by Victoria Zak
“I thank ye kindly.” Effie took the green woolen dress from the lass; it was one of her favorites.
“Will ye be needing help?” The maid stood by, eager to please.
“Nay, I shall be fine.”
The bashful maid never made eye contact with her, always peering down to the ground. Effie couldn’t stop thinking that perhaps Tavish had something to do with Maggie being so timid. She was young and cute, a perfect victim for her brother to sink his teeth into.
“Maggie, I would like for ye to be my personal chambermaid from now on.”
Maggie’s eyes grew large and she nodded her head.
“And I want ye to be honest with me. If anyone tries to hurt ye, ye come and tell me. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“Good.” Effie smiled.
As Maggie straightened the sheets on the bed, Effie began to dress quickly. Even with the hearth’s blazing flames, the chamber pricked with cold.
Sitting down behind her dressing table, brushing through her unruly red curls, she grew curious and full of dread at the same time. After years of living with the guilt of never saying goodbye to her da, she knew it wouldn’t be an easy task to ask for his forgiveness. She needed to face the fact that there could be a possibility her father might not want her back, for it must have hurt him terribly the way she had left. However, being one beating away from death, she had no choice but to leave. Though he must want something; he had sent for her with urgency.
Being as though she was righting the wrongs in her life, Effie had to come clean with Conall as well. He deserved to know the truth about the woman he was about to marry before they wed. She was ready to start anew with her father and Conall, and this gave her hope for the future. If all else failed she supposed she could settle as the blacksmith’s wife. And ye be pulling the wool over yer eyes, Effie.
It seemed like she had a lot of explaining to do and little time to do it in. Hopefully when the dust settled and the air cleared, Conall would still want to marry her.
As Effie finished her last comb through, she was in too much of a hurry to plait her hair, so pulling it back and wrapping a strap of leather around the mess of curls would have to do. She stood up and instantly the room spun and her stomach rolled. Bracing herself with a hand on the back of the chair, she took slow and easy breaths. Either her nerves were getting the best of her or it was hunger that was causing her to feel ill, she thought. More than likely she needed food.
“Are ye alright?” Maggie called out as she rushed over to her.
“Aye, I stood up too fast, ’tis all.” Effie wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled at the maid. “I’m a wee bit hungry.”
~~~~~
The great hall was humming with clan Maxwell’s elite. Faces had changed in the past five years, Effie thought as she looked round the courtyard for her father. Even though the townsfolk recognized her as they glanced knowingly at her in passing, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember one of them.
No matter how much she had changed, the fact remained that she was the laird’s daughter, the heart of clan Maxwell. Of course people would notice her. But what struck her as odd was the pity in their glances and stares. It was as if someone close to her had died. If she was lucky, they were mourning Tavish. Aye, but she knew better than to rely on luck. Mayhap she should find Neil; he had to know what was going on.
Trepidation threatened to take over as she stood on tiptoes overlooking the great hall. A strong hand gripped her arm from behind. Oh for the love of saints. She blew out a breath of relief, it had to be da.
She turned around. Her eyes widened, her heart raced, and every torturous memory rushed her and slammed into her like a bolt of lightning. Even though she was strong, the house of horrors prevailed in weakening her, propelling her back to a time where mental and physical abuse were no strangers. She felt as if she was that little, broken-down child she’d been five years ago. “Tavish.” Her voice shook.
He hadn’t changed a bit. Still tall and slender with the same evil twinkle in his eyes. Charm had been his virtue, she supposed it was the only way he could manipulate people, though she found it to be disgusting.
“’Tis good to see ye sister. Five years is a long time to be away.” He smiled and hugged her.
Lying arse! He was as happy to see her as a thief was happy to see a pillory. His repulsive grasp nauseated her to the point she felt the bile rise in the back of her throat. “Where’s father?”
Tavish broke their not so loving embrace. “Have ye eaten?”
Effie shook her head no. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her where her father was?
