by Amy Jarecki
But her touch soothed him. He waggled his brows. “What is it?”
“I’m with child.”
***
Tending the wounded in the great hall, Helen applied a cool cloth to Torquil’s forehead, then pulled away the bandage and examined the arrow wound in his shoulder. Yellow puss oozed from it. She bit her bottom lip and offered a silent prayer that he’d survive the fever. So many MacIain men had been injured during the fighting. Most sported cuts that would soon heal, but Torquil and Roy could very well succumb to their now putrid wounds.
Sir Grant entered the hall and stopped beside her. “How is he?”
“I’m afraid no better.”
“Sir Aleck has asked to see you.”
Helen glanced at Torquil and wondered why her husband would care to see her now. Above stairs, he had Mary to give him everything he needed. “How is his arm?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen him.” Sir Grant shrugged. “Mistress Mary fetched me.”
Why on earth wouldn’t she just come tell me? This situation grows worse by the day. Helen wiped her hands on her apron and stood. “Perhaps the chieftain wishes to listen to a merry tune. I haven’t played my lute for him in some time.”
The guard bowed and gestured to the stairwell. “M’lady.”
Grant accompanied her to Aleck’s chamber, which was a quandary. Mayhap he’s concerned for the safety of Mingary whilst Aleck’s abed. I certainly would be if I were he.
Aleck sat propped up against the pillows, his arm in a sling across his waist. The chieftain frowned when they entered—looked directly at Helen and narrowed his eyes.
She glanced toward Grant. Now what have I done?
“Exactly why did you command Mistress Mary to tend the pigs?” Aleck drove straight to the point.
Helen rolled her eyes to the ceiling. For goodness sake. Was she to be reprimanded for taking charge when it was her duty to do so? Of course her husband would give no accolades for her work in holding the castle after he’d abandoned her and ridden east.
She sighed. “I assigned duties to everyone. Mistress Mary was idle and the livestock needed tending. After all, she manages her chickens. I saw no harm in asking her to tend the pigs as well.”
“It was demeaning for her.”
Something inside Helen’s heart snapped while a flash of heat seared across the back of her neck. “You are serious? And you think rejecting me in front of the clan and bellowing for your leman does nothing to subjugate my honor?”
“I knew it.” Aleck slammed his fist into the mattress. “You lashed out at Mistress Mary in a jealous rage because I prefer the widow in my bed.”
“I did no such thing.” She pointed toward the door. “Ask Mr. Keith. He was there. I was simply preparing to defend the keep against attack. Which, by the way, I managed to do whilst you were breaking your arm in Sunart.”
“Hold your tongue, you wicked shrew.” Aleck pulled his dagger from beneath his pillow and pointed it at her.
With her heart thundering in her chest, Helen skittered toward the door. He’d never threatened her with a weapon before.
“You are fortunate I am abed, else I would take great pleasure in cutting out your barbed tongue.”
Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. From the evil glare in his eyes, she didn’t doubt he could do it. Trembling, she scuffled aside. How dare he threaten her for speaking out against a woman who had lowered herself to that of a whore? Her eyes rimmed with tears.
Sir Grant stepped forward. “M’laird. I think Lady Helen acted with the courage of a warrior. She managed to keep the MacDonalds at bay until we arrived—”
“Oh really? And who pays your wages, you irreverent beef-witted codpiece? As I recall, Alexander MacDonald was bashing through the sea gate with a battering ram when we arrived. Lady Helen did nothing but issue orders and fire a few paltry arrows as I’ve heard it reported.”
She threw her fists to her hips. “We sank one of the MacDonald galleys!”
He slashed his dagger through the air. “You nearly destroyed my brand new cannon.”
“Preposterous!” Helen’s mind raced. Who would deceive her thus? Or would Aleck twist the truth so he didn’t appear incompetent? By all the saints, she dare not utter another word, else Aleck would make good on his threat.
He pointed the ridiculous dagger at Sir Grant. “Take her to the dungeon. Allow her to see no one—especially that shrieking little brat she birthed.” Then he glowered at Helen. “Whilst you rot, think about your station here and about what I care for. Your role is to please me and provide my heir.”
