by Amy Jarecki
“Very well.” Sitting, Eoin glanced at the masonry of the uniform archways. He’d been in the vast nave of the church, but never in this courtyard. A mourning dove soared down and sat atop a bronze statue in the center of the courtyard. Its wings whooshed. Eoin heard the bird’s movement so clearly, he sensed that he’d stepped away from the world for a moment. Through the quiet, he could hear his own heartbeat—yet his senses weren’t heightened as they were before he stepped into danger.
He chuckled. Mayhap I should be a bit uneasy, given the message I bring.
Footsteps clattered through the adjoining passage, interrupting the ethereal tranquility. The monk stepped into view. “The bishop will see you now. You must be an important man, indeed.”
Eoin stood. “’Tis good to know Sir John isn’t too busy to visit with an old friend.”
“Please try to remember to address him as Bishop Campbell, m’laird.” The monk led Eoin to a large oak door and pulled on the blackened iron latch. The stone passageway had been rather stark, but the chamber beyond the door gleamed, alive with rich red tapestries trimmed with gold.
John has done quite well for himself. Clearly, the Bishop of the Isles is a man of abundant wealth.
Seated in a great upholstered chair, His Worship looked as if he could have been the Pope. He wore a brilliant red velvet chasuble trimmed with gold over a long purple dalmatic, and atop his head he wore a matching mitre. More affluent clothing had not the king.
Seeing him, the bishop stood and held out his arms. “Sir Eoin. My word, what a surprise.”
Eoin took John’s hand and kissed it. Every finger was bejeweled with rings bearing enormous stones. “’Tis good to see you, Bishop Campbell.”
“Please, old friend. Call me John.”
Eoin gave him a pointed look. “Not ‘Your Worship’?”
As expected, John turned red. Aside from his garb, he remained the same humble man Eoin knew well. “’Tis a moniker I abhor and a dear friend from my past will not refer to me thus.” He gestured to a smaller chair. “You are fortunate to find me at home. I’m leaving for Rome on the morrow.”
Eoin grinned and removed Helen’s missive from beneath his cloak. He did have impeccable timing. “How very fortuitous, indeed.”
“And what brings you to Iona?”
Since leaving Mingary, Eoin had thought about how he’d broach the subject of Helen’s plight with John. This was a matter not to be blurted in an outpouring, but needed careful depiction. He began by explaining the MacDonald uprising, which came as no surprise to the bishop—Duncan had ensured the Abbey was on alert as well—thus the heightened interrogation by the guard upon Eoin’s arrival. Then he went on about how, much to his chagrin, he was assigned to Mingary and Aleck MacIain.
“How is my sister enjoying being lady of the keep in Ardnamurchan?” John rubbed his hands with a broad smile.
Eoin met John’s expression by frowning and placed the missive on the small table between them. “Lady Helen is the reason for my visit.”
John picked up the letter and examined the seal. “You haven’t read this, I see.”
“No, the lady entrusted it to me in utmost confidence.” Eoin leaned forward. “Her situation is unbearable. I’ve seen swine treated better than your sister.”
“Helen? Mistreated?” A deep crease formed between John’s brows. “How preposterous.”
Eoin’s lips thinned. “I would have had the same reaction if I’d not witnessed her husband strike her.” Then he jammed his finger into the table for added effect. “And I’ve seen telltale signs of further abuse as well.”
John ran his thumb under the seal. “Who in their right mind would raise a hand against Helen? Of all my sisters she is the most genteel.”
“True, and Lady Helen is frail as a lark. Though she has the heart of a lion.” Eoin launched into a detailed description about how Helen held Mingary with a handful of aged warriors during the MacDonald attack.
John perused the missive, his frown growing deeper.
When Eoin described the part about Aleck humiliating Helen by insisting he be tended by his leman, Mary, the bishop held up his hand and asked for silence. His eyes reflected alarm. “This also says she fears for her daughter. I was not aware she’d birthed a bairn.”
“Aye, Maggie—she named the lassie Margaret after your mother.”
“’Tis a good name.” Scratching his beard, John looked toward the window as if deep in thought. “Do you honestly think Aleck MacIain would threaten the life of his own daughter?”
“I believe so.” Eoin nodded. “He’s refused to see the bairn because he wanted a son—has told Lady Helen he’ll marry Maggie off as soon as her menses show.”
The crease between John’s brows pinched. “’Tis not unusual to make an alliance when a lass reaches such an age.”
“True.” Eoin pointed to the missive. “If Maggie should survive that long. And if Lady Helen births another lass, I’m afraid MacIain will stop at nothing to snuff your sister out.”
John shook his head. “Few annulments are granted—even fewer when requested by the wife.”
“But surely, with your sister’s life in danger…there could be an exception. You have the power of the church behind you. How could you force her to remain in a marriage where she is being beaten?”
“She could retire to the nunnery right here on Iona. I would guarantee her sanctuary.”
“Helen has already asked to be sent to Iona with the bairn.” Eoin looked John directly in the eye. “Sir Aleck told her he would kill her first.”
