“It’s the savages I’m worried about” she remarked, her voice trembling.
Vorwen led the horse and cart underneath the gated arch and into the heart of the city. Much like the market in Dumfries, merchants, shoppers and beggars filled the streets. The smell of dung and human body odor hung heavily in the air as the dry heat of the sun baked the ground. Across the courtyard, deafening clangs rang in Fallon’s ears as the smithy pounded away on a flat sheet of iron and voices carried loudly over each other as they negotiated their goods.
Before dismounting, Vorwen gently rested his hand on her knee to gain her attention. She was about to protest when she spotted a group of five English troops patrolling on the walk atop the tower as shoppers below rummaged through the various market carts and stands. The atmosphere felt tense as prying eyes hovered above them.
“You must be mindful, my lady. Stay by my side, and whatever you do, do not speak. If they hear your Scottish tongue, they will arrest you for sure. And it will not matter whether you are a woman or not. All Scots are the same to them.”
“Oh, I understand all too well,” she replied.
Dismounting the horse, Fallon kept her head lowered as she followed Vorwen to a pub across the courtyard.
Entering the tavern, Fallon’s eyes swept across the room. It was filled with drunken English soldiers and buxom barmaids. She scanned the sea of men until she spotted a lone table near the back. All eyes fell on Vorwen as he stepped out from behind her. Whispers hummed, punctuated by snickering as he made his way across the floor.
Following Fallon to the table, he whispered, “Stay here. And don’t speak to anyone. I am going to inquire about finding you safe passage to Falstone, and get us both a drink.”
Fallon quietly waited as Vorwen headed towards the bar, others gawking in his direction and making jokes about his wee size. It was hard to bite her tongue.
Fallon watched as he pulled himself up onto a tall barstool, spoke to the bartender, and a few moments later, the bartender pointed to a man drinking alone on the far side of the room. Vorwen nodded and returned with two tankards of ale, one in each hand.
“I have found you an escort,” he said sitting down and taking a swig of his ale.
“Who?” Fallon questioned.
“Do you see that older man sitting alone?”
“Aye,” she said peering in that direction.
“Him.”
The man’s eyes peered over the rim of his mug and locked on hers. He knew he was being watched. As Fallon diverted her eyes, she caught a glimmer of a tip of metal poking out underneath his garb. He looked like trouble.
“How do ye know he can be trusted?” she asked.
“I don’t. But word has it that he is traveling to Falstone.”
“That’s it?”
Vorwen cracked a partial smile.
When she made the choice to travel with Vorwen, she admitted that his size did not frighten her so, but this other man looked as fierce as an angry bear. He was a husky man, his face covered by a long peppered black beard and his oversized brown cloak covered his massive square shoulders and chest.
Vorwen set his mug down and stood.
“Are ye leaving already?”
“Aye, my lady. I am afraid that I have business of my own to tend to and my own wee bairns at home to feed.”
“I dinna know how I can repay ye. Ye have been verra kind, Sir Vorwen. Ye are a good mon. I pray that ye have safe travels on yer journey.”
“And you as well, my lady.”
Fallon watched as her new foreign friend exited the building. She stood, took a breath, and made her way across the room toward the stranger.
“Good day, Sir. My name is Fallon. I was told that ye might be traveling to Falstone and I was wondering if I might accompany ye. I have need to reach there at once.”
“Nay,” he said, his voice cold and absolute.
Fallon took a seat, scooting her chair next to his.
“Nay, Sir, please. Ye dinna understand.”
Lifting his eyes from his mug, he asked, “What business do ye have there? Tis no place fer a lass such as yerself.”
“It is a matter of life and death.”
Scratching his rough, hairy chin, he stayed quiet a moment as if he was contemplating his decision.
“I will be takin’ no travelers wit’ me.”
“Sir, please. I am going wit’ or wit’ out yer help, but wit’ out it, it will only take longer.”
