by Mary Wine
“I do nae mean to be rude. I appreciate ye keeping Lundy from me. Truly I do.”
She heard Cameron snort and turned her head to look at him. Disgust thinned his lips. “That part ye do nae need to thank me for. It is the truth that I enjoy taunting Lundy. The man is too greedy, too eager to tell one and all that Torin has no children. That is nae something any man should be gleefully announcing. Life is a precious thing when it comes to children. I cannae respect a man who does nae have any humility when it comes to another’s lack of children or the whim of fate when she is in the mood to be less than kind.”
“Torin is nae an old man. He’ll likely marry and have lots of babes.”
“Maybe with ye.”
“With any healthy woman, I’d say.”
Quinton shook his head. “He flew that gown for a reason, lass. He’ll come for ye. I’d bet the harvest on it.”
Shannon cast one final look at Quinton before rolling onto her side to give him her back. The man was too keen, and she needed to keep her thoughts private.
Come for her?
Sweet Christ… she prayed so!
She fought back tears and lost the battle. They eased from the corners of her eyes and left trails down her cheeks.
She did love him.
Quinton was correct about that. Shannon pulled the arisaid closer as she grew colder, but the chill came from inside her. The reason was simple; it was very possible that she would not see Torin again. Not in this life.
Which meant she would not be able to give him a child born from her love.
But the Douglas would not have taken her away from Torin while he was away if he intended for her to live. There was no way to ignore that bit of truth. It drilled deeply into her heart, making sleep impossible. She ached, and the pain was a torment that defied everything she had ever known.
So cruel. Fate was truly unkind.
***
Holyrood Palace was an old abbey. James II had been born beneath its ceiling and crowned there as well. Shannon looked down on it, marveling at the activity that was clustered around it. There was a stream of people trying to enter the main gate, but it looked as though many were being turned away. When they rode closer, she could see that many of those denied entrance were dressed in their finery. Ladies wore overrobes of velvet with pearls and veils of transparent silk. Their faces were dusted with powder, and they looked out of the boxes they sat in by pulling back the curtains. Those seat boxes were held on long poles between two horses. Shannon had seen only a few when her new stepmothers arrived, because they were more suited to the road of a city than the rocky paths of the country. They were extreme luxuries, their only purpose to protect the costly garments the occupants wore and to transport those noble people in comfort. Some of the chairs even had iron boxes beneath the seats, where hot rocks might be placed.
Some of the men were dressed in costly overtunics, but there were far more kilts than not. Fancy hats with trimmed and curled feathers adorned their heads, but they clung to their clan colors. The number of people being denied entrance was growing and growing. They moved off to the side of the gate with frustration written on their faces.
“The Earl of Douglas is not taking chances with the young king he’s been placed in charge of. The palace will be a quiet place for a long time to come.”
“I can see the wisdom in that.” Shannon could also see the advantage to the lieutenant general’s wiping her entire family off the face of Scotland. Atholl had tried to claim the throne because he and James I had the same grandfather. The man had married twice, dissolving his first marriage. But there were those who didn’t agree with the children of that first marriage being cut off from the inheritance of the crown.
Atholl had amassed all those who he could to his cause, and the only true way that James II would continue to rule was to make sure such a cause could not rise again. Atholl was gone, and with him the blood that threatened to topple the reigning monarch. Or more importantly, those who ruled in his stead like Archibald Douglas. The queen was also regent for her son, but she was English born and needed the powerful earl to help her keep her son on the throne.
Inside the palace there would be no mercy for anyone who had backed Atholl. Shannon felt that truth ripple across her skin as they rode toward the main gate. Their number was great enough to alarm the guards on the walls. She saw their arrows being notched against their bows when Cameron and Lundy rode forward without pausing. Unlike so many others, they passed through the double iron gates and into the lower courtyard. There they met the royal guard and the Douglas retainers. They were pouring out of the barracks and out into the yard to confront Cameron.
But Lundy spoke first. “I brought ye a McBoyd traitor.”
There were snarls from the Douglas retainers. Metal slid against metal as many of them lent action to their opinions of her name. The Cameron men clustered about her.
“The man’s daughter, so sheathe yer weapons, because the lieutenant general sent for her.”
Eyes narrowed, and no one moved. Shannon felt as if the moment became an entire hour while she waited to feel those unsheathed swords pierce her flesh. She heard each of her heartbeats, an eternity between each one, because she was conscious that it might be one of her last.
“Aye, the lieutenant general did send for her. Make way.”
The sea of angry faces parted to reveal the grand entrance to the palace. Two stories high, it was a curved opening framed in ivory. The palace itself was made of brown stone that looked almost golden where the sun shone on it. There were small windows, set with true glass panes, to testify that it was in fact the residence of a king, but what drew Shannon’s interest were the thick walls built to be inescapable.
How many had come to this beautiful place to die?
