by Alisa Adams
“I cannot believe he could be so evil,” she said bitterly, but deep inside she knew that he could. Daniel was evil through and through.
“After that—an’ I have nae proof, mind...” He paused. “But I think his plan is tae kill ye both.”
She looked up at him in utter shock, but before she could let another thought pass through her mind she surrendered herself to the bliss of Rory’s lips caressing hers, his tongue parting her lips, invading her mouth and stroking hers. She moaned with pleasure as his rough masculine hands traced a gentle path over her face, but it was over all too soon as they heard the harsh scrape and clang of the gates opening and the menacing footprints of Daniel McKay and Hugh Devine as they approached Rory’s cell. Vanora jumped to her feet and Rory put a protective arm around her waist.
“We must think of a plan tae get me out of here,” he whispered, and she nodded.
“Well?” Hugh demanded, his face furious. “Who did you poison? Quickly—it might be too late!”
“Naebody.” Rory’s voice was deathly calm.
“What did you say?” Daniel asked, his voice almost a squeak. “Then why did you tell us you did?”
“Because I wanted tae see the love of my life one last time,” Rory replied, his soft brown eyes looking into Vanora’s. “Have ye never loved someone, Daniel, apart fae yerself, that is?”
“None of your concern!” Daniel roared. “As for you, milady, get out of there before I come in and get you myself!”
“The poisoning was my idea,” Vanora said shakily. “I sent him a note and told him what to do. Do not take it out on Rory, it was my fault. Do not execute him, please!”
“After this, we will do it all the sooner!” the laird promised. He stepped up to the gate, unlocked it, and hauled her out. She resisted as she was dragged away by two guards, but only for a moment. Her cause was lost.
17
“Are all men faithless?” Vanora said aloud as she sat alone in her bedroom. She had picked up her sewing again but when she found that her stitches were wandering all over the place instead of going in a straight line, she put it down and decided to go outside to the battlements to breathe in some fresh clean air.
Devine Castle did not have the kind of imposing layered turrets that her own castle boasted, but they were high enough to see over the waters of the Irish Sea, gray and sullen on this cloudy, blustery day. She thought of the last kiss that she and Rory had shared. His lips had been so soft, and although his big hands were rough, they had caressed her with infinite tenderness. Why was this happening to him?
She thought about her uncle for a moment, trying to convince herself that what Rory had said was true. Daniel had been her father’s best friend, and John Weir the Elder had been good to him when his parents died, treating him almost like one of his own sons, but there was something missing in Daniel. He was selfish and boastful, and even Vanora, who was not the most worldly-wise of people, could see that he was an expert at bending people to his will and making them think that what Daniel wanted was what they wanted too. He had done it to Vanora to get her to marry Hugh, but she swore he would never do it again.
However, she simply could not bring her mind to accept the fact that he was capable of murder, even if Rory thought so, and despite the fact that he was the man she trusted and loved more than anyone. She sighed, feeling as though she was banging her head against a stone wall.
She started suddenly at the sound of a man’s voice behind her and she turned to see Calum Patterson.
“Good mornin’ milady!” he said heartily. He bowed to her and grinned, showing a mouthful of sound but yellow and crooked teeth. “Bit chilly tae be up here.”
“I just came for a breath of fresh air,” she answered, smiling. “It is a good place to think. What is your excuse?”
“Same as you, milady,” he answered. “But ye look sad.”
“I was remembering my father.” She was sad as she realized that she could no longer recall his voice. He had had a wonderful bell-like singing voice and she never wanted to lose the sound of it in her mind. “Those men who killed him, they were evil. Thank goodness my Rory was there or I would have been dead too.”
“Daniel lost a good friend that day too,” Calum sighed. “So did I. He was very upset aboot it.”
“Who was that?” Vanora asked. She was not really interested, but she half-listened politely.
“Matty McFarlane,” he replied, then a moment later he coughed, choked slightly, and his face turned red.