Every muscle in her body clenched. She had to say it, though the thought made ice course through her blood. “How can I fulfill my duty if you will not return to my bed?”
Throwing the dagger at the floor, Aleck barely missed Helen’s feet. She skittered into Sir Grant.
Her husband’s steely eyes filled with hate. “Your place is not to question me.”
Grant seized her arm. “Come, m’lady.”
“No!” She struggled to wrench her arm free from the henchman’s grasp. “My place is not to be locked in the dungeon when I have committed no crime. I am a Campbell, daughter of the legendary Lord of Glenorchy. My father was Scotland’s hero.”
Aleck sneered. “Unfortunate you are not more like him.”
I am my father’s daughter and you can never take that away from me.
Grant again tugged on her arm and pulled her into the passageway.
Helen stumbled over her skirts. “I am no common criminal!”
“You are and have always been a thorn in my side!” Aleck’s hateful bellow echoed through the stony corridor.
Chapter Eighteen
On the second floor of Dunstaffnage Castle, Eoin sat with Lord Duncan and King James in the king’s solar and stared at the map on the table in front of them. They’d gone over the plan so many times, the topography of the west coast of Scotland was permanently emblazoned upon Eoin’s mind. Worse, as he feared, as soon as he’d arrived at Dunstaffnage, he’d been embroiled in meetings about the MacDonald raids up and down the seaboard. At least he’d learned the attack on Ardnamurchan lands had been a part of many raids the MacDonalds had staged to wreak havoc against the king.
Lord Duncan hit the table with his fist. “We cannot allow them to further build their forces. We must attack at once.”
The king ran his fingers down to the point of his brown beard, making his frown look graver and far older than his twenty years. “We shall not fail this time. I will have Alexander MacDonald’s head. I gave him quarter once. It shan’t happen again.”
Eoin hid his smirk behind a cough. “If Aleck MacIain doesn’t kill him first. The Chieftain of Ardnamurchan is hell bent on seeking revenge.”
The Lord of Glenorchy gave Eoin a stern glare. “Given only two galleys attacked, I’d wager Alexander was only toying with MacIain—giving him a warning. If MacDonald wanted to sack Mingary, she would have fallen.”
How easy it is for a man to surmise, when he wasn’t even there.
Duncan moved one of the wooden markers carved in the shape of a galley and positioned it in front of the stronghold of Dunyveig on the Isle of Islay. “Spies report Alexander is preparing to defend our attack here. If we move now, as I recommend, he’ll be out-muscled, out-maneuvered and out-smarted. I’d wager my first born he’ll fall right into the king’s hands. Sir Aleck will have to settle on a win for Scotland, rather than avenging his feud.”
Eoin had to agree—after all, they’d been sitting in this stifling chamber, planning this siege for an entire sennight. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll sail for Ardnamurchan at dawn.” Finally, I’ll have the opportunity to inform Helen about my visit with her brother.
“No need.” Duncan moved the wooden figurine of the MacIain galley through the sound and placed it in front of Dunstaffnage on the Firth of Lorn. “I’ve already sent a messenger to summon Sir Aleck and his army. I expect them within a senni
ght.”
Eoin gaped. Perhaps he should have informed Duncan of Helen’s plight, but this was not the place. He most certainly couldn’t mention it in the king’s presence. Besides, Eoin had been reluctant to say anything to Duncan because one never knew how the baron would react. He’d made an alliance with Aleck MacIain with his sister’s marriage, and to learn that she was planning an annulment could cause Duncan to confront Aleck directly. Eoin feared such a move would put Lady Helen’s very life in danger.
He grumbled under his breath. He’d wanted to return to Mingary to ensure Lady Helen’s safety. Aleck behaved unpredictably. Even in the short time he’d been at Mingary, the chieftain had grown more hostile toward his wife.
At least she’ll be safe if Aleck is sailing here. Eoin’s gut roiled. But will he sail with his men given his arm is in a sling? “You do recall he broke his arm fighting in Sunart?”
