by Alisa Adams
Dugald struggled painfully to his feet and fell down again. The other guard that Iain had knocked down had a broken leg and could not be moved, and the two whose heads he had cracked together were still sleeping like babies.
However, Iain’s damaged leg was preventing him from running away, so he could do nothing when he was seized by the collar and dragged back into the castle over the rough splintered planks of the bridge. The ordeal was much more agonizing than the pain in his legs, but he clamped his lips together and screwed his eyes shut. He was not going to scream. He would not let it happen.
At last he got into the smooth stone-flagged courtyard, and breathed a sigh of relief, but the respite would not last for long.
Presently, the Laird came back into the building. He walked over to Iain and slapped his face with the front and back of his hand, his expression one of utter loathing.
“Get him out of my sight,” Fearchar said disgustedly, and Iain’s agony began anew as he was dragged down to the dungeon again. He could not stand up, so his shins bumped against every step, and by the time he reached the bottom they were skinned and bleeding.
He was thrown into a cell and the guards stood laughing at him as he crawled across the floor onto the mattress. The pain in his legs was excruciating and he felt nauseous from it. Eventually he closed his eyes. He felt as though he was going to pass out for a moment, but he thought of Eilidh and a surge of hope came to him. Perhaps someone would tell her he was here and she would come to rescue him, but then he realized that there was no chance of her coming to save him; she still thought he had betrayed her.
He turned his face to the wall, but he was roughly dragged onto his back again, and something soft was placed over his face. He tried to struggle, but was pinned down on each side of his head by two sets of joined hands.
“Say yer prayers, big man!” Dugald’s muffled voice came to him dimly, and the last thing Iain heard before the blackness overwhelmed him was his evil cackle of laughter.
This is then end of my life as a happy woman, Eilidh thought. It was the day before her wedding, and to say that she was depressed would have been a massive understatement. She was pale because she had hardly eaten or slept since she came back, and the only time she had smiled was when Annie sat holding her hand and telling her tales of her own childhood in the Orkneys.
“Mistress!” Annie almost broke the lock of Eilidh’s door in her haste to enter, then stood still to get her breath back for a moment. Eilidh watched her in amazement. She was standing up and the seamstress, Eileen, was putting the final touches to her wedding dress. It was a beautiful scarlet velvet creation and fitted her like a glove, but Eilidh wished it were black, since she felt as though she was going to her own funeral.
Annie was bursting to tell Eilidh her news. Having access to the downstairs rooms, the kitchen, and the garden, she received all the news and gossip—not immediately, but after it had been passed around a bit. Sometimes these tales were so embellished by the time they got to Annie that there was barely a grain of truth in them, but this time she had seen evidence of the latest one with her own eyes.
“Eileen,” Annie puffed, “wid ye go an’ get yersel’ a wee bit dinner, hen?”
Eileen was a young girl and used to doing exactly as she was told, so she left at once, no doubt to spread some speculation about Annie’s news.
“Sit doon, Mistress,” Annie patted the beautiful carved armchair that was Eilidh’s favorite, then she knelt in front of her and took Eilidh’s hands in hers.
“Annie, what is going on?” she asked anxiously.
“Mistress, thon young man o’ yours...wis he called Iain Jamieson?” Annie asked.
Eilidh felt her stomach lurch. “Yes, why?”
“And dis he have fair hair wi’ a bit o’ red in it? Tall? Muscly?” Annie asked, frowning. She was desperate not to be wrong.
A ray of hope was shining into Eilidh’s heart. She felt like fainting. “That is him,” she breathed, scarcely daring to hope. “Why?”
“I think he is in the dungeon, where yer faither put him,” she answered. “Ally the groom telt me. He saw im comin’ in. Said they were draggin’ him. He wounded several guards before he was taken down! Wid ye like tae see him?”
For a moment, Eilidh stared at Annie, unable to believe her ears, then she hugged her friend. “I would. I would like that very much!” Eilidh cried joyfully, jumping up from the chair. In the process she stood on the hem of her dress and it ripped from the hem to the knee.
