When a Scot Gives His Heart

by Julie Johnstone

  She could just make out the shadowy figure of a hooded woman. Marsaili’s eyes watered as she willed them to adjust. It wasn’t Jean—of that much she was sure. If Jean were this near Marsaili, the evil woman would have taunted her. She would have been crowing at how Marsaili had been caught by Torquol and dragged to the dungeon. Marsaili swallowed, her throat so dry it felt as if she’d just tried to get down a mouthful of dirt. When had she last had something to drink? Day one or two down here? Two, she thought, but who knew if that was truly correct. Her thoughts were swimming in her head like slippery fish that didn’t want to be caught.

  “Is my father here?” she croaked. The question elicited fear and anger inside her. She wanted to see him only to spit in his face, but if she was close enough to see him, any hope of escape was lost. Though, it seemed rather lost already.

  “Nay,” a woman answered in a tart, amused voice. “Lucky for ye, I’d say. Would ye nae?”

  Marsaili sucked in a shocked breath. “Maria?”

  “Aye,” the Campbell medicine woman, who once had been her friend, answered in a hushed tone as she moved toward the cell, unlocked it, and stepped in to take hold of Marsaili’s elbow. “Can ye walk?”

  “Depends on where ye’re leading me,” she said, guarded. As the room started to sway around her, she reached back, glad her hand met with the wall. It was slimy and she wanted to draw away, but she refused to fall on her face and she could not be certain her legs were going to hold her upright on their own.

  The woman sniggered. “I see yer time away has nae made ye any friendlier.”

  “I’m friendly when I ken I’m amongst friends,” Marsaili replied, catching a faint trace of something that smelled suspiciously and enticingly like bread. Her mouth instantly began to water. “Do ye have bread?”

  “Aye,” Maria said, pitching her voice lower. “For my friends.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.

  “I’m sorry,” Marsaili said, lowering her voice as Maria had done. “It’s just the betrayals are stacking up faster than I can count them. I dunnae ken who to trust.”

  Maria squeezed Marsaili’s shoulder. “I was sent down here by Jean to tend yer wounds,” she whispered. “She wants ye up above in the great hall shortly. Yer father’s men, the ones who were supposed to be accompanying ye here, have arrived, as well as the Earl of Ulster’s men.” She motioned toward the door. “I overheard Jean say the earl is demanding ye be delivered to him at once.”

  Marsaili’s skin crawled at the thought. “So are ye simply here to tend me?” It seemed she could trust Maria as she once had, but she needed to be certain.

  “Nay, though yer head surely needs my care. Ye must have hit it quite hard whilst ye were away because I clearly recall helping ye escape once before. I also clearly recall ye saying ye would nae step foot in this castle ever again.”

  Marsaili snatched the bread that Maria was now dangling in front of her face and shoved it in her mouth. In between chewing, she said, “I was compelled to come back.”

  “Nothing on Earth will compel me to ever come back here again when I leave,” Maria announced in a quiet tone.

  Marsaili swallowed the bread and swiped a hand across her mouth to rid it of crumbs. “Are ye finally leaving?” She had begged Maria to come last time, but the woman had stayed because of her sister.

  “Aye,” Maria replied, linking arms with Marsaili. “With ye.”

  Marsaili was glad to hear it, yet she had to know what had changed. “What of yer sister? I thought ye could nae leave because of her.”

  “I could nae, but she married a Grant”—Marsaili flinched at the mention of Callum’s clan—“nae long ago,” Maria continued, oblivious to the havoc she had just wreaked inside Marsaili. She had never confided to Maria what had occurred between her and Callum. She wanted to, but she had been waiting to share her secret when he returned for her, but soon after he left, Helena had told her that Callum was promised to wed another and had been for years. Helena had been thrilled, sure that was why Callum had not succumbed to her charms, and Marsaili had been devastated and confused. Both emotions had given way to anger and betrayal when she hadn’t heard from Callum again. Her father had immediately discovered that she was with child, and from then until the birth, her mind had been consumed with fear. After the birth, grief had consumed her.

  “Anyway,” Maria said, “my sister departed. I was hoping to be allowed to join the Grant clan, but I wanted to give her time to settle into her new married life before she asked her husband to go to the laird and make a request on my behalf.” Maria shrugged. “I’ve nae heard from her yet, but I’m departing with ye anyway.”