Vanora’s heart lurched in shock. She knew that name and the face that went with it. He had been one of her father’s guards who had been dismissed for being continually drunk on duty. He had always smiled at her a lot, and although it had been five years or so since his departure, she could still remember his evil leer.
But she had seen that leer much more recently as he had been galloping towards her during the attack, intent on her death. The evil smile had disappeared, however, when Rory sliced his head neatly from his body. “I remember him,” Vanora said, keeping her voice as casual as possible. “He used to work for my father ’til he sacked him. I do not know what became of him after that. He was a friend of my uncle’s you say? How did he die?”
“In his sleep, milady,” Calum said, avoiding her eyes and squirming uncomfortably.
“Hmmm…such a young man,” Vanora remarked. “That is very unusual.”
“Well, only God knows why these things happen, milady.” Calum was trembling inside and his voice was quivering. By now, he looked very uncomfortable indeed. He had mentioned the name of one of the outlaws, and he was sure that a woman of Vanora’s intelligence would not take long to put the pieces of the puzzle together and come up with the whole truth about what had happened that dreadful day. He bowed to her again. “Well, I must attend tae my duties, milady. Good day tae ye.”
Vanora gave him a twisted smile that told Calum that she had worked everything out. He shivered inwardly and scurried away.
Vanora was scared to death. She had known that Rory was innocent, of course, but she thought that it was too far-fetched to believe that her uncle was capable of such a heinous crime as the one perpetrated on her father, but Calum Patterson had just told her the truth without meaning to, and she laughed to herself at the thought of being in Calum’s shoes when Daniel found out. She did not envy him one bit but she certainly would not weep for him.
She had to see Rory. She clattered downstairs as fast as her legs would carry her and walked confidently up to the gate leading to the cells. “Let me in, please,” she commanded.
The jailers jumped to attention to do her bidding, and she strode down the corridor towards Rory’s cell, calling his name. She saw his hands clutching the bars before she saw the rest of him, but when she drew level with him he was beaming from ear to ear.
“I am so glad tae see ye,” he said joyfully.
“You were right about my uncle.” Her voice was low and angry, and her silver eyes were full of hate.
“What happened?” Rory asked, puzzled. He was glad to hear about her change of mind, but he wondered what had prompted it.
“I have no time to explain, but we must somehow get you out of here,” she said desperately. “I should have tried before, dammit!” She stamped her foot in frustration.
“How can we do it?” he asked, shrugging. “I have no weapon, and they search everyone who comes in.”
“They never search me!” Her voice was resolute and her face was set in an expression of grim determination. “Be ready my love, for we are making our escape!”
Before he could say another word, she was running down the corridor again, her long hair flying like a banner behind her. Rory’s spirits soared; he felt more hopeful than he had in the days since he had come to this benighted place. Thank God for his Vanora!
Vanora had a plan.
The priest who served the parish in which the Devines’ castle was situated was Father Dominic McBride, and he was a little diff
erent from most other members of the clergy. He had been a soldier and had fought bravely against the English in the Wars of Independence. He had lost the last two fingers of his right hand to an English sword, but he had no bitterness against them. At just over six feet in height, he would have been the tallest man in the village had it not been for Rory, who towered over him. He was every bit as handsome too, although he was as fair as Rory was dark, and more than a few of the ladies in the parish had been heard saying that he was wasted in the priesthood. He was pious and dedicated although Vanora sensed a core of steel in him; he was still very much a soldier.
Vanora had saddled Bokkie and galloped away to the church as fast as the horse could carry her. She found Father McBride in the nave of the church where he was sitting in silent contemplation. He turned and stood up, then smiled when he saw her.
“Milady Vanora,” he greeted her. “You look upset about something. Is there anything I can do?”
“Indeed there is, Father.” Her voice faltered as she replied. “I really need your help, as a priest and as a soldier.”
“I will do what I can as a priest,” he replied, frowning, “but I am a soldier no longer.”
“Will you hear what I have to say?” she begged. “A man’s life is at stake.”