“Mistress!” Annie said in alarm. “Take it aff so Eileen can fix it afore the morrow!”
Eilidh looked at Annie with a twisted smile. “It does not matter, Annie,” she said with grim glee. “I will not be wearing it. There will be no wedding.”
16
Eilidh tumbled down the stairs to the dungeon with Annie close behind her, and there was such fury in her face that staff and guards alike scattered before her. When she got to the deepest, darkest part of the dungeon where the cells were, she sprinted along the corridor to Iain’s cell. She knew which one it was because there were several men outside it, all laughing and cheering.
She screamed and they all looked around, startled, then backed away when they saw who was running towards them.
Inside the cell, Eilidh saw the limp body of Iain lying on a dirty straw mattress, with a man on each side of him pinning his hands to the floor. Dugald McFarlane was bending over him, leaning all his weight on a pillow which was covering Iain’s face. He was laughing maniacally, but he stopped when the most unearthly sound he had ever heard assaulted his ears.
Eilidh howled in fury, a noise that sounded like the wailing of a wolf combined with the cry of a screech owl—a sound that seemed to have come straight from the pits of hell.
Dugald looked up, and the two other men let go of Iain’s hands and scampered away as Eilidh launched herself at her enemy, then hauled his shoulders up and raked her sharp nails down each of his cheeks. His hands instinctively went to the wounds as he let out a squeal of pain, and he let go of the pillow, which Eilidh whipped away from Iain’s face. She pushed Dugald sideways and he grunted in pain as his knee hit the floor with a thud.
“Oh no, oh no,” she whispered as she looked down at his face. It was white, but his lips were blue, and she was terrified that he was dead. “Please Lord, let him live,” she begged. “I will do anything you ask of me.”
Then suddenly she heard the most wonderful noise of her life. Iain lifted his head and began to cough in great hacking shudders, then he took in great gulps of air and as he did so, the color returned to his cheeks and he opened his eyes. He stared at her with a glassy, unfocused gaze for a moment, then he blinked and smiled slowly as he recognized her.
“Eilidh...” His voice was a hoarse croak. “Am I dreamin’? Is that you?”
She shook her head, smiling at him tearfully. “No, darling, you are not dreaming,” she replied. “This is Eilidh, your Eilidh who loves you more than life itself. I have come to rescue you.”
“I love you Eilidh, so much.” He reached up a hand and cupped her cheek, then pulled her down for a tender kiss. He did not have the strength for passion, although he wanted nothing more than to kiss her till they were both dizzy, but their lips caressed each other softly, tongues stroking, and despite the desperate state of his body, Iain felt the first stirrings of arousal. There were guards all around them watching, but neither felt even a twinge of embarrassment. They were too engrossed in each other to care.
Then suddenly Iain remembered why he was in the castle. He had come to tell Eilidh he loved her, and to stop her marriage if he could. Was it too late?
“Eilidh, are ye already married?” There was fear in his voice and his eyes, but she smiled, shaking her head.
“No, Iain, and there will be no wedding,” she said with tears in her eyes. She pointed at her dress. “You see this beautiful creation? I have torn it, and it is covered in mud from kneeling down on this dirty floor. I do not
think it will survive the fire I am going to consign it to either. So you see, I will have no wedding dress, and there will be no marriage. They will have to hold a knife to my throat to get me into the church.”
“That can be arranged you know,” said a stern voice. They had been so engrossed in each other that they had not realized that the Laird had arrived, and his face was dark with fury.
Eilidh stood up, but she did not let go of Iain’s hand. “I will not marry him, Father,” she said, her tone grim and determined. “And I am ashamed of you and your deceit. I heard what you said about Iain.”
“From whom?” Fearchar asked. As far as he knew, only he and Malvina knew about the lies he had told. However, unbeknownst to him, Annie and Eilidh, while not knowing the exact words, had worked out the substance of what they had told Iain. It could only have been her father who had tried to poison her mind against Iain.
