with England, or my step-father, Archibald Douglas, will be banished or exiled! I will no’ yield! I want that list naming every Chieftain, Laird, Earl or Duke that resides on my land, who has committed crimes against the church and the crown.”
Ian knew the list James demanded would be long, and he already knew a handful of men whose names would appear at the top.
“I will continue to do what I can, Sire.”
“Ye have served me well, Ian MacKay. Your sacrifice has been admirable. I will be traveling incognito to Inverness. Once ye arrive, meet me at our usual spot at Margie’s tavern,” James advised.
“I will.”
Ian bid James farewell and went in search of Rylan. He had hoped to return to Castle Leod before noon the next day. Wandering down the hall, he found Rylan sitting in the great hall deep in conversation and well into his cups, with members of the MacDonald clan, longtime friends and allies to the MacKays.
“Will ye be joining us? We are celebrating Ainsley’s last day of freedom,” Rylan announced.
“Freedom?” Ian questioned, raising a brow.
“Aye, I am to be married tomorrow,” Ainsley mournfully responded. “To an English woman!” he added as the surrounding men laughed.
Ainsley, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to be sick. He was a young lad with ginger hair and pale skin.
“Oh come now Ainsley, it cannae be that bad!” his clansmen said.
“Then ye marry her!” Ainsley pouted, slamming his head back down on his folded arms.
“Where is yer bonny bride anyway?” Rylan asked.
“O’er there, speaking to her father,” Ainsley mumbled under his breath as he pointed in her direction.
Ian and the others looked in the direction Ainsley pointed. The young woman’s high pitched squeal was deafening. She was not an ugly lass, though Ian did not find much beauty in her either. Her hair was a mess of curls, and her face was marred with tiny scratches as if she had recently gotten into a fight with a bush. Not to mention, she had more curves than a sack of potatoes. Ian grimaced but duly tried to keep a straight face. Poor laddie!
“Rylan, I wish to speak to ye,” Ian said drawing his attention.
Rylan slammed back the rest of his ale and stood from his chair. The two men left the hall and stepped into the corridor.
“What did James say?” Rylan asked.
“Only that we are to continue our mission in tracking Chisholm and retrieving that ledger.”
“Whe
n do we leave?”
“Tomorrow, first light.”
Ian wasn’t sure exactly what gave him the sense of being watched, but he slowly turned his head and glanced toward the end of the hall. Three men stood next to each other, staring right back at him. He paid no heed to the two men standing to the right and to the left; it was the face of the man in the middle which started to make his blood burn. It was that murdering son of a whore, Isaac Sutherland. What was he doing here?
He hated Isaac Sutherland with every fiber of his being, along with anyone who bore the Sutherland name. His hatred ran deep, so deep that his bones ached at just the mention of the name. It was more than hatred he felt for the man; it was a desperate need for vengeance. It ate away at him like wounds left to fester.
When the King offered him a pardon, Ian set aside his anger, but only until the day he came face to face with the murderous bastard, Sutherland. Now the man was here, at Linlithgow, walking towards him. The smug look on Isaac’s face sickened him.
Though they were within the King’s Castle walls it meant little to Ian. He would spill the man’s foul blood even if they were in a God damn church! To hell with the consequences! Ian thirsted for his blood. Had it not been for Isaac and his men, Sarah would be alive today.
With each step, Ian’s blood burned hotter. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he began to unsheathe his weapon. Rylan must have sensed Ian’s intention as Ian increased his pace, starting to leave Rylan behind.
“Back down, Ian!” Rylan growled quietly, low enough so only Ian could hear his warning.
Ian pushed Rylan out of the way when he moved forward to block Ian’s view of the bastard at the end of the hall.
With a sharp shove back, Rylan managed to push Ian into an open doorway. Ian stumbled for a moment, then regained his composure, and readied himself to knock Rylan down on his arse for stalling the inevitable confrontation. Rylan slammed the door behind them before Ian could act, swiftly locking it.
Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (Protectors of the Crown Book 1) Page 10