“Of course.” He sat down on a pew and Vanora sat beside him, then she began to talk. He listened to her story without interrupting. When she had reached the end, he sat in silence thinking for a moment. “I believe you, and am I right in thinking that you want me to help you free him?”
She nodded silently and explained her plan.
“I will not hear confession in a jail cell,” Father McBride said angrily. “It is undignified and an insult to the Lord. We will go to the chapel or nowhere at all.”
“But Father—he is a prisoner!” the guard protested desperately.
The priest shrugged. “You are welcome to come with us.”
The guard sighed, nodded, and unlocked the cell, then they all trooped upstairs to the chapel.
“Leave your weapon at the door,” the priest said firmly. This was done, and they all went inside. Father McBride and Rory disappeared into a confessional. The guard sat down and relaxed, but a moment later he felt the sting of a dagger point in his back.
“Do not make me kill you,” Vanora growled softly in his ear. “I am going to tie your hands and feet and you will be quiet, do you understand?” The guard nodded frantically. She proceeded to do the deed, using knots that her father had taught her.
A few moments later, Rory came out of the confessional, dusting off his large hands and grinning from ear to ear.
“Did you tie him up nice and tight?” Vanora asked, moving into his arms and leaning her head on his chest.
“Tied up like a roasting hen, milady,” he replied before he closed his arms around her and hugged her.
Inside the confessional, Dominic McBride chuckled softly to himself as he took off the loosely tied rope around his wrists.
“Hurry!” Vanora drew away from Rory, and they ran down to the stables where Bokkie was saddled and waiting for them in a shadowed corner of the courtyard. They thundered out of the castle gates so fast that no one had a chance to stop them.
After a while, they stopped at the side of a tiny loch that was shaded by a stand of trees.
“Bokkie needs a rest,” Vanora said, stroking the horse’s silky mane.
“And I need a kiss,” Rory announced, pulling Vanora out of the saddle and into his arms. He had never before kissed a woman whose lips were as soft as hers, and he sighed as he ran the tip of his tongue around their edges, and stroked her tongue with his. She aroused a tender possessiveness in him; she had his heart absolutely in her keeping, he had hers, and nothing in his life had ever felt so right. “I love ye,” he whispered when they drew apart. “Ye are everything tae me, and no one will ever hurt ye as long as I am here tae protect ye.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Thank ye for saving me.” His voice was fervent with relief. “I was terrified.”
She kissed him tenderly. “We need to make plans,” she said softly, “while there is still time.”
18
Ella and Marion joined them at Weir Brae Castle the next day, and the sisters relaxed together for the first time in days. Ella sat on Rory’s lap and as he put his arms around her she sighed and closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment. Vanora smiled, thinking what a good father he would be, but after a while, she knew that they would have to address the serious matter of what to do about Daniel.
“I am the natural heir,” Vanora said regretfully, “but I am a woman. I cannot inherit a lairdship. I have no power against him and I cannot keep this place going on my own.”
“But your husband could,” Marion suggested slyly, looking at Vanora through narrowed eyes before transferring her gaze to Rory. “If Vanora were married her husband would be laird.”
Rory looked rather bemused. He loved Vanora to distraction, but marriage? It would mean elevating himself to a status he did not want or deserve. “I do not ever want tae be a laird,” he said firmly. “I am a plain man an’ all I ever wanted was tae chop wood an’ carve wee statues. I always fended for myself and lived in a wee cottage. This place...” He shrugged. “It is too big.”
“Then you will not help us?” Marion’s voice was plaintive and she looked at Rory with disappointment in her eyes.
He shook his head. “I didnae say that,” he sighed. “I am no’ ambitious, that is all. I don’t wish to mix wi’ the toffs an’ go tae ceilidhs and such, but if Vanora an’ I were married she would need a man like that and I am not that sort o’ creature.”
