by Mia Marlowe
Margaret wasn’t moaning any longer. She was screaming. She’d even stopped apologizing for it during the short rest periods between contractions. Katherine had reached the end of what she knew to do for her. She could only let Margie squeeze the life out of her hands and pray that Beathag would come soon.
Finally, the midwife dragged herself up the spiral stairs. A strip of muslin had been tied over her head and under her jaw, covering what looked like a jagged cut along one of her cheeks.
“Beathag, what happened to you?”
“I was in the brewery when the roof collapsed, my lady. Dorcas helped pull me out.” Beathag waved a bony-knuckled hand. “Dinna fash yerself on my account. I’ve a bump on my head and a cut on my cheek, but I’m well enough for all normal purposes. Lord knows there’s them what are worse off than me.”
One of those unfortunates was ensconced in the birthing chair. The midwife bustled over to Margaret and settled herself on the short stool in front of the lady’s elevated knees to take stock of the situation. Her brows lowered in a frown and she made a tsking sound with her teeth and tongue.
“That’s bad, it is,” she muttered. “The babe’s turned ’round.”
Margaret’s chin had sunk to her chest as if she’d swooned, but now she lifted her head. “What do you mean? I thought you said the child was ready to come.”
“He was. But sometimes they take an odd notion at the last moment. This one’s coming feet first.” Beathag forced a smile to her thin lips now that she realized Margie was still sensible enough to hear and understand her. “Dinna fret, my lady. ’Tis not the first breech bairn I’ve brought into the world and, God willing, ’twill not be my last.”
Another boom sounded in the bailey and another chorus of screams rose to greet it. The pull toward the window was strong, but Katherine couldn’t answer its summons. Margie was in the throes of another contraction and Kat wouldn’t take her hand away.
Besides, if Will was in the path of one of the flying boulders, she didn’t want to know.
Be thou poor or be thou rich
I direct up thine eye
And so in this we be all like
For one and all shall we die.
—From “Death Began Because of Sin”
“If we all have to share in something and I’d had my druthers, I’d have wished that we all had red hair. Aye, ’tis a bit of a curse at times, as I’ve good reason to know, but it beats dyin’ by a long chalk.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Thirty
With the darkness came a blessed stillness as well. MacNaught seemed satisfied with the damage he’d done to Glengarry’s curtain wall that day. As twilight deepened, the machine stopped clanking and tossing death and destruction toward the castle. Fires burned at intervals along the hillside, and occasional laughter rose from the camp of the men giving siege to the castle as they enjoyed their evening meal.
Why shouldn’t they laugh? Will thought. There’s no one to bury in MacNaught’s camp.
William made the rounds, searching out the family members of the men who’d fallen defending the wall. One of the crofters’ children, a small boy named Jamie, had died when the brewery was struck.
“He wasna a bad boy,” his mother said tearfully. “But he’d a fear of underground places. Wouldna set foot in our root cellar. When I called for him to join me and the other children headed for the souterrain, he ran away.”
His small, broken body was found where he’d hidden away amid the hogsheads of beer and barrels of hops. For now the dead were laid out in the chapel side by side in their makeshift shrouds. William feared the small church would soon not be big enough.
“Now, my wee laddie will lie underground till the Last Trump sounds,” young Jamie’s mother said, her shoulders shaking with grief.
“Not so,” Will said. “If the great and mighty can be interred in the walls of cathedrals, we can carve out a niche here in the chapel for your boy.”
The power of speech deserting her, the woman grasped William’s gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it.
“Dinna fret, mother. I swear I’ll see it done.” Will moved on to the next grieving family to offer comfort. He steeled himself not to feel. If he let himself, he’d be too bogged down by the sorrow around him to be any good to anyone.
As many people as could fit were crowded into the great hall. There, cheek by jowl, they were served a thin stew and bread. A few grumbled, but if the siege lasted long, they’d be glad Cook was thrifty from the start. Will found the MacElmurray family huddled together as near the fire as they could manage.