“Aye, but a man doesn’t need two arms to stand at the helm of a galley and shout commands,” Duncan said, gesturing for Eoin to resume his seat.
“And I disagree with you, Glenorchy. Now is not the time to attack. We’ll let them think we’ve lost interest first.” The king snapped his fingers and motioned for the valet to refill his goblet. “But I do agree ’tis time to unite our armies, though not here where we are in plain sight.”
“What do you suggest?” Duncan asked.
The king smiled. “Tabert.”
“How long will we sit on our laurels at that old keep?” Eoin mumbled, casting his gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth. The heat sweltering around the room was suffocating. It would be best to keep MacIain away from Helen for as long as possible until word arrives the annulment has been granted. Mayhap the king’s idea has merit.
The only problem with this change in plans was that Eoin had no idea when he’d see Lady Helen again. Nor could he send her a missive advising of his meeting with John. Putting news of such sensitivity in writing would be too dangerous.
Duncan whacked him on the shoulder. “What the devil is under your skin? You’ve been on edge since you arrived a sennight ago.”
Eoin knitted his brows, feigning an addled expression. “I’ve no idea to what you’re referring.” He spread his palms for added effect. “We’ve a madman trying to reclaim the Hebrides and the northwest of Scotland and revert it to Norse rule. Forgive me if I’m a bit concerned.”
“You ken as well as I we’ll quash the rebellion.” Duncan shrugged. “But it isn’t like you to worry. Usually you’re the first man to take up his sword.”
“That is precisely why I’m irritated. I’ve been sitting in this solar for too long talking about what we plan to do. I was ready to sail into battle three days past.”
The king chuckled. “’Tis settled then. If my nobles are growing impatient, I can only imagine how tempers are flaring in the ranks. I agree with Sir Eoin, we shall move our base to Tabert and create a ruse. We’ll give them time—make the MacDonalds think we’ve given up on their petty scheme and then we’ll attack when they least expect it.”
Eoin didn’t like that either. Tabert? He was sailing further away from Lady Helen by the day.
***
Nearly a fortnight had passed while Aleck enjoyed feigning illness and allowed Mary to cater to his every whim. But the duties of a chieftain prevented him from remaining idle, especially when King James requested his services. As soon as Mary finished buckling his breast plate over his hauberk, he and his men would set sail—and when he returned, he’d impale Alexander MacDonald’s head on a spike above the Mingary gate.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said.
He flexed his arm in its sling. The damned thing still hurt. “I’m sure I will not be long. I’ll have my revenge—and then I’ll be free to think about you and the bairn.” Aside from his insatiable desire to murder the MacDonald bastard who’d tried to seize his lands, Aleck had thought of nothing else but the infant growing in her belly. It gave him renewed hope for an heir and now he’d devised the perfect scheme so no one would ever know the child was a bastard.
He cupped Mary’s face. “You are already showing, my dear.”
“Aye.” Her cheeks turned red. “I left it as long as I could afore I told you, m’laird.”
“You’ve known for a time?”
She nodded.
He didn’t blame her for hiding it from him. Anything could have happened, but having his son arrive sooner than later would only be a benefit, given his scheme. “When do you expect…ah…”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Three months give or take. Around St. Crispin’s day, I expect.”
A giddy flutter tickled his stomach. “Excellent. I shall send you to my Uncle’s stronghold in Duntulm. No one will recognize you there.”
She covered her mouth with her palm and stepped away. “You desire to be rid of me?”
“Not at all. I desire only for you to birth the bairn in secret.” He chuckled at his ingenuity. “Henceforth, I’ll allow no one to see Lady Helen. Once I receive word that you’ve birthed my son, I’ll send for you.”
“And what of your wife?”
He chuckled. “She’ll remain locked in the dungeon and receive her meals under the door. No one will know whether her belly is growing or not.” He eyed Mary. She was the only person to whom he could entrust his plan. “After I fetch you with my son, Helen will perish from birthing the bairn in her cell. I’ve the whole thing planned.”
