“That be no’ true!” she cried. “I was no’ home, I was at Dougall’s. Alec, ye must listen to me. I think Mairi has been poisonin’ Dougall.”
Aye, she was completely mad. Why else would she accuse Mairi of such a thing? “Patrice, please, ye must tell me where Leona is.”
“I do no’ ken!” Her eyes were filled with tears. “Please, listen to me. Ye must get to Dougall straight away! I tried to find Mairi, to confront her, I even walked all the way to Almot and Deena Bowie’s cottage. But I could no’ find her. I think she be poisonin’ Dougall, just as she poisoned me da!”
Alec was convinced then, that she had lost her grasp on reality. He had no time to feel pity or remorse for Patrice. Now, more than ever, he was certain ’twas Patrice to blame for Leona’s disappearance. Leona was now his sole focus. He would find her. He had to.
“Put her in the dungeon, under heavy guard,” he ordered as he spun on his heels.
“Nay!” she cried out! “Alec, please, I beg ye! Ye must listen to me.”
Ignoring her cries, he left her to go in search of his wife.
Seamus was waiting in the courtyard, with Satan barking, howling, and ready to run. Alec bent down to speak with his bandogge, much like his wife would have done. “There, now, ye beastie,” he said. “We have important work to do. Are ye ready lad?”
The dog was eager. He pulled, stretching tight the heavy leather tether lashed to his collar, the end of which was in Seamus’s hands. Drool fell from his mouth in long tendrils as the dog barked and howled, signaling he was ready to run.
Alec petted the dog’s head once and took to Ares before giving the order to let loose the dog. Satan took off like an arrow from a bow. Out of the courtyard and across the drawbridge. Alec and his men were fast on his heels.
Down the path, with many men on horse and even more on foot, carrying lighted torches, the large army went. Around the path, this way and that, with his nose to the cool, damp earth, they followed the bandogge. Satan picked up speed, taking them straight to the door of Patrice’s cottage.
Alec sat atop his steed as his stomach tightened. So she had been here! People, upon hearing the sound of horses and men, began to poke their head’s out of cottage doors or step into the cool night. Alec ignored them, his focus completely and solely on his bandogge.
Torchlight flickered in the cool night air. The waxing, gibbous moon offered them even more light. Still, ’twas not enough to bring any ease to Alec’s agitated heart.
Satan sniffed the ground in circles before picking up the scent once again. No longer at a full run, rather a fast trot, the dog next led them to a spot not far from Dougall’s front door. For a long moment, he sniffed the ground in circles, before he approached the door and came back again.
Alec waited, growing disconcerted. Satan sniffed the ground, going around in circles. He sat down and whimpered, looking up at Alec.
Seamus, who had been following on foot, came up to the dog and held Leona’s nightdress in front of his snout. Satan stood up, sniffed, licked it once, and whimpered. A moment later, he was off again, this time going in a northeasterly direction. Seamus tucked the nightdress into his belt, picked up his torch, and followed after the dog. They were going away from the direction Effie had said she’d last seen Leona and Patrice. That was not entirely odd, especially if Patrice and his wife had backtracked, deciding at the last minute to go in a different direction.
Satan led them through thick bracken and brambles, a small, dense pocket of trees. Soon, Alec realized they were heading to the auld keep. Never would he have thought to look here! The place had been abandoned for decades and most were convinced ’twas haunted.
The dog took off again, once he got through the dense, tangled knot of brambles. As Alec and his men dismounted in order to hack their way through, they suddenly heard Satan’s plaintive wail.
A distinct, guttural wail that indicated he had found his prey.
With his heart threatening to batter its way out of his chest, Alec ran on foot across the small open space. Kyth was right beside him, with a lighted torch in one hand. Through the opening in the old wooden wall, they went. A few feet later, Alec stopped dead in his tracks.
Satan was encircling something on the ground, wailing, barking, clearly distressed. From where Alec stood, he could not see what exactly the dog was barking at.