He studied her for a moment as he continued to drink from his mug. Fallon squirmed in her chair, awaiting an answer.
“Fine. If it is Castle Falstone ye wish to visit, I will take ye. But I give ye no guarantees. The road to Castle Falstone is no’ safe.”
“I will take my chances.”
“Verra well then. We leave at sundown.”
“Sundown? But that’s hours away! We must…”
The man’s scowl and raised brows felt like a stone pressing her chest.
“Verra well. Sundown it is,” she willingly agreed. “I dinna catch yer name. What shall I call ye?”
“My friends call me, Aldy.”
“It is a pleasure to meet ye, Aldy. Thank ye for escorting me. I hope it is no’ too much trouble.”
“I am sure it t’will be. I will ready the horses soon.”
Aldy stood from his spot and exited through the back door, leaving Fallon alone at the table. She placed her elbows on the table and rubbed her hands together, fidgeting with her fingers as she aimlessly glanced outside at the passing crowd.
Across the thoroughfare was a long and narrow passageway, no wider than a horse and rider could pass through. Blocking the path, one man nervously walked back and forth across the entrance, catching her eye. The man was very meticulous in the way he walked, steering clear of groups of merchants who clustered together, always keeping his eyes to the ground, avoiding the hagglers. She watched him, her neck tingling. After a few moments, the man turned down the passageway to the far end where the alley came to an abrupt halt by a tall brick wall. As the man moved to the side, Fallon recognized Vorwen’s horse and cart, left empty. The man appeared to be lurking around until she saw him reach inside Vorwen’s cart and grab something. He snatched a small brown tote, quickly placed it under his arm, and took off running.
Thief!
Bolting from her chair, Fallon raced to the door and ran outside. Like a mouse trapped in a maze, Fallon weaved her way through the crowded streets until she reached the passageway. She could see the man, knocking people over and colliding into carts in an attempt to hide his ill-gotten gain, but he kept going, holding the brown satchel close.
Turning down the alley, Fallon trailed behind him, but kept her distance. Passing a stack of wooden crates, she lost sight of him. Suddenly and without warning, the feel of cold steal to her neck caused every nerve in Fallon’s body to stiffen.
“Are ye trying to get yerself killed?” a deep masculine voice asked.
His familiar growl frightened her. Aldy lowered his blade. Taking a step back, his beady eyes looked her up and down suspiciously.
“I saw a thief take something from my friend’s cart.”
“Lass, this is no’ a town of trustworthy men. Ye cannae go wandering about,” Aldy warned.
“What do ye mean?”
“There be nothing here but thieves and reivers. Even yer small friend, I can assure ye, is one of them.”
“I dinna believe that. Vorwen is a kind mon.”
“Ye think so, do ye?”
“Aye!”
“Did he tell ye how he came upon a cart of pigs?”
“He came here to sell them.”
Aldy chuckled.
“Dinna be so naïve, lass. The dwarf is a thief. And the sooner ye learn no’ to trust people so easily, the longer ye will live. Come, I have the horses ready for our journey. Tis best we leave soon before the lawmen come upon us.”
Fallon followed Aldy aimlessly back down the alley. She walked slug
gishly, her shoulders sunk, her feet scuffing along the ground. Her mind was blank. She was tired, physically and emotionally. Were there no good men left in this world?
Aldy led her to the stables where two chestnut-colored horses were saddled and waiting.
“Ye know how to ride, dinna ye?”
“Aye, of course.”
“Good. Try to keep up,” he replied as he tightened the strap on his saddle bag and mounted.
Fallon followed his lead by mounting her horse without assistance. Together, they rode toward the gate.
Chapter 16
For two nights, they beat him.
The Wolf, beaten ‘till he was as weak as a pup.
Left in the darkness, Rylan was beginning to lose faith in the light. With all their might, they tried hard to strip him of hope and pride, but those were two things that had already been taken from him. When a man has nothing to live for, he is a mere shell; a ghost of what once was.