A delightfully wicked grin spread across Mary’s face.
***
Helen had lost track of how long she’d been incarcerated in the dank dungeon. When the sentry came with her meals, a ray of torchlight would flicker from beneath the door, but otherwise she’d been in darkness with no idea whether it was day or night.
If only they would allow her some light, she might be able to read or embroider to allay the endless boredom. But no, the most malevolent guard in all of Mingary was her jailer.
Aleck had assigned Robert to her care. And Helen had no doubt her husband contrived to put her under a guard who had no sympathy for human life. When he wasn’t acting as a guard, Robert spent his days in the great hall sitting alone, sharpening his weapons. Helen had once caught him in the courtyard, pulling the claws from a kitten. He’d put the poor thing in a burlap sack, holding one paw through the opening. Helen wouldn’t have known he had the kitten until it yowled in pain as Robert tortured it with a pair of iron tongs. She’d given him a firm lashing with her tongue and snatched the poor, trembling kitten from his grasp.
Of course, Aleck had found the whole incident amusing and Robert never did receive a reprimand. After that, the sadistic guard would sit in the hall and glare at her whilst sharpening his dirk. She could have sworn, the whetstone would screech louder when she passed through the hall. It always made her skin prickle.
For the past several days, she crouched in the corner, rubbing her outer arms. The cell was always cold. On the far wall, a stream of water trickled tirelessly. With no privy closet, she’d used that side to relieve herself. Helen hated how miserably disgusting her life had become. Living in the dark, she’d lost all sense of time. She could have been imprisoned for a sennight or a month. Time simply blurred. With her mouth riddled with sores, her hair matted, she had been reduced to a subhuman troll living in purgatory.
Aside from the lack of a chamber pot, she had no ewer and bowl for bathing. She had no comb, no cloak and no blanket. She slept on a musty bit of straw, which she imagined had been there for years. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about who else may have used it or what they might have used it for.
How could Aleck do this to me?
Helen’s anger had transformed into a numbness that consumed her. She’d never thought she could hate anyone, but now she realized exactly how much she hated Aleck MacIain, and it tore at the inside of her gullet like the iron tines of a rake claw into the earth. The only thing that kept her remotely sane was her driving need to protect Maggie.
&n
bsp; Would Sir Eoin help her?
Did he know she was there? Surely he had returned by now. Did Aleck discover she’d sent the missive to John? Had Aleck killed Eoin?
My God, the possibilities are horrendous. Will no one come to my aid? Bile burned her throat. Why on earth did I scribe that missive to John?
The door above creaked as it always did when Robert descended the narrow steps to the dungeon with a bit of food. Prisoner’s fare she’d grown to expect. A bit of bread. A half a cup of ale—broth if she was lucky.
Heavy footsteps slapped the stone steps and stopped outside her door.
Helen crawled to the gap and held her hand to the light now shining through the three-inch space.
“Are you there, m’lady?”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Mr. Keith?”
“Aye. I’ve a trencher for you.”
He slid the wooden platter under the door. Helen nearly swooned at the heady smell of roast lamb and onions. With a trembling hand, she grabbed a piece of meat and shoved it into her mouth. The sores hurt like someone pierced her gums with knives, but she salivated at the stimulating juices and her eyes rolled back.
“Mm.”
When she swallowed, she realized Mr. Keith hadn’t yet ascended the stairs. The light still shone from beneath the door. “Thank you for bringing me something other than bread.”
“I cannot bear to see you in here, m’lady. ’Twas the least I could do.”
“Where is Robert?”
“He sailed with Sir Aleck. The chieftain received a summons from the king.”
“Whom did Sir Aleck leave behind to tend the keep?”
“Just the grey-haired warriors. Much the same as usual.”
She reached her hand under the door as if she could touch the light. “Have you seen Sir Eoin?”
“Not in some time. Come to think on it, not since you…”
Not since before Aleck threw me into the dungeon. Dear Lord in heaven, what on earth happened to him? “How is Miss Maggie? Have you seen her?”