“Here let’s sit and eat.” He motioned over to a table where a man sat eagerly spooning porridge into his mouth. “I have someone I want ye to meet.”
Effie knew the only way to survive was to stay strong. So she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She was not the same person she had been five years ago. Show no fear, she reminded herself. No one can hurt you now.
The man at the table came clearer as they approached. He peered up from his trencher of food and smiled. Aye, how could anyone forget Sir Henry, Baron of Lancaster and younger brother of Sir Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, one of England’s wealthiest and most powerful families? Even though they had never been formally introduced, his reputation had been spread far and wide.
A fine, vigorous English knight, he’d conquered and seized several borderland castles all in the name of the late King Edward I. An honorable knight for a Sassenach, she supposed.
As an addition to his power, he wasn’t bad on the eyes as well; strong jawline, white straight teeth, short black hair, and light brown eyes, indeed he was quite handsome. When he stood to bow his greeting he must have been over six feet tall. “Good morn, Mistress Maxwell, ’tis good to make your acquaintance.” Another asset to add, chivalry.
“Effie, this is Sir Henry of Lancaster,” Tavish introduced.
Effie bowed her head. ”Good morn.”
Sir Henry scooted his trencher over and motioned for Effie to sit. “Please, sit.”
Effie accepted his offer, yet something seemed off-kilter here. Why was a high-ranked English knight here at Caerlaverock? The north tower was in ruin, no one seemed to want to tell her where her father was, and the oddity of the folks’ behavior around her was plain alarming.
Tavish sat across from his sister, giving her a trencher of the provisions. Blood pudding, porridge, and hot fresh bread had been the morning’s morsels of delight and Effie shouldn’t have been happier to finally have food in her belly, yet the smell turned her stomach ill. She really needed to get her nerves under control.
Placing a piece of bread in her mouth she asked, “Will father be joining us?”
Tavish bowed his head down and Sir Henry placed his hand on top of hers. “Tavish, There’s a lot of strange behavior here. If ye know something, please I beg ye, tell me,” Effie said.
“Effie, there has been an attack on Castle Caerlaverock and on Clan Maxwell. The Douglas’s have waged war upon us and tried to seize the north tower. But,” he nodded to Sir Henry, “Sir Henry and his English garrison came to our aid.”
Effie must have looked like hunted game about to meet its death. Her heartbeat raced and pounded in her ears. Shocked, to say the least, she couldn’t form the words she wanted to say. Clan Douglas had attacked her home, but why? It had to be a mistake.
Tavish continued, “Unfortunately, father was killed by their commander.”
Devastated, she covered her mouth to hold back her sobs. Nay, this could not be true; it had to be a nightmare. This was the moment when she would wake and everything would be back to normal, she told herself.
Sir Henry turned to face Effie and lightly squeezed her hand. “If it gives you any comfort, we have the man who killed your father contained in the dungeon.”
“Aye,” Tavish reassured her, “Most of their men were slaughtered and those who were not fled back to Angus with their tails tucked.”
Effie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clan Douglas had attacked her home and killed her father. That’s why she had been given sorrowful glances. Nay, she shook her head, there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. A Douglas would not attack her father. The Maxwells were their allies, and they owed fealty to King Robert. Her father supported the crown with honor.
In order to believe any of this she had to see this so-called man who had murdered her father.
Effie straightened and pulled herself together before speaking her request. “I want to see the man who killed father.”
~~~~~
The smell of dank earth, urine, and blood assaulted Conall’s senses as he began to regain consciousness. He felt from deep within him his dragon weakly stirring trying to heal himself. Thumping beats pulsed through his head and by the way his chest ached he knew at least two ribs had been broken. Cowards! Holding a man down to be beaten was in no matter a fair fight. Then again clan Maxwell had shown their true colors; back-biting bastards!
Swallowing past the dryness, the foul taste of dirt and iron made his stomach lurch. God help those who did this to him. When he got out of here the whole damn clan would pay, that was certain. Conall curled up on his side as he coughed up blood. “Shite,” he groaned.
