by Eliza Knight
“Aye, my laird. I will personally see to it.”
The men on the wall gave the signal. Belfinch was within sight.
“Ready?” Uncle Jamie asked.
“Aye.”
The men rode through the village to the second gate, their army behind them. The houses were closed up tightly, candles extinguished, giving the village an eerie feel. Not even a lone chicken walked across their path.
“Open the gate and ready the archers,” Jamie called up to the men on the outer wall.
The cranking of the chain as the portcullis was raised echoed in the silence of the bailey. Strath, Tomaidh, and Jamie went through the gate to wait for the riders to approach. They did not draw their weapons. They would meet the men on the field and would approach this civilly before calling out for battle. Waiting in the village bailey was an army of their men, and the archers prepared to shoot on Jamie’s signal should negotiations fall through.
Across the moors, Strath took stock of the riders approaching. At the head were the liveries of Northwyck and Belfinch just as the scout had reported. Behind them rode their metal-clad knights, perhaps fifty of them. While it wasn’t a massive army, it was big enough to set a tone for their intent. They would fight.
When they were half a field away, the two lords broke off from their army and rode toward them. Good. Strath had that worried the men would try to fight right then and there instead of waiting to discuss terms. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed taking Belfinch’s head, but he wanted this to go according to plan.
“You,” Belfinch accused as he drew closer. “Where is she?”
“How is your head?” Strath asked, unable to stop himself from adding the jibe.
“Where is she?” Belfinch asked again, ignoring him.
Strath tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and trying to find the patience not to attack the bastard. “She is safe. We require that ye leave your army outside our walls and come inside to discuss terms. The both of ye.”
Belfinch gave a subtle shake of his head. “Send her out. And my coin.”
“I’m afraid that is not how this is going to work,” Strath said.
“Ye will be safe inside the walls,” Jamie added.
Safe until our king arrives to take ye hostage…
“Who are you?” Belfinch said with disdain.
“Laird Montgomery.”
Both Belfinch and Northwyck nodded, having recognized the name. Strath stared at Eva’s father. The man looked to have aged a decade since he’d seen him a little over a week before. What was it about Belfinch that held him captive?
“Your daughter will be pleased to see ye are alive,” Strath offered.
Northwyck cocked his head, looking momentarily confused, then he nodded and flicked his gaze toward Belfinch.
“His daughter belongs to me. And if you don’t present her within the next five minutes, I will order my men to attack. Given the way you attacked the castle of Northwyck in England, we cannot trust that we’ll be safe behind your walls.”
“Fair enough,” Strath said, having expected that. He’d made an attempt at decency as he’d promised Eva he would. But decency had no place with these men. He withdrew his sword. “I’ll take pleasure in a bit of exercise.”
There was a flash of fear on Belfinch’s face. Perhaps he thought that by bringing his army with him, Strath would show fear, but he’d clearly not learned anything from the first time they’d met.
“You will regret it,” Belfinch hissed, yanking on the reins of his poor horse and turning in the opposite direction and kicking the sorry animal into a gallop. The whoreson would likely hide behind his army while they fought.
“I doubt that,” Strath called after him and signaled to Tomaidh, who was quick to apprehend Northwyck before he could ride away.
“Please don’t kill me,” the old man whimpered.
Belfinch didn’t even turn around.
“How did ye raise such a strong daughter considering ye are so weak?” Strath asked.
“My wife,” he sputtered, “she is…strong.”
Is? Was the old man confused? “I could have guessed. Take him inside—and keep him contained.”
Tomaidh nodded, grasped the old man’s reins and dragged him through the throng of Scottish warriors.
Jamie shook his head. “I could never imagine being that weak.”
“Aye. To give one’s daughter over to a monster.”
“Aye, and to Belfinch, too,” Jamie teased.
“Let’s show the bloody Sassenachs how a battle is won, and leave Belfinch to me.” Strath raised his sword in the air.
Before Belfinch reached the rear of his line, Strath let out a war cry. The Montgomery and Dornoch warriors followed him across the field, hungry for a fight. They were hungry to practice their skills, hungry for triumph.
The English were slow, encumbered by their armor and too cold to be fueled by passion. Strath and his men put their fury at years of abuse and from the English cruelty into every swing and block of their swords. Sassenachs fell like iron flies, dropping left and right.
Belfinch hid at the back, using his men as shields and refusing to fight. Strath couldn’t blame him for it. The stupid bastard had fallen over a pew in the chapel and knocked himself into a deep sleep in the process. What injury could he cause himself in the defense of his person?
The thought made Strath laugh. Perhaps the idiot would knock himself from his horse and break his neck, leaving the duty of taking him to the king a moot point.
The armored knight in front of him widened his eyes in horror at Strath as he brought his sword down on the flesh between his neck and shoulder.
The Scots pushed their way through the iron knights until Strath reached Belfinch, who was quick to drop his sword and hold up his hands. In his haste, he did exactly as Strath guessed he would, and tumbled backward off the horse.
Strath shook his head. “Ye have a big mouth but are nae so handy with a sword.”