Although he was moving as quickly as he could, life seemed to slow down all around him. He stopped, a step or two from where Satan now sat. Kyth held out the torch to gain a better perspective.
There, in the ground, was an opening to an old well.
Alec’s heart shattered into inestimable pieces when he realized he had just found his wife. Or at least, her final resting place.
Kyth had lowered the torch as far as he could, but ’twas no’ enough to see anything but endless black.
From somewhere behind him — Alec couldn’t be sure who had done it — appeared long lengths of rope that had been tied together. He heard voices, muffled and discombobulated, like haunting apparitions.
His men moved swiftly, quickly, while he sat on his knees, staring down into blackness. She be gone.
“Alec!” ’Twas Kyth shouting at him. “Alec!”
Slowly, Alec turned to face his friend. “Do ye wish me to go down?” he asked, a look of desperation on his face.
“Nay,” he said. If anyone was going to bring up his wife’s lifeless body, ’twould be him. He gave a hard shake of his head, to push away the sorrow and grief. A loop had been tied to one end, and tossed over the opening of the well. Alec took up enough of the rope to wrap around his waist. Lying on his belly, he wriggled his foot until he found the loop. Once he found his footing, the rest of the rope was tied off onto the saddle of one of the horses. After he was completely over the edge of the well, Kyth handed him a torch.
Slowly, they began lowering Alec into that eery black void.
Carefully, slowly, Alec was lowered into the ages old well. On his way down, the space narrowed significantly. Decades old tree roots and vines sprouted and poked out from the sides like long, grotesque fingers reaching up from hell. If he were not a full grown man, he would have sworn they were alive, trying to keep him from gathering up whatever lay at the bottom.
Soon, his sword got tangled up in one of those thick, gnarling vines. It took a long moment, a bit of struggling and a few choice curses before he was able to untangle himself.
“Can ye see anythin’ yet?” Kyth called out from above.
“Nay!” Alec said as they continued to lower him down. He could feel beads of perspiration breaking across his forehead, more from desolate heartache than physical exertion.
More long moments passed before his torch lit upon something below. A few more inches down, he began to see more clearly.
In that tiny moment, he felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. There, on the bottom of the well, was his wife’s cold, dead body. Ghostly, her body seemed, as the torchlight flickered in the dank air, casting her in unworldly, hideous light.
His feet soon hit bottom, splashing in inches of frigid, dank water. He kicked his foot from the loop and crouched down beside her. She was lying on her side, against the muddy wall, in a mangled mess of skirts and mud.
Tendrils from the gnarling vines above had almost reached the floor of the well. They hung now, like otherworldly curtains, just a hair’s breadth from her face.
He could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears. He jabbed the torch into the wall so he could have both hands free. For a long moment, all he could do was stare at her. Finally, he gained the courage to reach out and touch her face. “Och!” he cried softly. “Leona, please fergive me.”
Leona had never given him the full reason as to why she hated the dark. He’d always meant to ask her, but for whatever reasons, he had never gotten around to it. Now, he would never know.
For the first time in his adult life, Alec Bowie wept. Tears fell from his eyes as his s
houlders wracked with intense guilt and grief. She died alone, in the coldest, darkest of places. All alone, without anyone there to say goodbye.
He had to get her out of here. He would take her back to the keep and prepare her himself for a proper burial.
Then he would have Patrice Bowie hanged.
Grief and fury enveloped him, coming out in great waves of quiet tears.
“Alec?” Kyth called out from above. “Are ye all right?”
All right? Nay, I will never again be all right.
“Have ye found the bottom yet?”
Alec swallowed back his tears, took in a deep breath and called up to Kyth. “I found her.”
“Be she all right?” he yelled down, his voice filled with hope.
Alec didn’t have the strength to answer. He shook his head, and took in another cleansing breath. When he felt he had gained enough strength and courage to touch her, with great care and tenderness, he began to lift her into his arms.
For a long moment, he could have sworn he heard her mumble.
“Leona?” he whispered her name.