  “What if the Grant laird denies yer sister’s request?” Marsaili asked, thinking of how Callum had deceived her so long ago. Perhaps his father was as terrible a laird as his son was a person.

  “I dunnae think he would. I’ve heard naught but good things about Callum Grant.”

  “Callum G-Grant?” Marsaili sputtered.

  “Aye, ye recall him, I suppose, from the time he was here for the Gathering.”

  “Aye.” Her face heated with shame of the truth she needed to admit. It was rather daunting having to tell someone she had given her virtue and her heart so foolishly, but she needed help. She had no notion how to find the Summer Walkers and her son, or even how she would know her son if she did find them. Not only was Maria a healer but she’d always seemed wise to Marsaili and she had always been kind. Her husband, who had been a warrior, had been killed by Marsaili’s father for refusing to obey orders to turn women and children from her father’s land after their husbands, fathers, and sons had died in battle for the Campbell. “He’s laird now?”

  “Aye. Has been for near three years.”

  Marsaili frowned. “Near three years, ye say?”

  “Aye,” Maria added, her words suddenly sounding rushed. “We’ll talk more later, aye? When we are free from here? There is a guard outside. I’ll tell him I need to tend ye in the healing room, and then we can take ye to Jean. He’s been ordered nae to let ye out of his sight. But once we’re in the healing room, I’ll offer him a drink, which will be laced with a sleeping draft.”

  “What if he will nae drink it?”

  Maria shrugged. “Then I’ll hit him over the head with my candelabra. It’s good and heavy, and should put him straight to sleep.”

  Marsaili shelved that bit of information for the future. “Then what?”

  “Well, then we slip out of the castle, through the woods, and to the trails that lead us away from here. But as ye were compelled to come back here, I suppose ye seek something, and I would like to ken what.”

  Maria started to walk toward the cracked door, but Marsaili pulled her back. “I came here to find my bairn,” she blurted.

  Maria turned toward her, mouth agape. “Did ye just say ye have a bairn?”

  “Well, he’ll be closer to a wee lad now.”

  “I dunnae ken what ye’re saying…”

  “Nay, ye would nae,” Marsaili mumbled. She quickly and quietly told Maria everything—of falling in love with Callum, of his promise to marry her, and of his lies. Marsaili’s ears burned as she spoke of him not returning, of her sister Helena discovering that he was promised to wed Edina Gordon, of her father learning she was with child and making her hide the truth from everyone, and of his plot to wed her to the Earl of Ulster.

  “I had the bairn, and I thought he had died at birth. My father and Jean,” she said, nearly choking on her rage, “they told me he had died. I did nae ever consider that they would lie to me. I should have… I should have kenned my father would still be plotting to marry me to the Earl of Ulster.”

  “Oh God, Marsaili,” Maria whispered.

  Marsaili nodded. “He had so much thick brown hair when he was born,” she said, tears stinging her eyes as the memory came to her. “And blue eyes. I wonder if his eyes are still blue. I have to find him, Maria. Jean says he’s with the Summer Walkers, but I dunnae ken where th
ey are, nor if I’ll even ken my own child if, or when, I see him.”

  Maria clutched Marsaili by the arms and hugged her fiercely. “I’ve some notion of the path the Summer Walkers take, and I can tell ye exactly how to ken yer son.”

  “What?” Marsaili gasped, biting her lip when Maria motioned for her to lower her voice.

  Maria cast her gaze to the door, where Marsaili could now clearly see the silhouette of a man standing guard. “I know the leader of the Summer Walkers. They travel almost the same route every summer, and as for yer bairn, I…I branded his foot. I’m certain now that the bairn was yers, and had ye told me of him, I would have helped ye.” She gave Marsaili a stern look, but then she squeezed her hand. “Though I do ken why ye might have felt ye could nae.”

  Marsaili nodded but then frowned. “How can ye be certain that ye branded my son’s foot?”

  “Jean brought a bairn to me one night, freshly birthed and swathed in peasant rags. She told me he belonged to yer chambermaid, and that the woman had begged Jean to get rid of it because of the shame she’d bring her family since she was nae married. Ye ken as well as I do, Jean would nae ever do anyone a favor unless it somehow benefited her.”