“Are ye and your company of archers ready, Hew?” Will asked.
The young man nodded. “Aye, they’re to be waiting at the portcullis for yer orders, milord.”
“By yer leave, I’ll be joining ye too, Lord Badenoch,” Sawney MacElmurray said. “I canna let my youngest son follow ye if I fear to go myself.”
Both men kissed Mrs. MacElmurray on the cheek, shouldered their quivers and bows, and followed Will into the night. He found a dozen men milling by the gate.
“Once we clear the castle, there’s to be no talking,” William told the assembled group. “Dinna nock an arrow till I give the signal. We’ll have a chance for perhaps a dozen volleys before we meet resistance. Then we hightail it. Our task this night is to sting them.”
“Not to defeat them?” Hew asked.
“That’ll come, Hew,” Will said. “For now we need to inflict some pain and show them we aren’t cowed by their damned machine.”
By all accounts, Ranulf’s men were not overly fond of discipline or much familiar with the concept of loyalty. With any luck, MacNaught’s loosely bound group of warriors would think twice about their leadership after this nasty surprise caught them unawares. William was counting on some of MacNaught’s fighters slipping away from the siege as an unprofitable venture that was likely to get a man killed when he wasn’t looking.
“When I call retreat, ye’re to make for the castle without looking behind ye. I’m taking fourteen men out. I mean to bring ye all safe to your families once this night’s work is done,” Will said with a grim smile.
To a man, they grinned gamely back at him. Too often, lairds spent the lives of their pledge-men cheaply, using them as archery fodder in set battles. Besides having genuine concern for these volunteers’ lives, William didn’t have a single man to spare.
He wished he could go mounted, but feared the sound of a horseman would be louder than men on foot. He ducked through the postern gate, the smaller opening that didn’t require the portcullis to be lifted.
“Be at the ready to let us back in,” he ordered the porter as the last bowman passed through.
The new moon was shrouded behind heavy clouds, for which Will gave thanks. It meant his small party climbing the snow-covered hill might seem to be nothing more than undulating shadows to any watchman. No alarm had been raised by the time they reached the depression William had pointed out earlier.
He tugged off his gloves and clicked his fingers, the signal they’d all agreed would replace the verbal commands to nock, draw, and loose. The hiss of arrows as they winged toward the campfire nearest the trebuchet could easily be taken for the stinging breath of the winter.
Shouts and screams told them some of the arrows had struck true. William gave the signal for another volley in the same place. The third group of arrows was directed at another prechosen fire. More cries of surprise and pain rose from the camp.
The old Vikings told tales of the Valkyries, disembodied choosers of the slain. Will’s arrows were like those mythical death-bringers. They sang a song of doom as they whizzed through the air and found their marks. Over the cries of the wounded, William heard MacNaught shouting but couldn’t hear the words well enough to tell what he was ordering.
If their positions were reversed, Will would be calling for the cavalry to mount up, so his ears pricked for any sound
of horses. He gave orders for more volleys in rapid succession.
“Back to the castle,” he ordered when he heard hooves pounding their way. His men took to their heels, having been warned that this was how a sortie was conducted—a bold strike after leaving a defensive position and then a swift retreat.
How much damage they’d done, Will couldn’t say. Unless they’d managed to hit the fellow in a friar’s frock who seemed to be ordering the operation of the trebuchet, this foray was more to undermine morale than to deal a decisive blow.
Hopefully, it would wipe the smugness from Ranulf’s face when he realized his men weren’t as untouchable as he thought.
Will charged after his men, half running, half sliding down the snow-covered slope. As they neared the gate, he did a quick count and found himself one man short. He turned back to see Hew MacElmurray still in place, emptying his quiver, his movements fluid and full of deadly grace. There was barely a stop between one shot and the next.
“Hew!” Will shouted. “Retreat!”