“I hurt,” came her weak reply.
Never had he felt such a strong sense of relief. He fell back onto his rump against the wall, with Leona in his arms. Tears fell again, but this time for entirely different reasons.
“Lass!” he cried. “Talk to me, please!”
“I hurt,” she repeated, her voice weak and strained.
Slowly, he breathed in and out, as he tried to settle his nerves. Elation, sheer, unadulterated elation exploded from his stomach to his fingers. “Thank God!” he whispered repeatedly. “Thank God!”
The tight confines of the well made it difficult to move. Using the wall for support, he hugged her close and stood. “I am goin’ to get ye out of here lass!” he told her. “I am going to tie this rope around yer waist, aye? I need ye to hang on.”
“Help Dougall first,” she said.
Assuming she must be delirious from having been in the water and dark for so long, he kissed the top of her head before speaking louder. “Leona!” he said as he gave her a little shake. “I need ye to wake up.” Again, he told her he was going to tie the rope around her waist. “I need ye to stand up,” he said. “Stand up, Leona!”
She grumbled and winced when he tried to set her on her feet, and collapsed against him. “Nay!” she cried out. “Me arm be broken.”
He set her back down against the wall, using great care. He removed the dirk from his boot and cut away the sleeves of her dress. Her right arm had naught but a few nasty scratches and cuts. Her left, however, proved her correct.
Her forearm was bent, twisted, the bone not quite poking through the skin. God only knew if her legs were similarly damaged. Lifting her skirts, he checked as best he could. Both ankles were swollen, but nothing appeared to be broken. How on earth had she survived such a fall without breakin’ her legs?
He would have to hold her while his men pulled them both up at the same time. But he was not certain they would both fit through the thick vines above. Bloody hell!
Knowing he risked damaging her arm even further should it become tangled in the vines, he had to make a decision.
“Kyth!” he shouted. “She be alive!”
A great cheer erupted from above. He had to call Kyth’s name three times before he could hear him over the happy men. “Her arm be broken! Send down something to make a splint!”
He was going to have to set her arm before he could get her out of the well. Lord above, he did not want to have to do it, but he had no other choice.
Moments passed by before Kyth called down to him. “Heads up, Alec!” A moment later, he tossed a bundle down. Alec caught it before it could splash into the murky water.
The fabric, he was certain, had once been someone’s tunic. Probably Kyth’s. Wrapped around it were several long sticks, straight as they could find. He unravelled the bundle and carefully set everything on the vines.
Taking several deep steadying breaths, he studied his wife’s arm and the best manner in which to proceed.
“Leona, this is goin’ to hurt like the devil,” he whispered. “Fergive me.”
The pain was so intense, Alec imagined she could feel it to her toes. She screamed, a God-awful scream. With glassy eyes she stared at him for the briefest moment, before she passed out.
With the bone set, he quickly set about making the splint. He dropped one of the sticks twice, both times into the murky water. The entire process took longer than he would have liked, for his hands trembled.
Calling up to his men, he said, “She’s ill and weak! She cannot make the climb. I have to bring her up with me!”
“We be ready when ye are!” Kyth called down.
Alec found the slip-knot and put his foot into it. After wrapping the rope around his own waist a few times, he lifted his wife into his arms. He gave a yank on the rope, and was soon being lifted into the air.
He left the torch behind, for there was no way to carry it and hold onto his wife.
Into blackness they ascended, all the while he whispered words of encouragement to Leona. “Soon, we shall have ye back at the keep, love.”
Chapter 32
With Leona wrapped in his arms, covered with plaids his men had given him, they rode like lightning back to the keep. Down the paths, across the drawbridge, and into the courtyard.
Pulling Ares to a stop, Alec swung a leg over and jumped to his feet. He refused to hand Leona off to anyone. “Where is the healer?” he yelled into the semi-darkness. Without waiting for a response, he bounded up the stairs and into the keep.