“Does it matter?” she asked scornfully. “Nobody told me, Father, but I see from your reaction that I was right. Iain loves me, and I love him, and I will not marry the loathsome slug you have betrothed me to!”
“You will marry Cormac McClure if I have to drag you down the aisle by your hair!” Fearchar growled.
“I would rather be dead!” she roared. “If you make me do this I will kill myself, Father! It may be a week after the wedding, or a month, or sooner, or later, but you will never know when, so unless you want to post a guard on me day and night I suggest you call off this farce of a wedding right now.”
“Never,” said Fearchar. He snapped his fingers and Eilidh screamed as they manhandled her out of the cell.
Iain called out after her and tried to stand up, but Fearchar, with an almost lazy motion, kicked him down again.
“Stay there,” he growled. “I have plans for you.”
Iain watched helplessly as he strode away. However, he consoled himself with the thought that he might have been defeated, but he knew that he had Eilidh’s love, and that was all that mattered.
Fearchar went to see Cormac and he was welcomed with open arms. Cormac hugged him so tightly that Fearchar was afraid that his ribs might break. Then Fearchar poured him a goblet of wine, but just as Cormac held up his glass for a toast, Fearchar grasped his wrist to stop him. Cormac looked puzzled.
“I am afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said gravely. “Eilidh has refused to marry you.”
Cormac gazed at Fearchar without expression for a moment, then he began to roar with laughter. “Is that all?” he asked, wiping spittle from his lips. “I thought it was something serious!”
“It is something serious!” Fearchar shouted. “Cormac, we need to call off the wedding. She is threatening to kill herself otherwise.”
Cormac shook his head, his jowls wobbling, then he collected himself. “Nerves,” he said confidently. “You hear about it all the time, Fearchar. She is very young, and she has just realized that she is going to be waking up every morning to the same man for the rest of her life. It is quite a thought.”
“She has another lover,” Fearchar said heavily.
This got Cormac’s attention. “She is not a virgin?” he asked indignantly.
“No, not that,” Fearchar answered hastily. “She has found someone else that she loves.”
Once again, Cormac laughed heartily. “Puppy love, infatuation!” he said dismissively, flapping his hands at Fearchar.
“Listen to me!” Feargar shouted, and gripped Cormac’s arms to turn him around. “She will kill herself if you marry her. You cannot watch her every minute of the day so you cannot stop her. I do not want my daughter to suffer, I love her. Of course I can not marry her to that man. So I am calling off the wedding!”
“Is he strong?” Cormac asked.
“Why is that important? He needs four men to be taken down, I am told. Now he lays injured in a cell. He can hardly walk.”
Cormac only smiled. “Hardly walk? Then I have an idea,” he said smoothly.
The next morning Fearchar Mackie accompanied Cormac McClure to Iain’s cell. He glared up at them mutinously as he sat on his mattress, but as usual, Dugald was there.
“Stand for yer Lairds!” he ordered. The two Lairds thought it quite obvious that Iain could not stand, but they had reckoned without his determination and willpower. It took a lot to make Iain Jamieson back down, and he was not doing it now. He struggled to his feet and stood upright, never betraying by even the twitch of a muscle the agony he was in. Then he bowed stiffly from the waist.
“M’lairds,” he said, his voice and face expressionless.
Cormac stared at him. “Aye, he is a handsome one,” he said. As if beauty is of any importance to a man. “This was supposed to be my wedding day, young fellow, but you spoiled all that. My bride, poor innocent young maid that she is, thinks she loves you, and will kill herself if she cannot. I propose a solution to this dilemma, however.” He waited for Iain to speak, but he said nothing, and his face was as immobile as a stone statue.
Annoyed, Cormac went on. “I propose a wrestling match. Two men fighting to the death against each other. It will take two very brave men, but the prize is the hand of Eilidh Mackie, and I am sure you will agree that she is worth fighting for.