  “Aye, I ken it,” Marsaili said, bitterness curling within her at Jean’s lies.

  “I’m sorry to say I did nae question that yer chambermaid would have gotten herself with bairn. The woman had joined with near half yer father’s guard.”

  “I did nae have any notion,” Marsaili replied, thinking of Brianna who’d always seemed so sweet to Marsaili but then had betrayed her confidence.

  “Jean had seen the Summer Walkers camping near the castle,” Maria continued, “and she told me to take the bairn to them. I branded the bairn on his right foot with an X in case Brianna changed her mind and decided she wanted her bairn, er—” Maria gave Marsaili an apologetic look “—yer bairn back. I’m sorry, Marsaili. I’d nae ever have done Jean’s bidding had I kenned the bairn was yers. Ye hid the fact that ye were with child verra well.”

  “Aye,” Marsaili replied, thinking back to how scared and lonely she had been.

  “The next morning Brianna was dead, and Jean told me the silly woman had drowned herself. Jean said to nae ever speak of the child, as it would just bring more shame to Brianna’s family.” Maria shrugged. “I had liked Brianna, so I kept my silence until now. That bairn was the only one born that month. The boy I branded must be yers.”

  “I have a way to ken my son,” Marsaili whispered, her heart racing.

  “Aye,” Maria said. “If we can find him. Come, we must leave. Remember the plan?”

  “Aye,” Marsaili replied, following Maria to the slightly ajar dungeon door. “Godfrey of Antwerp,” Maria called in a sweet voice as she strolled into the dark hall, gripping Marsaili by the arm. “Marsaili dunnae have the strength she needs for the journey to the earl’s home.”

  “What can be done?” the man asked, looking to Marsaili. “Ulster will be furious if I delay bringing her to him.”

  “I thought as much. I have done all I can in the dungeon, but if ye aid me in taking her to my healing room, I have some restorative medicine that should see her through the journey and have her well by the end of it, so she may ease the earl’s grieving pains.”

  When the guard, Godfrey, looked as if he was going to protest, Maria tugged the bodice of her gown low while murmuring, “The dungeon is so hot, is it nae?”

  Godfrey’s gaze fastened to Maria’s bosom. “Aye. Ye will be quick about it in the healing room, will ye nae?” he asked, unable to pull his gaze away from Maria’s chest. Marsaili rolled her eyes at Maria, whose lips trembled with mirth.

  “Oh, aye. I’ll be so quick, ye’ll nae even ken anything is occurring,” she promised, quirking her mouth at Marsaili. “If ye’ll just take hold of Marsaili’s right arm?”

  Godfrey did as she had asked.

  The journey from the dungeon to the healing room was a short one, as it was situated just to the right of the top of the dungeon stairs. No other chambers were nearby, so it was unlikely that anyone would hear Godfrey if he made noise when falling, nor was Marsaili worried that they would fail to overcome the man. Between her and Maria, they certainly could accomplish the task. Her greatest concern was getting out of the castle unseen and then putting enough ground between them and her father’s men to escape capture.

  As they entered the healing room, Maria paused right inside the threshold at a table that had a candelabra on it. She waved Godfrey in while she released her hold on Marsaili, catching Marsaili’s eye for the briefest of moments. Marsaili gave a slight nod to let Maria know she was prepared.

  “If ye’ll just help her sit on the chair,” Maria instructed, “I’ll get ye some mead.”

  “I dunnae want anything to drink,” Godfrey answered, voice unbending.

  “As ye wish,” Maria murmured.

  Marsaili’s heart raced as Godfrey led her to the chair. When they were almost there, she said, “Ye may release me now. I’m feeling much better.”

  Godfrey gave a clipped nod and relinquished his hold on her. The moment he did, she cried out, “Oh my,” swayed on her feet, and crumpled forward to her knees. Immediately Godfrey’s hand came to her shoulder.

  “My lady, are ye—”

  The loud crack of the iron knocking against the man’s skull resounded in the room.

  “Watch out!” Maria called. As Marsaili scrambled to lunge out of the way, Godfrey’s falling body brushed past her, and he fell forward and hit the floor with a hard thud.