Adhaira was waiting for him near the stairs. “Och!” she exclaimed when she saw Leona. “I have a tub of hot water waitin’ above stairs, m’laird.” She rushed ahead of the others.
As Adhaira lit more candles, Alec laid Leona on the bed and began to check for further injuries. Abrasions and scratches, nothing so deep to require stitches, were scattered across her face and neck.
“Ye must get her out of those wet clothes,” Adhaira said. She ushered the men out of the room.
“Where be Mairi?” Alec asked as he began to cut away the already torn and tattered gown.
“We sent word to find her, m’laird,” Adhaira replied.
As he carefully sat his wife up, Adhaira gently tugged away the dress. “They said she was at the bottom of an old well?”
Alec gave a quick nod of affirmation. “Her arm was broken. I had to set it,” he replied as they got her out of the chemise. Adhaira pulled off Leona’s slippers and woolens.
As far as Alec could tell, there were no other broken bones. Although her ankles were swollen, he believed they were only sprained.
Leona started to shiver then, violently. “Get her in the tub,” Adhaira told him.
With great care, Alec scooped Leona up and set her in the warm tub. “I can no’ tell if she has a fever. Her skin be too cold.”
She stank to the high heavens, from being in the dank water for God only knew how long. The dress had been soaked up to her waist. With a broken arm and those conditions, ’twas no wonder she was so cold.
Using a clay pitcher, Adhaira poured warm water over Leona’s head. Alec held her up, making sure to keep her broken arm out of the water.
The shivering soon subsided and Leona began to mumble once again about Dougall. “Dougall,” she whispered. “Ye must help him first.”
“Aye, lass, we will help him,” Alec replied, though he could not begin to guess as to why she was thinking of Dougall.
“Poison,” Leona stammered. “He’s bein’ poisoned.”
Alec very nearly let go, so stunned he was to hear his wife mention the same thing Patrice had: that Dougall was being poisoned.
As soon as they were done bathing her, Alec lifted her up into his arms again. Adhaira wrapped a drying cloth around her as best she could. While Alec sat next to the hearth with Leona on his lap, Adhaira dried her hair.
“Leona, who told ye Doug
all was bein’ poisoned?” Alec asked as he rubbed her cold skin with the palm of his hand. Her head lolled from side to side. “Leona? Please, lass, I need ye to wake up. Did Patrice tell ye she had poisoned him?”
“Nay,” she replied as she fought to open her eyes. “No’ Patrice.”
His stomach tightened. Had Patrice been telling the truth? “Are ye certain, Leona?” he asked, as he gave a gentle shake to her leg. “Did Patrice put ye in the well?”
Leona shook her head and tried once again to open her eyes. “Nay, no’ Patrice.”
He swallowed hard before he asked his next question. “Was it Mairi, then? Was Mairi the one who put ye in the well?”
Fighting hard to wake, to focus on her husband, she said, “Nay, no’ Mairi or Patrice. Please, Alec, help Dougall.”
Cold, exhausted, and in pain, she fell back to sleep, with her head resting against Alec’s shoulder.
If ’twas no’ Mairi or Patrice, then who the hell was it?
Adhaira slipped a heavy sleeping gown over Leona’s head. She’d cut the right sleeve off so they would not have to disturb the broken arm any more than they already had.
Alec put her into the bed and pulled the furs up around her neck. He sat next to her, dumbfounded, wondering who on earth would have poisoned Dougall and for what purpose? And who in the name of God had tried to kill his wife?
“Alec,” Leona whispered his name. “Please help Dougall.”
Alec leaned over and laid down beside her. “Leona, who did this? Who hurt ye? Who hurt Dougall?”
She whispered her reply so softly that he had to ask her to repeat it.
Hurt and anger churned in his gut when she repeated the name.
A dense, heavy fog blanketed the land, encasing the keep in a cocoon of stillness. Lit torches burned along the upper wall. They did nothing more than act as tiny, ghost-like beacons. If one could see through the leaden fog, they would see a ghost-like figure all but float across the stone courtyard.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 41