No matter how hard he fought, Rylan’s body shivered against his cold sweat, no doubt the beginning stages of severe heat exhaustion. The dry heat of his cell felt like a cauldron with blood and sweat, leaving Rylan to cook like a roasted lamb.
Stripped of his clothes and fed only rotten food, they toyed with him like a cat with a mouse. Rylan knew what men were capable of. He, himself, had walked down that dark path where there was no looking back. But these men were soft. Instead of employing the many horrific ways there were torture a man, these men only took pleasure in beating him until they felt satisfied; never going as far as to kill him. What was their reason? Why were they keeping him alive? Though Rylan felt grateful to be alive, he could not fathom a reason why they left him clinging to life.
Rylan heard footsteps shuffling from beyond the walls of the dead man’s chamber; at least that’s what Rylan had come to refer to it as. Pulling on the length of his chain, he held it tight within his hands to use as a weapon against his assailants.
Rylan stood near the far end of the wall, his back pressed against the cold stone. He readied himself for yet another battle. As the door swung open, light from a flickering candle burned his eyes. Forced to close them, Rylan could not make out who had entered.
“Rylan? God Almighty, what have they done to you?”
The man’s voice was familiar and took Rylan several moments until he could match the familiar voice to a name.
“Lord Charles? What are ye doing here? How did ye find me?”
“One of my many birds told me that Lord Blackwell had caught the infamous Wolf. I did not believe it and had to see for myself if it was true. I was just returning from London when I received the news. You should be grateful to know that I was able to pull some weight in London. Someone owed me a favor and let us just say that his wife was very accommodating in convincing her husband to acquiesce to my wishes. You’re a free man Rylan Arnett, or at least you were,” Charles said as he tapped his knuckle against the cell door.
“I had little choice but to come.”
“You came here by choice? Why?”
“I have vowed to protect someone.”
“And who may I ask is worth risking your life over?”
“A wee lad.”
“Forgive me, but that does not sound like the Rylan Arnett I know. What is so special about him?”
“I promised his mother I would bring him home.”
“A noble quest to risk your life.”
“The boy plays an important role in Scotland’s future only I did no’ realize it until now.”
“A vague response. I have known you for years, Rylan. Have I not earned your trust?”
“Of course ye have, my friend, but I do no’ wish to burden ye wit’ the truth.”
“Yer burdens are mine to share. Why is this lad so important?”
“He is the bastard son of Lord Blackwell.”
“Lord Blackwell has many illegitimate bastards. What makes this one so important?”
“That I am uncertain of, but it’s no’ who his father is, but who is mother is.”
“And who is that?”
Rylan began explaining to Charles the conversation he and James had before he left for his journey. How he knew that he would meet someone at her cottage that would change the fate between the MacKays and the Sutherlands forever. Only he never knew the integral part Fallon and her son played.
He’d first thought Fallon was just a means to an end, a pawn in a game of war. But she was not a mere pawn at all; she was the queen and the only one who would decide how the game would end.
“She dinna know that I now know the truth of it.”
“So her son Braeden is the rightful heir of Clan Sutherland.”
“Aye. And if Blackwell wished to use the lad for political gain, it would most certainly cause a civil war. Tis why I must keep him safe. Ye know the Sutherlands are allies to the English, and my clan is at war wit’ them. To bring this to light would end the war of wars. Ye are the only one who knows the truth. The boy must be protected. I ask ye to take the lad to the abbey at Amery Hall. His mother will be waiting there. And send word to Ian MacKay. Ian will know what to do.”
Charles nodded.
“You have my word. I will convince the Sherriff to put the lad in my custody.”
“And his mother?”
“Yes, of course. I will keep her safe. Do not worry Rylan; your secret is safe with me. I was told that Nathanial has arranged a trial this morning. If you are found guilty, you will be hanged,” he warned.
“I know.”