“Aboot time ye got up.” Conall felt a boot kick his leg.
The mere knowledge that he wasn’t alone made Conall snap out of it at once. “Who,” he coughed, “are ye and where am I?”
The lad laughed. “Ye be in Hell, me friend.”
Conall opened his eyes and saw a young lad of what he thought to be at least twenty, sitting next to him with his back propped up against the wall.
“Me name is Caden,” the lad replied.
Slowly so as not to disturb his already ailing gut, Conall sat up holding his ribs and that was when he noticed the blood seeping through his tunic. He had been stabbed. “How long have I been here?”
“Not as long as some of us. If me guess is right, I’d say three days according to the daylight shining through that crack.” Caden pointed to a fissure in the wall.
The dungeon was scarcely lit by torches just outside the small iron-barred cell, casting eerie shadows to flicker down the corridor. The sounds of the holding chamber came alive with groans of the dying and the clanging of rusted chains banged together. Pleas for mercy were heard loud and clear that one more day in this shithole would be their last.
Coughing up blood, Conall spat, clearing his throat. “So Caden, why are ye here?”
Caden stilled and turned grim. “I’m here because of who I am.”
“And just who be ye?”
Breaking their conversation, as if all of his senses burst at once, he could feel her. As Caden rambled on, skirting around the question, Conall shushed him. Gently he got to his feet and walked to the iron bars, straining to hear a voice. Closing his eyes, he took in a long, deep breath, smelling her sweet honey scent. Aye, Effie was here but why and most importantly, how?
Joined with Effie’s voice were heavy footsteps and deep voices; she wasn’t alone. By all that was mighty if anyone had hurt Effie he would gut them where they stood. The more panicked he became, the more his dragon awakened. He paced the front of the cell as the voice drew closer. How did those bastards find her? He swiped a shaking hand through his hair.
The doors to the dungeon opened with a protesting moan. Conall stopped abruptly as shadows drew near. The adrenaline rushed through his veins like the tide running back into the sea at the thought of someone hurting Effie. If one hair on her pretty little head was misplaced--- his dragon roared to life, begging to be unleashed. Even weakened, his dragon could raise one hell of a tempestuous storm. If Conall didn’t calm his backside down right now, the dragon would prevail.
Tavish was the first to come into view then... thank the Gods that be, Effie was fine; not a scratch as far as he could see. Her vibrant forest-green eyes grew wide and her hand covered her mouth in shock. “Effie,” he whispered.
The look on her face was more than he could endure. Her scrutinizing eyes held him with a cold stare.
“’Tis the man that waged his attack on the north tower and killed our father.” Tavish pointed to Conall.
Effie stared at the Highlander, shaking her head as if she was trying to erase him from sight.
“Effie, look at me. Dinnae believe a word he says.”
Sir Henry wrapped his arm around Effie’s shoulder, consoling her. “I know this must be hard on you, seeing the man who murdered your father stand before you.”
Effie was silent and kept her eyes fixed on Conall.
Somehow Conall had to talk to Effie and make her understand that there was no truth in their lies. Since mated Dragonkine Highlanders could talk to their mates through mind-speak, he prayed it would work. This was his last chance, for he could feel her tension; she was about to break. “Shake yer head if ye can hear me, lass?” He watched her intently, nothing, no response.
“I’ve seen enough.” Effie choked through the shock in her voice, then turned and hastily walked back through the corridor.
Conall’s voice echoed through the holding chamber as he yelled out to her. “Effie!”
Sir Henry cast Conall a sly grin as he turned to follow Effie.
“Effie, dinnae leave!” Conall grabbed the iron bars and quickly released his hold. Heat torched his skin as if he’d just touched a hot cauldron. Quickly he released the bar. “Shite!” He looked down at his reddened hands, as they started to blister. “What’s happening?”