Belfinch gritted his teeth. “My life is worth more than my corpse.”
“Who says I care?”
“All you Scots care. Besides, you would have killed me already.”
“Aye. I would have.”
“What will you do with me?”
Strath shrugged. “Dump ye in a dungeon? Let the rats feast on your toes.”
“My king will send an army to find me.”
“Will he? Do tell me, what was that key I took from around your neck for?”
Belfinch gritted his teeth but said nothing.
“Ye have a choice,” Jamie shouted to the men not already cut down. “Die or surrender.”
Iron knights dropped to their knees, their weapons clanging on the ground at their feet.
“I think the key hides your treasure. The things ye’ve been stealing from Northwyck.”
Belfinch still said nothing. Strath grinned and shrugged as he reached forward and grabbed the man by his hair, pulling him up until he was standing. With a flick of his sword, he cut through Belfinch’s belt and used it to wrap around his wrists.
“I wonder how quickly I can find your treasure,” Strath asked, using a perfect English accent. “I am here on official business from his lordship, allow me entry.”
Belfinch growled.
“Aye, that is what I’ll do. I’ll pretend to have been sent by ye. And I’ll have ye sign a document. Oh, what fun it will be forcing ye to sign it…”
Strath continued to bait the man as he dragged him all the way back to the castle.
“Better still, perhaps I’ll send a letter to Northwyck’s other daughter, along with the key and the coin we took from ye, and let her distribute what ye stole to Northwyck’s people. What hold did ye have over the man anyway?”
“He destroyed my life, and I destroyed his.”
“Ah, a classic case of revenge. What really happened to Lady Northwyck? What could he have done to ruin your life?”
“He killed my father.” The
man conveniently did not mention the lady.
“Ah, I see.” Strath let out an exaggerated sigh. “That will do it. I can understand why ye’d be so irate.”
“You understand.” Belfinch latched on to that. “See, he deserves to have gone bankrupt because of it.”
“I have one question though. Did guilt over killing your father cause him to allow ye to blackmail him? Why did he not simply kill ye?”
“’Twas murder, and he blamed another lord for it. The other lord was beheaded, his property forfeit.” Belfinch gritted his teeth.
“So killing ye would be in his best interest.”
“Only if he had the key.” The words came out begrudgingly, but Belfinch clearly wanted Strath to believe him.
Why else would he tell him that?
“Ah, I see. Your treasure also holds some documents to that effect.”
Reluctantly, Belfinch grumbled, “Aye.”
“Interesting. So all this time, ye’ve been holding that threat over his head?”
“And I will continue to do so if you’ll return what is mine.”
Strath tsked. “Why did he kill your father?”
Belfinch gritted his teeth, clamming up once more. There was more to the story, and Strath didn’t believe for a second that the man didn’t know the answer.
“Ye dinna have to tell me now, but in due time, I will find out. I’m thinking the lady has something to do with this.”
“Why do you even care? Take me to your king and be on your way to stealing my coin. By keeping the key, you’re only protecting a murderer.”
Strath wasn’t so certain about the latter. Men didn’t simply go around murdering other men. And from what he’d gathered about Northwyck thus far, the man was a bloody weakling, even if he was capable of cruelty.
And Strath knew exactly why he cared. The answer was up in her chamber right now, waiting for word. She was waiting for information on her father. Her mother. On Belfinch. On what would happen to her. Perhaps even worrying over his own fate.
Mayhap, it would be easier to get the information he needed from Northwyck. He could give the bastard the key and send him on his way—but not with his daughter.
Nay, that notion left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Eva was his.
Chapter Eighteen
“Father.” Eva walked slowly across the great hall to her father, who stood near the doorway with hands tied.
When she’d seen Tomaidh walk with him beneath the gate, head hung low, she wasn’t certain how she felt, and she still wasn’t. It was a mixture of trepidation and relief. Relief to know he was alive, but trepidation about what this meant for her. A jumble of emotions had flooded her system, enough so that her knees had nearly buckled and she’d had to catch herself on the stone windowsill. It was only because she’d had some time to calm down that she was able to walk straight now.
Despite Isobel’s warning they were supposed to remain in her chamber, Eva refused. She had to stop halfway down to gulp in air, feeling like an invisible force held its hand tight around her lungs.
Isobel remained close behind her.
And now, here was her father, in the flesh.
He glanced toward her, sadness and confusion in his features, not at all the reunion she’d expected. It was almost as if…he didn’t recognize her.
“Eva, my daughter,” he said at last, his voice downtrodden. Scraggly locks of hair hung about his head. He looked as though he’d not bathed in weeks rather than days. Even his clothes were rumpled and covered in stains.
This was not her father. This was someone different, someone occupying her father’s body.
“Father, are you ill?”
“Eva, my daughter,” he repeated.
What was wrong with him? Something wasn’t right. Out of duty, Eva contemplated whether she should embrace him. When she did, she felt the bones of his shoulders beneath her hands. His spine seemed to curve more, making him smaller. Because he was bound, he could not hug her back.