“I would not care,” Vanora replied tenderly, “as long as you were still you, Rory Murdoch, the man that I love. I do not care about ceilidhs, about paying calls on ladies I do not like, or any of the things I am expected to do. I go my own way, and if I married you, I would go yours. I do not care what society thinks of me. I only care about you.”
There was a long silence, during which Vanora and Rory gazed at each other. Ella was still lying on his lap, and Rory lifted her gently then put her down on the seat beside Marion. The sisters looked at each other, sensing that something important was going to happen.
Rory smiled one of his sunbeam smiles. “But ye are a’ wrong, ladies.” His voice was warm. “I would love tae marry milady. I was not sure I was good enough for her.”
Suddenly he knelt down on one knee, reached into an inside pocket in his tunic, and pulled out a golden band. “This ring was Elisaid’s,” he said, kissing her finger. “It comes wi’ me everywhere. May I make it yers? Will ye marry me, Vanora?”
“Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!” she cried. He kissed her then lifted her into his arms and whirled her around until she was dizzy and laughing.
Ella stood up, clapped her hands, and squealed with joy, but Marion only smiled. “If you two are going to be wed,” she said, “then you must do it today. Uncle will have found out we have gone now and soon he will be here. You must have a laird on your arm when you meet him.”
“She is right,” Rory said gravely.
“Then let us do it!” Vanora’s voice was grim and determined. “Marion, go and tell Margaret to get Father Grant, and be quick about it!”
Marion and Ella privately wanted Father McBride to conduct the service since he was so handsome, but he was far behind at Devine Castle now, so they had to make do with old Father Grant. However, as long as their beloved sister was married and safe, she was happy.
It was the speediest wedding Father Grant had ever conducted, but it warmed his heart to see two young people so much in love. He had a feeling that vows were not necessary in this case. The looks on their faces as they smiled into each other’s eyes said it all.
Marion and Ella’s eyes were wide with wonder as they looked at their sister. She was wearing a plain and very old dress of dark gray linen, but somehow she managed to look luminous. Rory wore the cleaner of his t
wo guards’ uniforms, and his eyes were shining with love as he gazed at Vanora while the priest intoned the timeless words of the marriage service. It was all over in a very short time, then they took Communion and Father Grant said a final blessing over them. He smiled at them widely as he said, “Vanora, Rory, you are now husband and wife, and may you remain as happy as you are now as long as you live and love. God bless you both.”
“At last,” Rory said softly, as he drew her into his embrace. “Now you are mine, Vanora Murdoch.”
“And you are mine, M’laird,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling.
“M’laird,” he repeated, as if trying the title on to see how it felt. “I expect I will become accustomed tae it.”
“You will,” she said, smiling at him tenderly. “I will help you.” Then she kissed him.
Daniel was beyond furious. He was incandescent with rage, and his face was crimson as he glowered at Calum, who had come to tell him that Rory had escaped. He had also confessed his blunder in letting the bandit’s name escape, reasoning that it would be better for him to own up to his mistake and bear the consequences sooner rather than later. He had no doubt that Daniel’s punishment would be severe.
“How could you be so stupid?” he roared, as Calum cowered in front of him. His arms covered his face in anticipation of the blow from Daniel’s hand, which he knew would come any second. “You gave her the name of the man who was leading the attack. Why did you not just prostrate yourself in front of her and confess everything? What am I going to do now, you idiot? All my plans hang in the balance because you could not keep your mouth shut!”
He glared at Calum for a moment then swiped him so hard across his head that he fell down, and Daniel began to kick him savagely in his ribs, on his thighs, and any other part of his body he could reach. He cursed him as he did it—filthy, vicious words that were uttered in a snarl like a wild animal. When he had vented all his anger Daniel slumped breathlessly into a chair and glared contemptuously at Calum, who was curled up in a ball on the floor moaning and weeping in pain. Daniel felt no pity for him; his only concern now was for himself. As well as being enraged, he was terrified. If his deeds and his future plans were exposed, he would be imprisoned or worse still, hanged.