“Only a few more,” came the answer. Half a dozen of MacNaught’s horsemen were almost upon him.
“No!” William drew his sword and ran back up the slope. Hew ducked at the last moment, barely escaping a horseman’s blade that would have sheared off his head like a rabbit’s.
Hew’s father shouted at his son to retreat but the lad loosed one more arrow at an oncoming rider before taking to his heels. The horseman took the arrow full in the chest and toppled from his mount, but five more barreled after him. Hew rushed past William, who braced his feet and wielded his claymore with both hands before the pounding charge.
As a rider bore down on his position, William dropped to one knee and gutted his mount as they flew past. The horse screamed in agony and tumbled headlong down the slope, taking the warrior on his back with him in a devastating fall. William hated the wanton destruction of dumb beasts in battle, but it was easier for a man on foot to take out the horse than the rider.
The archers he’d stationed on the wall began to shoot at the men on horseback as they came within range. The shafts zinged into the hillside around Will and his attackers. Since Hew was safe, he turned to flee while the riders milled in confusion. The archers kept the riders at a respectful distance. When they managed to bring one down in a frenzy of screaming horse and man, the rest abandoned the fight and made for MacNaught’s camp.
Battle rage still roaring in his veins, William pounded down the slope and through the postern gate. Once he was inside, the heavy bolt was thrown.
“Why?” Will grasped Hew by the collar and slammed him against the stone wall. “Why did ye not obey orders?”
Hew stammered an incoherent excuse, but Sawney MacElmurray hung his head. “I blame myself, milord. The fault is mine. Hew was ever headstrong but he was such a bonnie hunter and a fine hand with a bow, I didna teach him to mind as I should have.”
“If he canna follow orders, he’s of no use to anyone,” Will snarled. “There are enough ways for a man to die, Hew. I dinna want to have to tell your mother ye got yourself killed because ye were stupid. Now get out of my sight before I have ye whipped.”
Red-faced, Hew bolted away. Will swallowed back his fury. Young MacElmurray was the best bowman in the castle and he’d nearly lost him.
“Thank ye for risking yerself for my boy, milord.” Sawney’s eyes were moist. “Hew’s his mother’s favorite, ye ken.”
William dismissed his men to find their families. An uneasy quiet settled on the night as each side licked its wounds, but Will couldn’t afford to rest.
He passed quickly through the bailey, into the great hall, and climbed the spiral stairs. Nab met him at the opening to the earl’s chamber.
“How does Lord Glengarry fare?” he asked wearily.
“The same. He hasna twitched so much as a nose hair,” Nab said. “Jamison has come to sit by him for the rest of the night. What can I do to help ye, William?”
Will sighed deeply. Nab was no fighter. He’d improved a bit with his bow, but a few lucky shots did not a warrior make. If it came to hand-to-hand combat, Nab wouldn’t last more than a few heartbeats.
“I don’t know how ye can help,” Will said honestly.
“I’ll just bear ye company then,” the fool said. “Sometimes that’s enough.”
“I thought ye didna much care for the company of others.”
“I dinna.” Nab pulled off his fool’s cap and twisted it in his hands. “But yer company I dinna mind so much.”
Will shrugged. “Come then and we’ll see how it goes with Lady Margaret.”
Nab went owl-eyed at the prospect of visiting a lying-in, but fell gamely into step behind William as he mounted the stairs.
The rest of the castle might be enjoying a tentative peace, but Lady Margaret’s war went on. Will peeked into the chamber to find her seated in the birthing chair, her face glistening with sweat, her hands gripping the arms.
Katherine was at her side, smoothing her hair back and murmuring urgent encouragements. Kat’s face was as taut with anxiety as Margie’s was with pain. Then the contraction subsided. His sister-in-law’s head lolled forward and her arms relaxed.
Katherine straightened and happened to glance his way. Her face lit with joy. She abandoned Margie and flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Will, thank God.” She buried her face in his neck. “I heard ye’d led a sortie beyond the walls. I was so afraid for ye.”