“I will understand if you do not wish to participate,” he continued. “But if you deny my proposition you have no claim over Eilidh. Take a day to think about it.”
A few hours later Cormac was sitting with Fearchar eating. Cormac is brilliant, Fearchar thought. If Iain accepted, Cormac would win easily. If he denied, which was the obvious choice, Fearchar would appear generous as he gave his daughter’s favorite a chance; Cormac would appear most brave and determined. Also, they would have every right to hurt Iain since he had given him a chance and he threw it away. There was no way they would lose. That type of brilliance was what Fearchar needed and that is why he had chosen Cormac.
They were eating when the reply from Iain arrived.
“He decided to give up so fast?” Cormac said with a full mouth.
“He will take the challenge my Lord,” the servant said.
Fearchar was left with an open mouth.
“Good. I will kill him tomorrow. Before breakfast. Leave us now.”
Cormac had already started giving orders.
After all, soon it would all be his.
Iain sat down on his mattress again. Rather than feeling fear, in a strange way he was happy because he knew he would have to survive to save Eilidh. He was under no illusions; Cormac was a huge man, and he would have to keep his wits about him, but he knew how he could win. He could not let this monster have Eilidh, and he would not. He had a plan.
Eilidh heard the news from her mother, and she was so shocked that she could hardly stand up. “But how can Father be so cruel?” she cried in disbelief. “Iain could take Cormac on if he were not injured, but to subject a man to that...creature while he is unfit! Mother, that is not just unfair. It is inhuman!”
Malvina nodded. “I agree with you, Eilidh,” she said sadly, “but your father and Laird Cormac are determined. They expected Iain to refuse to fight, but he accepted the challenge, and I must say that I think he is a very brave man, but Cormac is an enormous one. And Eilidh, there is something else I need to say.” She stood up and walked to the window, avoiding Eilidh’s eyes. “What we said about you to Iain was very unjust. I am sorry, and I am a very bad mother to have gone along with it. Please forgive me.” She looked back at her daughter with eyes that were full of tears.
Eilidh went to Malvina and wrapped her arms around her. “You did the wrong thing for the right reason, Mother. You were trying to look after me and I understand, but Iain is the best man I know, and I love him.”
Malvina cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and kissed her. “I cannot get your father to let you see him,” she murmured. “The guards have instructions not to let you in, but I can take a letter for you.”
Eilidh lost no time in fetching parchment and a quill, then began to writ
e.
“He will not be able to write back,” Malvina warned, “but he can give me a message.”
But Eilidh was not listening. All her attention was focused on the letter she was writing, for it might be the first and last letter she ever wrote to her love.
She kissed the letter, folded it, and gave it to her mother. “Make sure no one sees you, or they will take it away from him,” she instructed. “And thank you Mother. I love you too.”
As soon as she had left, Eilidh burst into tears. After a while, Annie brought her a cup of spiced ale then sat holding her hand while Eilidh dried her tears.
“I am so frightened, Annie,” she whispered.
Annie patted her hand. “If it helps, Mistress, I hae a good feelin’ aboot the morrow. I have never met yer lad, but he sounds like a fighter tae me.”
“That he is,” Eilidh said, smiling hopefully.
Annie knew that if Iain died Eilidh would be crushed. She hoped this time she would be wrong.
Malvina took the letter from her pocket and passed it over to Iain through the bars.
“Please read it to me, my Lady.”
* * *
Malvina was so embarrassed by the way she had treated that man. She began with a trembling voice.
* * *
“My darling Iain,
* * *
I do not have enough words to say how much I love you, and how much sorrow I feel for what I have put you through.”
* * *
Malvina felt every word.
Her fair voice resembled Eilidh’s very much and Iain loved that.
She continued.
* * *
“If I could, I would run to your cell and set you free, but my father will not even let me see you. Thank you for fighting for my hand but I would have thought no less of you had you refused. Rest assured that win or lose tomorrow, you will always be my hero, and the love of my life.