Eva pulled away, searching out a familiar face. Tomaidh stood not too far away.
“Please, sir, untie him.”
“I canna, my lady.”
Eva knew there was no use arguing. Her father was an enemy of the Scots, no matter how he’d gotten there, or how weak he appeared.
“Father, are you well?” Eva asked again, running her gaze over him, taking in the dark-purple smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“I am thirsty, girl, please get me a drink.”
Eva looked to Tomaidh, and he gave a slight nod. If he’d not, she would have ignored him anyway. She went into the kitchen and poured her father a cup of ale. She took a long sip of it, hoping to bolster herself, and then refilled it and returned to the great hall.
The eyes of the warriors in the great hall followed her. They were not necessarily hostile, but neither were they friendly. Her father greedily sipped the drink, spilling half of it down his shirt.
“Eva, my daughter.” Why did it sound like he was reminding himself of who she was?
“Aye, Father. I worried I’d never see you again.”
“Where did you go?” he asked, confusing her with that response.
But before she could ask his meaning, Lady Lorna and Isobel entered the great hall. The younger of whom must have gone to find her mother.
Isobel looked worried, and her mother wore a stern expression. Would they send her back to her chamber? Was this when she would learn she was no longer a guest in their house, but the prisoner she should have been all along? Had the talk she’d had with Lorna this morning been a bad idea? Did the mistress of the castle now judge her to be false?
“I’m sorry,” Eva said. “I should have…” She shook her head. “I needed to be certain he was unharmed. He may have had dealings with Belfinch, but he is still my father. I think he may be ill.”
Lorna passed her a sympathetic look. “Untie this man,” she told Tomaidh.
“But, my lady—”
“Ye’re correct, I am your lady and mistress of this castle. Do as I’ve instructed and untie this man.”
“His Lairdship—”
“Dear heavens, ye’re a stubborn lad. If ye choose to disobey me and I ask ye a third time, it will not be without consequence.”
There were a few murmurs of encouragement from the warriors in the hall that must have gotten in the way of their lady before. Tomaidh nodded curtly and pulled out his dagger to cut the ropes at her father’s wrists.
“Please, sit down,” Lady Lorna said to her father, leading him toward one of the cushioned chairs near the hearth. “Can I get ye something to eat?”
He stared up at her. “Eat.”
Something was most assuredly wrong.
“Aye, my lord. Some soup?”
“Soup.” He nodded and stared down at his hands.
Eva was ready to cry. What was happening? Why did her father seem to be forgetting simple words? Why did he seem so…off? She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was happening, but she knew without a doubt that something was seriously wrong.
Rushing forward, she dropped to her knees and pressed her hands to his. “Father, what has happened?”
“Eva, my daughter.” A slight smile twitched at his lips. “How much you look like her.”
Tears pricked her eyes. He spoke of her mother.
“Where is she? Is she out picking mushrooms again?” Her father laughed and looked toward the door as though he expected her mother to walk through it.
Eva gaped, his cruel joke like a stab to the heart.
“Eva, go and get your sister. Tell her this nice lady is making us some soup. Mother will be upset if I don’t feed her supper.”
Cold chills swept over Eva. Her father, the powerful Lord Northwyck, was losing his mind. It would appear that years had been stripped from his memory. At least two. But how? Why now?
“Father, mother is not here. You’re in Scotland,” she said softly, praying he wasn’t playing a cr
uel trick, and yet also praying that he was. For if he wasn’t making a jest, that meant there was something terribly wrong.
“Scotland!” His eyes widened, and he jerked his hands away from her, standing so abruptly that she fell on her bottom and the chair he’d been sitting on shot backward nearly into the fire. “Where is my wife? What have you heathens done with her?”
Was he admitting that her mother was in fact alive?
The warriors put their hands to the hilts of their swords and took slow steps forward. If he showed anymore aggression, they were likely to kill him.
“Father.” Eva pushed to her feet with the help of Tomaidh, who in fact tried to shield her. “That’s not necessary.”
But Tomaidh would not let go, and several of the other warriors in the great hall had now come forward to restrain her father.
When Lady Lorna returned, she found him once more bound. Before she could demand his release, her father lunged for one of the men, demanding the return of his wife from the heathens who’d taken her. His wild eyes looked frantically about, seeing things they could not.
“I will get him a tincture,” Lady Lorna said softly and then returned to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Tomaidh whispered.
“You needn’t apologize.”
“Has he always been this way?”
She shook her head, certain if she spoke, her voice would not come out clearly. Her throat was already tight with the need to shout and weep all at once. As she backed toward one of the benches and sank onto it heavily, she thought back over the years since her mother had been gone, about how her father had aged, how there had been some forgetfulness, but nothing more than she would attribute to his advancing years.
Isobel sat beside Eva and laced her arm around the crook of Eva’s elbow. “Can I get ye a glass of wine?”
“Nay, thank you.”
Isobel nodded, her gaze on Eva’s father. They sat in silence, Eva’s mind tormented as she wracked her brain for every odd instance over the last few years. Isobel sat silent and strong beside her, allowing her to lean on her.
