“Kill him when you get the chance,” Amabel whispered in French. “A stab through the temple or the eye.”
Alina opened her eyes, the fog clearing. She smiled. “Sister,” she laughed shakily. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Amabel smiled. She was crying, tears tumbling down her face. She reached to wipe them away.
“Take her away,” the man called and the guards stepped up.
As Alina was led away, back straight, face calm, Amabel felt herself collapse. She sobbed, face held in her hands. She cried until she thought she was empty of tears and yet more came.
“Alina,” she sobbed. “Broderick. Chrissie. Duncan. I will never see you again.”
That was the worst thing. Her own death was terrifying – too awful to truly consider. But the worst part was knowing she would never see her loved ones grow old and content, not see them live their lives together.
The man watched her a moment, contemplative. Then he summoned the guards to take her away.
“Tomorrow,” he said briefly, “I will decide your fate.”
Amabel said nothing. There was nothing to say.
As the guards led her away, Amabel knew she was beyond hope. All she could think of, strangely, was Broderick's face and his warm, lopsided smile and black eyes.
I will never see him again alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A TERRIBLE SHOCK
A TERRIBLE SHOCK
The next morning dawned icy and cold. Amabel woke lying on the floor, her whole body cramped. She did not know how she had managed to sleep – the room was ice-cold. But despair has its own power to drain the body and so she had slept.
She sat, groaning with stiffness, and looked around. She was in a small attic room, the walls bare stone, the floor wood and a small window, which looked out over an impossible drop. She was too exhausted to move. She wondered what had woken her.
She heard a rattle at the door.
“Lady Amabel?”
Amabel sighed. It was Malcom, the guard. He had at least been kind the night before. She considered asking him for breakfast, but was fairly sure she would not get any.
A second later, he appeared.
“Milady. Lord Thomas summons.”
Amabel bit her lip. She supposed she should have expected this. She wanted to stand, but found her legs were completely without feeling.
“I cannot stand,” she said.
The guard frowned. “Och, milady!” He shook his head and heaved her to her feet. Whatever the man she had met the previous night seemed to think, his men were clearly much kinder.
“Thanks,” she whispered. He blushed and looked down.
Together, with Amabel leaning on his shoulder, they shuffled out.
The stairs seemed endless – perhaps because this was the first time she did not go in utter darkness. Eventually, they reached a stone hallway.
“Here we are, milady,” the man said. He led her down the corridor. They had to go slowly – Amabel was weary with hunger and horror.
He reached the door and walked in.
Lord Thomas was there. He was dressed much as he had been previously, in a dark plaid and tunic, long dark trousers below. His black hair was impeccably brushed, furrowed face solemn.
“Ah. The prisoner.”
Amabel did not look at him. She focused on the platform where he stood, the rug, the chair. She would not meet his gaze.
“So. No last requests?”
Amabel looked up at him. “Yes. Let my sister go.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I decline.”
Amabel wanted to spit. She restrained herself. Malcom had left, leaving them alone. Amabel wished she could sit down, but there was nowhere to sit, so she remained standing, her dark-blue gown patched with dust and straw.
“Well. Are you not inclined to talk to me? I had hoped for some last message with which to torment our friend. Is there nothing you would say to Broderick MacConnaway now? Mm?”
Amabel closed her eyes. There were so many things she wished she could say to Broderick. But she would not.
“No.”
He laughed. “I am surprised. I had thought you a wonderful couple? Perhaps you are not?”
Amabel did not reply. She looked down at the floor. She wished she could think of something to do, some sudden escape she could make, some way to save Alina if not herself. Marriage to MacDonnell was worse than death, she considered.
“Well, then. I suppose I must still trust he will claim vengeance. Yes?”
Amabel glared at him. “Broderick MacConnaway's worth a hundred of you.”
Inside, she was not sure what Broderick might do. He would certainly seek vengeance for her death. But how did he feel about her? He had been so distant last time they saw each other. So cross. She wished she could have made peace. Said how she truly felt.
He laughed. “Touching. I shan't relay that. If you don't mind?”
Amabel looked down.
“Good,” he said. “Now. Are you not eager to learn what we have in store for you?”
“No.”
He roared with laughter. “Oh, forgive me. I really ought to marry you myself. You have spirit. But I have promised that to your sister. And besides, I would need to receive an annulment for your marriage if I did not wish to offend the Holy Father. Which, I suppose, would be difficult. You have already conceived?”
Amabel stared at him. “I beg your pardon!” That was too much. “You will kindly refrain from meddling in my concerns.”
He laughed again. “You have delicate sensibilities. They'll make this harder.”
“What?”
He smiled. “Today, you will leave my castle. For some unknown destination. The middle of the marshland, say. You will walk. You will run. You will slowly starve. But you will die, in any case. And I will remain blameless.”
Amabel stared at him. To be set adrift in the marshes was the fate of criminals. It was certain death.
A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. She would starve. She would freeze at night. She would be killed by beasts. If she did not know where she was, she would not ever find her way back. And no one would know.