John again held up a hand. Eoin pictured the bishop doing this often when considering a grave decision. Again John read the missive. “I cannot believe Helen has been mistreated so.”
“With all due respect, I would not be here if I hadn’t witnessed such abomination myself. Jesus, John, you know me, and moreover are aware I would not speak falsely to you or any man of God.” Eoin spread his palms. “Can you not appeal to the Pope on this matter?”
The bishop folded the velum and slapped it in his palm. “If it is in the best interest of my sister, I will present her supplication to the Pope. This news is disturbing and I believe we should make haste. I fear for her safety and that of my niece.”
Eoin attempted to mask his relief with a frown. “As do I.”
“Do what you can to protect her until I send word.”
“I shall. I must meet with Lord Duncan and then plan to return to Mingary forthwith.”
John stood and ran his hand down his beard. “Before you go, I must ask one thing.”
Eoin quickly rose as well. “By all means.”
“As I recall during your fostering, you fancied Lady Helen. Ah…you haven’t committed a sin?” John drew out the word sin with a suggestive lilt.
Though he should have expected this question, it still took him aback. Eoin shook his head with vehemence. “Never. Neither I nor the lady would stoop to such a disgrace.”
John patted Eoin’s shoulder. “I thought no less, but it was a question that needed asking. If an annulment is to be considered at all, there must be no errant behavior on Lady Helen’s behalf, else she could end up tied to the stake and burned.”
Eoin shuddered. He couldn’t deny he hadn’t thought about Helen in that way. But John’s words drove home the need for saintly behavior. “When can I expect word?”
“I will request an audience with His Holiness as soon as I arrive in Rome, but traveling across the channel can be treacherous, no matter the time of year. Two months is my best estimate.”
Bowing, Eoin thanked the heavens this detour to Iona hadn’t been in vain. “I wish you a safe journey.”
He didn’t usually lie abed when injured, but Aleck’s arm bloody hurt. He blamed Eoin MacGregor for that. The bastard had been none too gentle when he’d applied the splints. Aleck growled. He’d wager MacGregor took great pleasure in setting the bone.
The bastard again set sail without saying a word. At least I
no longer have to put up with his stench.
Mary offered him a tonic. “This will help with the pain, m’laird.”
Aleck scowled. “Does it have whisky in it?”
“’Tis willow bark steeped with valerian.”
He pushed it away. “I’ll not take another one of your concoctions without a healthy tot of whisky.”
“Are you planning to continue to act like a milksop, m’laird?” Mary huffed.
“Pardon me?”
She placed the cup on the bedside table. “In all seriousness. You allow Lady Helen to force me to tend the pigs and then you refuse a wee bitter brew because it hasn’t a dram of spirit?” She chuckled and squeezed his upper arm. “You still feel like a brawny Highlander.”
He batted her hand away. “Silence.” He grabbed the cup from the table and threw it back, forcing himself not to make a sour face. “What is this you say? Helen made you tend the pigs?”
She sat beside him and smoothed her fingers over the plaid. “Did you not command it?”
He shifted against the pillows. “Of course I would do no such thing. When did this occur?”
“After Sir Eoin left for Sunart, Lady Helen took charge as if she were lord of the castle.” Mary thumped the bed. “She shouted orders to everyone, and then she pointed at me and gave me the lowliest duty of all.”
Aleck frowned. It came as no surprise that Helen acted out against his leman, now that she knew the truth. Though Helen had never shown she possessed a backbone. Regardless, it was a relief he no longer needed to pretend. Before Helen had birthed the worthless female bairn, Aleck had felt compelled to keep his affair hidden from his wife—but now he cared no more.
He’d never been attracted to Helen. First of all, she had no figure whatsoever. If she bound her breasts, she could pass for an adolescent boy. He hated her demureness, always trying to make everything right, always doing things to compensate for his gruff miens, as she’d referred to them. She had no idea how to handle the affairs in Ardnamurchan. If he showed the slightest inkling of compassion, his clansmen would start taking advantage. Aye, a chieftain had no recourse but to rule with an iron fist, lest he lose his lands and his castle to someone closer to home than Alexander MacDonald.
“What are you going to do about it?” Mary cut through his thoughts.
“As soon as I can use this arm, I’ll hunt down Alexander MacDonald and send him to hell.”
Mary frowned. “I meant, will you allow Lady Helen to treat me like a stable hand? Do I mean so little to you that you’ll allow her to command me to tend pigs?” The tenor of Mary’s voice rose with every word until she sounded on the verge of hysterics.
Aleck was in no mood to hear supplications even if they were from the woman he loved. But when the flicker of ire in Mary’s eye softened into a seductive glint, his heart squeezed. Truly, he could never allow Helen to mistreat his leman. If Helen had done her duty and had grown pregnant when they’d first married—and birthed a son—Aleck would not be in this predicament.
Helen would be dead.
He reached out and grasped Mary’s hand. “Ask Sir Grant to bring Lady Helen to me and I will see to her priorities.”
Mary turned his hand over and swirled her middle finger around his palm. “But I’ve something to tell you first.” Her words were pensive. It wasn’t like Mary to be shy about anything.
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 s
ay 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.
18
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.”