She did not envy the king or his queen mother. She would not want to live in any place that sat over a dungeon where torture and death were an everyday occurrence. What joy was there in the expensive ivory edgings and glass windows when she knew that beneath it lay suffering?
Her opinion did not matter. She was swept inside between Cameron retainers, who buffeted her against the snarling Lundy ones and the brooding Douglas ones.
She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. Whatever lay in front of her, she would face it without cringing.
That was what she had always shown Torin, and today she would not be changing.
Thirteen
Torin sat looking over another smoldering tower. Thin trails of black smoke rose above the stone tower, betraying the fact that it had been put to the torch. There was an unnatural silence, one that he noticed and felt lonely hearing. All around, the hills were green with flowers and the buds of new crops, but around the McBoyd tower there was nothing but death. From the front gate, four bodies hung. Those men would be McBoyd’s captains, the same ones who had attacked White Hill.
Torin didn’t feel any sense of victory. It was an ending, but there was nothing good about it. There were more widows now, and the color of their tartans didn’t matter—not here, not to these people. The only place that it mattered was in a palace where a boy was being used as the justification for seizing control. It was not a unique battle; history was full of them.
“Why would the Douglas tell us to come here when he was clearly no’ going to wait for us?” Connor asked the question with suspicion coating his voice.
“He didna need us.” He never had. Torin cursed his lack of forethought. He wasn’t used to thinking on the orders of his overlord; he did as commanded. Which was exactly what someone had counted on.
“I need to return to Donan Tower.”
“Aye, that we do.”
Connor spoke with passion and turned his horse in the same moment that Torin did. Their men fell in behind them, shaking the roofing thatch of the villagers’ homes they passed. No one came out to see them; they hid insi
de their homes, fearing another round of justice. Torin leaned low over the neck of his stallion. He felt the prickle of urgency pushing him to go faster. The sun set and he pressed on, unwilling to rest.
Donan Tower was visible at dawn. Torin didn’t slow down to greet the villagers who waved to him on his way toward the bridge. Dread was pounding through him, driving him forward. The gate began to grind upward before he was halfway across, but he still had to pull his horse up and wait while it rose high enough to allow him to ride beneath.
Baeth stood on the top step, and the pallor of her face sent his blood boiling.
“Where is Shannon?”
His head of house looked furious. “Lundy took her off to Edinburgh.”
Torin roared. His rage shook the rafters and drew men and boys out from every corner of the castle. Brockton appeared with a scowl on his face.
“Cameron was with him, but they came with the authority of Archibald Douglas, the lieutenant general. We could nae hold her.”
“Cameron is a fair man.” Connor slid from his saddle, and his men followed. “We must rest the horses, or they’ll die beneath us halfway to Edinburgh.”
Torin wanted to argue, but his friend was correct. Two days of riding and his horse needed time to recover its strength. He dismounted in spite of every muscle resisting the urge.
“We will ride tonight.” Connor’s face was alight with anticipation in spite of the fatigue that was etched into his expression. Beneath his eyes there were dark smudges, but in his eyes there was no trace of that exhaustion.
“You may count on it, my friend. I will be honored to have yer company.”
Connor grinned cocky and arrogantly. “Of course I am coming. We Highlanders must stick together. We keep what we steal.”
“Ye have that correct, my friend. I will be keeping Shannon McBoyd, and woe be to the man who gets between me and what I consider mine.”
***
“I will bid ye farewell here, lass.” Quinton Cameron shot her a serious look. They were being escorted down a long hallway that echoed with the booted steps of the Douglas retainers surrounding them. They paused for a moment outside a set of double doors. A chamberlain stood there, his hand wrapped around a thick staff. He listened to the captain for a moment before disappearing through a small side door.
“I wish ye the best of luck too.”
“I doubt there is enough luck in the entire country.”
Cameron smothered a short bark of amusement. “Well, if nae luck at least ye have plenty of spirit.”
“And ye have an abundance of arrogance.”
Quinton didn’t bother to smother his laughter this time. It drew the disapproving looks of their escort. Shannon felt her lips twitching up too; if she were heading to her execution, there really was no reason not to enjoy what she might. If fate were going to be unkind, the least she might do is laugh at it.
The chamberlain appeared and walked back to his post. He cleared his throat before lifting the staff and striking the stone floor three times with it.
“His grace, the Earl of Douglas and lieutenant general, summons Shannon McBoyd.”
His voice bounced off the stone walls. The doors opened, and the sound of the wood parting was like a cannon. Shannon drew in a deep breath while her escort began moving. She hesitated, her pride refusing to jump the moment that she was told to. Cameron reached out, but she struck his hand away.
“I’ll take myself there.”
He watched her with an expression that was bright with respect. Shannon stepped forward and discovered that the first one was the hardest. After that her feet moved faster, until she was even with her escort once more. They all lowered themselves to a knee and stayed there while the man sitting in the throne aimed his attention at her.