Why wasn’t he healing? Three days should have been enough time to heal him, if not completely then at least half way. Blood still oozed from the stab wound, ribs were still broken, and his body showed bruises and cuts. Thankfully he could still feel his dragon, weak, but he was there nonetheless. Nothing was making sense.
Tavish slunk up to the cell like the snake he was. “I know who ye are. I’m no fool.”
“Ye know nothing,” Conall spat through the throbbing pain as he held his hands.
Tavish’s laugh sent a wave of vileness through Conall’s veins. “Oh but I do know. Ye see I have eyes and ears throughout Scotland. I know me sister fancies ye.” Tavish leaned in, careful not to get too close. “I know what ye two do in the woods.”
Conall stood as close as he could to the iron bars without touching them. Nostrils flared and storm-gray eyes intensified into a whirlwind. “Effie is yer sister?”
“Aye.”
Effie had a brother? For a moment Conall was taken aback. Effie had never mentioned that she had a brother. God’s wounds! Then that makes Sir Herbert her father. Tavish’s words rang back to him from moments ago, ’Tis the man that waged his attack on the north tower and killed our father. Effie thinks I killed her father.
The urge to run to her was driving him daft. Locked behind these bloody bars, he was trapped like some caged animal while the woman he loved had condemned him for murdering her father. Rage like never before boiled inside of him. He had to get to Effie.
“Heed my words well.” His eyes swirled. “If ye lay one finger on Effie, I will kill ye with me own bare hands.” It was not said to be a threat but a promise. Conall had never been more serious in his life. He’d failed once at protecting his late wife and son, he would not fail again.
“I do believe ye’re in no position to make those kind of threats. Ye need no’ fash yerself about me sister. I have plans for her.” Tavish turned and began to walk the corridor back to the stairs leading out from the dungeon.
The impulse to shift was too powerful to hold back. Conall leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for the change. He was going after Effie, she had to know that he had not killed her father. Furthermore, he didn’t trust those bastards. His dragon stirred, yet something was wrong. An uneasiness came over the beast as if something was holding him back, not allowing him to surface.
The dragon grew distressed and began to panic. Terrified deep inside Conall, it shook and rattle
d with such force as if it was trying to escape a cage. Conall needed to calm the dragon down, and fast, before they both went insane.
Caden walked up to Conall on high alert. “Let her go. There’s no escaping these bars.”
In a flash Conall grabbed Caden by the front of his tunic and unleashed all his pent-up frustrations by ramming the lad’s body against the stone wall. Dust and dirt from the ceiling rained down on them from the force.
Conall stared him in the eyes. “What do ye know aboot these bars that ye aren’t telling me?”
Caden wickedly smiled. “I know enough to no’ touch them.”
“Who are ye?” There was something about this whole situation that left a bad taste in his mouth.
Chapter 7
Finally. Magnus stood to greet James as he entered the solar. The once peaceful Dragonkine elder was having a difficult time staying calm. Being as it was his tenth pint of ale, time seemed to stand still, as he had waited for James a bit longer than he cared to. God’s blood, he hadn’t just risked his life, escaping the creepers, to turn around and waste more precious time waiting on James. Time was of the essence. “James, will Rory and Conall be joining us?”
James took a seat behind his desk followed by his two prized Scottish deerhounds Lennox and Mahboon. “Rory will be here but Conall had some business to take care of for me.”
“I see.”
Neither man really wanted to discuss the issues, knowing the future held a grim possibility of destruction. The earth had been shaking frequently and the force of it all was causing an unsavory amount of concern.
On cue, Rory strolled in, meeting his fellow Dragonkine with a nod. The tension in the air was thick.
Magnus paced and stroked his beard, thinking of the best way to deliver the news. James sat back in his chair and said, “Och Magnus, ye’re making me dizzy. Oot wi` it.”
Magnus took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Our worst fears could verra well be upon us, men.” He faced his brethren and the room fell gray.
Rory stood by the hearth with his arms folded at his chest, his placid manner turned to stern distress. His posture said it all. Every man in the solar was at attention, waiting for Magnus’s next words.