Will hugged her fiercely. The welfare of every soul within Glengarry was on his shoulders, but she was all he was fighting for. This woman, this moment, all warm and silvery, there was nothing else for him in the world.
But he couldn’t lay aside his responsibilities and lose himself in her as he wished. Without releasing her from his embrace, he whispered in her ear, “I need to know if there’s a secret way out of the castle.”
She pulled back to look up at him. “A secret way out? If there is one, I dinna know of it. Do ye mean to abandon Glengarry then? Are things that bad?”
“No, we aren’t evacuating, though it may come to that. I need to send a messenger to Donald in Inverness, and going out the main gate isna an option.”
After the sortie, Ranulf had no doubt reinforced his net of watchmen around the landward sides of the castle.
“Donald?” Margie’s voice was as frail as a piece of parchment stretched thin enough to tear. “Is Donald here?”
Katherine sent him a quick look of apology and hurried back to Margaret’s side. “Not yet, dearest. But soon.” She blotted her sister-in-law’s face and neck with a wet cloth. “Donald will be here soon, won’t he, Will?”
He will if I have anything to say about it, and the bastard had better bring a hundred horsemen with him. Will swallowed back that thought and took a step or two into the room. “We need to send word to him that his child is coming, good-sister. Is there a way to leave Glengarry besides through the portcullis?”
Badenoch Castle had a complex warren of tunnels branching off from a locked cell in the dungeon. They led to a natural cave system that wandered below ground. A man, or a hundred of them, could leave Badenoch unseen and reappear miles away. It was a closely guarded secret, known only to him and his brothers. He hadn’t even told Katherine about it. He made a mental note to do so at the first opportunity.
“No, there isna a secret way out of the castle,” Margie said between gasping breaths. “I asked Donald once why there wasn’t a way to launch a boat from the castle since the loch is so near, but he said it would undermine the walls to have another opening besides the portcullis. The walls of Glengarry are our protection.” She grimaced as another contraction seized her. “And our prison.”
Will felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Nab.
“Ask me, William. I know a secret way.”
O great mystery
and wondrous sacrament,
that animals should see the newborn Lord
lying in their manger.
<
br /> —From “O Magnum Mysterium”
“Great mystery, ye say. I’ll tell ye a great mystery. ’Tis the wonder of a fool what canna keep his big mouth shut when no one has even asked him a question.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Thirty-One
“But I dinna know the way to Inverness, William.” Nab slogged up the crumbling stairs of his secret tower with Lord Badenoch at his heels.
“There’s naught to know. Stick to the loch shore and head northeast. When ye run out of loch, follow the river’s course and it’ll lead ye straight to Inverness. Anyone can tell ye where the king’s court is after that.”
When they reached the tower chamber, it seemed smaller than ever with William in it too. But small or not, it had been Nab’s. Now that Lord Badenoch knew about it, it would never be his again.
Why, oh why had he said anything?
“Stop at the village of Abriachan to see if the ferry is there, though it may be across the loch at Dores.” William pressed a purse that jingled into his hand. “If ye can catch the ferry, it’ll speed your journey.”
Nab didn’t want a journey, speedy or otherwise. He’d never been farther than the boundary of Glengarry lands in his whole life. His belly squirmed like a bucketful of eels.
William leaned his head out the small window and gauged the distance to the frozen loch below. “Aye, this’ll do. We’ve rope enough to lower ye down and the ice at the loch’s edge should bear your weight. If ye hug the shoreline, the land is steep enough as it rushes down to the loch that ye’re not likely to attract the attention of MacNaught’s watchmen.”
“Not likely? Can ye not do better than that, William? Not likely means there’s a chance I will be seen.”
“The fortunes of war, my friend.” Will grinned at him, clearly trying to buck up his confidence. “There are no guarantees, but I like your chances.”