  She sucked in a jagged breath as she scampered back and then upright. Maria was standing beside her, heaving breaths, her hand still clutching the candelabra, before Marsaili had even fully regained her balance. They stared at the fallen man in silence. His face was turned to them, eyes closed and mouth parted with a line of drool already starting to run from his lips. A bright trail of blood from the cut on his head trickled across his cheekbone and dripped off his chin.

  “Do ye think he’s dead?” Marsaili asked. She’d never killed anyone, and she prayed Godfrey was not the first. Though the man had intended to take her to the earl, he was only doing his lord’s bidding.

  Maria’s answer was to nudge the man in the shoulder with the tip of her shoe. When he did not move or make any sound, she bent over him and pressed her fingers to his neck.

  “What are ye doing?” Marsaili asked.

  “Seeing if his heart still beats.”

  “Does it?” Marsaili tried to catch her breath while waiting for the answer.

  “Aye,” Maria said with a satisfied nod. She stood, brushed her hands down her skirt, and then dashed across the room to a table littered with herbs. “Help me,” the woman said, gathering the herbs into her hands and putting them in a leather satchel. “We may need these.”

  Marsaili hurried to Maria and shoved several handfuls of the herbs into Maria’s bag. “We have to flee,” Marsaili rushed out, her gut knotted with tension.

  “Aye.” Maria glanced around the room. “I wish we could take bundles, but we kinnae chance being seen with them. It would cause suspicion.”

  Marsaili nodded. “At least the cold nights of winter are behind us. Do ye have any weapons in here?”

  Maria offered a sly smile before drawing up her skirts. She took a dagger from a holder strapped to her right leg. “Ye can have this one. There’s also one on my left leg.”

  Marsaili took the dagger with a smile, lifted her own skirts, and put the weapon in the empty holder tied around her calf with a bit of rope.

  “Are ye always prepared to carry a weapon?” Maria asked with a snigger.

  “Aye. If only I always had a weapon to carry. I’m certain a lot of what has befallen me could have been avoided that way. Come. We’ll take the woods to the west of here so that we dunnae have to enter the castle again.”

  “Agreed,” Maria said, and without any more talk, the women departed the healing room and headed for the dark tunnels inste
ad of the stairs. Marsaili had always avoided the tunnels when she lived at the castle because they were filled with mice, spiderwebs, and snakes, and today was no exception. Mice scampered across the ground as they ran, and she broke through more than one spiderweb. By the time they exited the tunnel, webbing clung to her face, her hair, and her arms. She shuddered, pausing to pull it off her when Maria suddenly clutched her.

  “Down!” Maria hissed. Marsaili started to ask why, but then she heard men’s voices.

  They both dropped to their hands and knees, and crawled quickly toward a tree. Just as they hid behind it, two of her father’s guards rounded the corner from the direction of the stables. Once they passed and were out of sight, Marsaili and Maria ran for the woods, and just as they reached the thick brush, one of her father’s men stepped out of the copse of trees, tugging up his pants.

  She didn’t recognize him, and by the grin he gave her, he didn’t know her, either. “Maria,” he slurred, obviously having imbibed in too much drink, “who is the fetching lass ye have here, and where are the two of ye off to?”

  Maria smiled, tugging her bodice low as she had before, which drew the man’s gaze and offered Marsaili the opportunity to discreetly lift her skirt and retrieve her dagger as Maria spoke to the guard.

  “So,” Maria finished, drawing out the word, “we are heading to pick those rare flowers.”

  The guard’s brows drew together. “I kinnae let ye enter the woods alone. I’ll attend ye.”

  “That will nae be necessary,” Marsaili said, which got the guard to turn toward her. At the exact moment he did, she knocked him above the eye with the hilt of her dagger, but the man did not crumple as she had hoped he would. For one breath, he appeared shocked and then anger swept his face. He reached for his sword, and as he did, Maria, who had moved behind him, hit him over the head with her own dagger. He fell to one knee, sword in hand, and though it turned Marsaili’s stomach to hurt him, she knew he would foil their plan of escape if she did nothing. She knocked him over the head once more, and he fell forward into the dirt.

  She and Maria exchanged a long look as he lay there motionless, and with a thumping heart, Marsaili dropped to the ground and started trying to roll him toward the thick brush to hide him from the other guards.