“I wish there was more I could do. You are braver than most. I will do right by you to keep my promise. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Rylan nodded and watched Charles disappear out the door. Knowing that both Fallon and Braedon would be safe gave him the ounce of comfort he needed; for a dead man. All would be well. Lying back against the hard ground, Rylan closed his eyes. There was nothing to do now but wait for the guards to come.
“He will be judged by our English law and you are not the lawmaker,” Charles reminded Nathanial.
“Well, then perhaps I should be. Tell me Charles; is the King aware that the Duke of Annandale has a soft heart for Scots?”
“You should mind your tongue Nathanial, if you wish to keep it. I am under the King’s orders to work as a delegate between Scotland’s monarchs and our own. Perhaps the King would be more interested in learning your own treachery. Lord save your own blackened soul if Henry discovers that you yourself have been gallivanting across the Highlands and causing trouble. I am sure there will come a time when Henry realizes that you have cheated him with the taxes you have collected and have kept a nice bounty for yourself. For now, you may have fooled the King, but you have fooled no one else.”
Nathanial sneered at his comment.
“What I do, I do for my country. I will not allow you to stand there and question my honor and allegiance to my King.”
“You and I have a very different opinion of what honor means. You are a child playing a man’s game. And this is much bigger than you can comprehend. I will not go down for your mistakes,” Charles said as he walked to the door, slamming the door behind him.
Walking down the hall, Charles headed toward the bedchambers in the south tower. Stopping at the last door on the left, he tapped the wooden door with the tip of his knuckle. As the guard opened the door, Charles could see the young boy playing quietly on the floor.
“What do you want?” Harred, the guard asked.
“I am taking the lad into custody,” he replied.
“Is Lord Blackwell aware of this?”
“I don’t give a damn what Lord Blackwell is aware of. I hold a higher position of office, and he is not to question my authority.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stepping aside, the guard allowed Charles to enter. Braeden looked up at him with reddened eyes.
“Hello Braeden,” Charles said with a smile.
“How do ye know my name?” the wee child whispered
.
“My name is Charles. I have come to bring you to your mother.”
Braeden’s face lit up, and his frown was quickly replaced with a tender smile.
It was midday when the guards came for him. Rylan walked down the hall, his wrists shackled together. Climbing three flights of stairs, Rylan followed them down a long hall.
As they neared the end of the corridor, Rylan entered the crowded room of prisoners and onlookers. Forced to sit next to his shackled brethren, he took in all the commotion. Angry witnesses sitting in the stands hollered out their blasphemies and accusations towards the prisoners as Rylan’s eyes swept across the faces of the crowd. There was no one was there to condemn or support him. He was on his own.
One by one, guilty verdicts were given like a priest giving out penances. Not one of them free of their sin. The trials were nothing more than a mockery of what English law stood for. If each man were given a fair and proper trial, they would be given a chance to speak and question witnesses, but this was not a trial. It was a sentencing, and it did not matter whether the person was guilty or not. Someone needed to pay for the crime.
The judges sat on a separate bench behind the stands. They sat and listened to each man’s plea. It was hard to understand why they even went through this charade in the first place. Especially when the verdicts were already set in stone.
In the middle of the judges sat Nathanial. His wicked stare had not left Rylan once from the moment he had walked in. Rylan smirked. He had gotten to him. It probably kept Nathanial up all night as the truth burrowed deep within his blackened soul. The dark circles under Nathanial’s eyes gave Rylan a sense of satisfaction. There was no better way to wound a man than to wound his pride.
When it became time for Rylan to stand, he unyieldingly stood before a small wooden box and rested his elbow on top. Letting out a breath, he waited for the whispers of the crowd to die in order for the judges to speak.
“Quiet down,” the elderly judge shouted.
His shaking hands and slight nod of his head were signs of aging. Even the elder’s voice was weak when he addressed the crowd. Rylan glanced around the chattering room. The poor old man could die right up on the dais before bringing the crowd to order.
Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (Protectors of the Crown Book 2) Page 11