“You wouldn't dare.”
He smiled. “I disagree. 'Tis the only way I would – dare to kill you, that is. Anything else is... messy. And I would like to keep on the right side of the church. You never know when the good church-fathers might be useful.”
“You are monstrous,” she whispered again.
There was one small comfort in it. If she were simply to disappear, her death would not torment Broderick. That surprised her. If his intention was to wound her husband and provoke him into war, why would he choose to kill her like this?
“Oh, no – I am not monstrous,” he said, smiling blandly. “But when your body is found wrapped in Bradley plaid, pinned with their brooch, he will certainly think them monstrous.”
Amabel frowned at him. She looked at the plain shift she wore. “But I'm not,” she said, forgetting her fear in confusion.
“Not now, no,” he agreed. “But I have expert trackers among my men. And the best hunting-hounds. You might be lost, but we will find you. And we will hand over the body with all due ceremony to his lordship, wearing what it wore when it fell.”
Amabel stared at him. “How can you sleep, with such evil deeds weighing on you?” The man was quite unhinged, of that she was sure. It was one thing, to slaughter men in battle under orders. Another thing entirely, to plan such elaborate schemes and enjoy the work.
He sighed and turned away from her. “I am weary now.” he said with his back to her. “Guards?”
Two men stepped in over the threshold. These were not the kindly guards of the night before, but blank-faced, indifferent-looking men. Amabel instinctively swayed back from them. They had the hard faces and blank eyes of killers, inured through decades' slaughtering.
“Yes, lord?”
“Take her away. Knock her out. Do as we decided.”
A
mabel screamed, but one of the guards hit her on the head while the other lifted her. She stopped struggling, head pulsing with stars. Then came another blow.
This time, Amabel's whole world faded.
* * *
Later. Amabel saw faint light.
She kept her eyes closed and tried to discern where she was. She was cold. Through the back of her gown, she could feel a seeping dampness. She moved her fingers, noticing that they still worked. Moved her toes. Her legs were like ice.
She remembered. The marsh. Lord Thomas. Death.
She sat up.
“Ouch...”
Her head ached, pulsing, pounding and throbbing. When she stroked it, blood had clotted and dried there, already mixing with the rain in which she lay.
“He wants to kill me,” Amabel said under her breath. “So, I won't die.”
She had to survive. To save Alina from marriage. To expose the lie. To tell Broderick about it.
Broderick.
Whispering his name and that of her sister as a chant, she rolled over. Crawling on hands and knees, she reached a tree-trunk.
Broderick. Alina. Broderick. Alina.
She bit her lip and heaved herself upward. Her legs wobbled dangerously. The left leg collapsed. Her foot was numb.
Hissing and panting, Amabel stood. She leaned over, supporting her weight on the tree, gasping. Her energy was almost spent.
“I will not... die,” she gasped. “Need to... live. Find Broderick.”
Setting her jaw, she stepped onto her right foot and began the slow, aching walk forward toward the woods.
Progress was slow. Amabel had no idea where she was. She knew there was marshland about ten miles from the road. If she could discern where the road was, and somehow deduce whereabouts it lay from where she stood, she could find the road. That still left her miles and miles away from the nearest village, in hostile lands.
“I will... return,” she said under her breath. She looked up at the sky, judging the direction. She chuckled humorlessly. MacDowell evidently presumed a lady would have no skills at all. But she had been raised at Lochlann Castle, essentially an orphan. She and her sister had spent hours in the woods or talking to verderers. She knew as well as any how to judge direction from the sun's positioning. And there was Aunt Aili.
She taught us more than most boys probably learn.
Whispering her names as a safeguard again, she stepped forward into the woods. Broderick. Aili. Alina. Broderick. Aili. Alina. Broderick...
She walked for another hour.
“I can't do this. I can't...”
Gasping, she sat down. The ground was soggy underfoot, and her feet were starting to ache. She was so tired. She had not eaten since the previous afternoon, and her body was starting to slow and stumble.
She looked up at the sky, resting against the bole of a tree.
Mother. Alina. Broderick. Help me.
She stayed where she was, leaning against the tree. She must have dozed, for when she woke again, it was evening. Through the gap in the treetops, she could see the sky. It was violet and hazed with dusk. As she watched, swallows flew by.
And as she stared, entranced, she saw the star.
Amabel felt her face break into smiles. Only yesterday, she had noticed that star. It was to the east of the road, if she turned to face the Northern Cross...
The Northern Cross! The Pole Star!
She suddenly remembered something her father had talked of, when she was a little girl and she could not sleep. He had shown her the sky through the turret window. He had pointed to the Pole Star.
Where that star is, it is always north.
To reach home, she had to go south. And the road lay to the southeast of the marshes.
“I need to find a gap in the trees.”
Amabel smiled. She could do it! If she could see the sky, she could find her way. She could find the way through the marshes and to the road. Back home. She could tell the truth. Save Alina. Warn Broderick.