Archibald Douglas was a proud man. That was the thing she noticed most about him. He sat on a raised platform in an ornately carved chair that looked fit for a king. He wore an overrobe that was fine wool dyed a deep blue. It was a costly dye, which none used save to polish vanity. He stared at her, frowning when she did not lower herself to a knee. All she offered him was a deep curtsy. He snorted and waved his hand.
“Leave us. Cameron, ye have our gratitude.”
Shannon straightened, stunned by the use of the word “our.” Only monarchs spoke in such a way. Of course, the man was king in everything but name. His retainers quit the room with another round of boot heels hitting stone.
“Ye are either brazen or foolish to nae get on yer knees in front of me.”
“I was taught to kneel in church and that I should not offer the same to any earthly person, else I diminish what I offer to God.”
He tilted his head and pressed his lips together in a hard line.
“Ye are more opinionated than I care for in a female. A woman should know her place. Which is lower than a man’s.”
Shannon lowered herself again, this time slowly. It was a silent mockery of him and his ego, possibly a foolish thing to do, but she refused to coddle him. She suddenly understood why so many nobles walked willingly to their deaths; they refused to abandon their dignity by begging the monarch who signed their death petitions.
She felt the same way, undeniably, deep inside herself.
Douglas laughed at her, a short bark that hit the closed doors behind her.
“I see yer point, mistress, and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover ye have enough spine to make it.” His eyes narrowed. “There aren’t many men who would test my good humor.”
He sat forward and began rubbing his fingers against one another. His forehead furrowed while he contemplated her.
“Yer father and brothers have been condemned for their allegiance to Atholl and for raiding the McLeren.”
He watched her to see her response. Shannon simply let out a short breath. It was practically a relief to have the matter at an end. The Earl of Douglas lifted one dark eyebrow.
“Ye have nothing to say?”
“Nothing that would change anything. My words will only further damn them. I watched them celebrate their raiding of the McLeren. It was disgusting.”
The earl nodded. “Aye, I suppose I see the direction of yer thinking. Yer father sent ye to Atholl, and if ye told me that, it would seal his fate all that much more. I owe McLeren a debt for preventing yer wedding.”
The earl stopped and fingered his chin while his gaze slid over her. From head to toe, he inspected her, every curve, even lingering over the apex of her thighs for a long moment. Her cheeks heated, but she bit back her scathing words. This man was powerful, and there was nothing she might say that would sway his opinion when it came to what he believed women were placed on earth for.
Torin did not treat her so…
The earl suddenly stiffened and drew in a harsh breath.
“I have nae decided what to do with ye, Shannon McBoyd. Not yet.”
Relief flooded into her so quickly, she stepped back, a single step that she was helpless to prevent. Douglas snickered, amused by her show of emotion.
“So ye do understand that I hold yer life in my hands. I am impressed with yer courage. Ye may see yer father once, and I suggest ye do it soon, because he’s nae going to see many more days.”
“My father is here?”
The Earl of Douglas nodded, his expression grave. “Every clan that stood with Atholl will feel the weight of my fist for it. Every traitor will die.”
He flicked his hand toward the door.
“Go on. See yer father, if ye please, and do nae give me a reason to sentence ye to the same fate. Ye will remain here and stay where I put ye until I’ve thought on the matter some more.”
Shannon lowered herself into a curtsy once again.
Douglas leaned forward and rubbed his fingers against one another again.
“Ye look like ye meant it that time. W
hy? Because I spared yer life? I didna promise ye that yet.”
“Ye said ye would think upon the matter more, which proves ye to be a reasonable man. That is something I can respect.”
His face reflected shock, his hands closing around the ends of the armrests.
“I see why yer father has no affection for ye, Shannon McBoyd. Ye are nae the sort of ego-coddling creature he prefers his underlings to be. That is worth a bit of thinking on the matter of what is to be done with ye. I have no stomach for cowards, be they male or female.”
His eyes narrowed, and she felt her throat tighten. The earl was a man who planned to rule, and that meant he could not afford subjects who refused to bend to him. That was where rebellions began. More than one king knew that to kill the leaders meant the rest would bend in submission.
“Go. I’ll think on yer fate.”
The door behind her opened, and two burly Douglas retainers moved up beside her. Turning her back on him, Shannon swept from the room.
But she couldn’t help wondering if the retainers wouldn’t be the same men who would later take her to her execution. Douglas might find it much easier to condemn her if he didn’t have to look at her face while he did so.
Too easy.
***
“She’s a strong girl.” Joan Beaufort moved out from behind the tapestry where she had been sitting. The widow of James I wore a simple overgown of wool to mark her mourning.
“She is a woman, which makes her more of a threat. I do nae need that sort of thing. Her blood alone is a good reason to send her to the gallows with her kin.”
Joan shook her head. “Daughters do not decide their father’s actions. They obey.”
“That does nae mean her blood will not inspire further rebellion among her father’s men.” The Earl of Douglas stood up and faced her. “This is Scotland, madam. If ye want yer son to remain king, you will listen to me. Strength is respected here.”