All she had to do was walk.
“I can do it. I can. I can...”
Amabel heaved herself to her feet, sweating and shivering.
She had an hour perhaps before night fell. She needed to set off before she became too cold to walk. She needed to see the stars.
She walked back the way she had come. That was not hard, as she could still see traces of her own passage on the damp tussocks, and could still track herself.
Eventually, she reached where she thought she had been left.
It must be near here. There are the trees, I am sure. I know that branch...
She stumbled toward it. There was a clearing.
A minute later, starting to feel desperate, she reached the place.
She looked up.
There, high above, remote and silver, was the star she had seen. Opposite her, glowing in the darkness, was the Pole Star.
Amabel laughed. She was filthy, exhausted and cold. She was hungry, tired and drained. But she was no longer lost.
“I can do it!”
Still smiling, her arms out to the stars, Amabel turned right and back. That was southeast. That was the direction to the road! She could do it!
She trudged on down through the gathering dark. She knew where she was going. She could live and see Alina and Broderick once again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SEARCHING THE PLAIN
SEARCHING THE PLAIN
“Amabel!”
Broderick rode along the road like a madman. He had barely rested since he left his brother almost at the gates of the fortress.
That was a day ago. He had ridden back along the road, back to where the man Walter had found the coach. Keith caught up with him a day later, but had nothing to report – he had headed to the abbey and then further south, looking for the coach.
Together, they examined the hollow shell.
As he looked at it, all Broderick's assumptions around the disappearance died.
“Raiders,” Broderick said.
He looked at the hoof-prints, deep and indelible around the coach. A party of perhaps eight men, he guessed, no more. The tracks led north.
Broderick felt a deep, aching sadness then. He knew that if he gave into it, he would cry aloud, a sound of agony he was sure would never stop. Instead, he decided to turn it into rage – a time-honored tradition.
Shouting wordlessly, he kicked the side of the carriage.
“Find the horses,” he said to Keith. “Take them back to Dunkeld with a message to Duncan. Tell him I will avenge Alina, and my wife.”
Keith blinked warily. “As you say, lord.” He set off to the front of the carriage where the horses had long ago been cut loose. Looking at the tracks, he sorted the heavier cart-horses from those of the lighter hunting-horses.
“Here they are,” he murmured. “They're going that way. Onto the road.”
“They took the horses,” Broderick commented. “So it was certainly raiders.” He did not want to acknowledge that Amabel and Alina had been taken in a raid, though there seemed no other possibility. That would be worse than anything he could imagine.
“Raiders from where, though?” Keith squinted at him. “Over there?”
They both looked along the tracks to where they headed north, weaving on and off the road as if to confuse would-be trackers.
“Yes,” Broderick agreed. “Which is odd. There's no one up that way. Except for...” He suddenly realized. The realization floored him. “Except MacDowells!”
He had been right. Amabel had been right. The more he looked at the shell of the carriage and the tracks, the more he seemed to understand. Amabel and Alina's plan to visit the shrine was a ruse, as Duncan had suspected. If he had listened to Amabel's suggestion, she would not have ridden off on some dangerous plan of her own. She had been heading to the MacDowells, to find proof to make him believe her.
And now she had been captured.
“Keith,” he said quickly.
“Yes, si
r?” The man looked worried.
“I want you to ride back to Dunkeld. Tell my brother I am at the MacDowell stronghold. Tell him to join me. With troops. As many as he can spare. Make it as intimidating as possible. And tell him... never mind. Tell him to come immediately.”Keith nodded. Impulsively, Broderick drew a ring from his finger. Gold alloyed with bronze, it was not the most beautiful he owned, but it would buy a good piece of land. “Take this. Keep it.”Keith, a yeoman farmer loyal to the thane, stared at the ring as if it had danced a reel. Then he stared at Broderick.
“Thank ye, lord.” He sounded amazed.
“Not at all. Ride, now!”
Without waiting for a response, or to check he was obeyed, Broderick wheeled around.
He ran to his horse and mounted, then headed along the road. Heading north. To find his brother's beloved, and his own.
Amabel.
As he rode, the anger dissolved and the tears fell.
Why had he not believed her?
“I wish I had,” he shouted. “I will never dismiss her again.”
His vision blurring, he rode on across the cold, tree-studded land.
To reach the MacDowell fortress before it was too late.
“Amabel,” he whispered. “Amabel!”
He wished he had realized just how much he loved her. Realizing it, he was not sure how he had failed to see it. And he was not sure if his heart would not break.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
FINDING A NEW WAY
FINDING A NEW WAY
Morning dawned gently. Amabel felt the light touch her eyelids. She was curled up on the ground, a covering of leaves pulled over her. Huddled in her cloak, she was warmer than she had been. Still, everything hurt.
She sat up.
Blinking in the wan sunlight, she looked out through the trees. She was still heading southeast – she had checked that when the night fell. She had been walking for two days now. And she was sure she was getting closer.
Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 18
