On the opposite end of the grand room, Ursula counted more than half a dozen landscapes of Skye Isle vistas gracing the stone wall. Oil paintings were rare in the day, but she was certain they were of that quality.
As they dined at a massive mahogany table covered in fine linens, one important item did not escape her attention, the MacDonald coat of arms.
Ursula rocked forward on her elbows and craned her neck to get a better look at the heraldry insignia hanging on the wall behind them as she reached for a thick slice of hearty bread from the trencher. The man sitting next to her, an older soldier, winked at her when he leaned out of her way.
With the great hall virtually empty of other guests, the acoustics in the room were conducive enough for her to listen in and catch most of the conversation between Ian and Ethan.
“The MacDonalds have no quarrel with your King Henry. ’Tis our Highland enemies, like the MacKenzies and the Frasers that prove the mettle.” The Highland laird’s admission was thick with distain.
Ethan forced a laugh. She knew him well, and he could fake just about anything. His lies were convincing, as she’d learned almost to her detriment.
“We have no quarrel with your MacDonald clan, as my meager group, with borrowed escort, means only to travel to Skye Isle on the morrow to collect some healing herbs. We are not on a hunting mission.”
Ian burst out laughing and his men quickly join in. When the snorts finally subsided the leader asked, “English lords put aside the pursuits of hunting game to gather flowers instead?”
Ursula wasn’t sure the Highlander intended to be so defaming in his question, but from the color of Ethan’s face, she was certain he’d taken offense.
“I assure you ’tis a noble task,” Ethan replied, his words sounding measured.
“Therein lies one of the major differences between the English and the Scots. We do nae give a sheep’s crap about nobility.” Ian pounded the table with his massive fist. “He who leads men earns the right by action, not by birth.”
Ursula was uncertain whether Ethan would be able to manage the verbal abuse, so she rose from her seat, ready to defend him.
“The cause is more humanitarian than noble,” Ursula said. She walked toward the two men. Even if it wasn’t her place to meddle, letting the conversation carry on without her intervention could have disastrous consequences.
“To save my sister in Aberdeenshire,” she explained.
Ian turned to give her audience.
“She is carrying twins, and I must find the guelder rose on Skye Isle and return with it to Aberdeenshire as soon as I can. ’Tis a matter of life and death.”
Ian looked to Ethan. “Can you nae tame your shrew?”
At that, Ethan threw his head back. This time his laughter was genuine and Conn’s men joined in. After he regained his composure, Ethan asked the laird, “How do Highlanders handle their women?”
“Without proper English manners,” Ian said, his eyes narrowing on her. And before she could protest, he’d yanked her over his knee and, to her horror, began swatting her bottom.
Ursula did not hold back and yelped as loud as she could. The sting of Ian’s hands on her arse was worse than she’d expected.
Thankfully, her full riding skirt provided some cushioning, but she’d already been frightened by the size of the man and was even more put out because his hands were touching her in such an inappropriate manner.
As she yelled, she cursed.
Ian’s laughter grew louder than her cries.
But the torture broke her endurance. Finally, in pure agony, she blurted out something she hoped would stop him.
“Ethan’s a MacKenzie. Your hands should be on him and not me.”
Immediately the beating stopped, and in an instant, she was shoved off his lap and onto the floor. She rolled out of the way of his feet as he stood up.
“A MacKenzie?” Ian’s accusation burned with the sound of hatred.
Ethan laughed a stilted laugh. “The shrew will lie to get her way. Spanking is appropriate given her outspokenness in your domain,” Ethan said. “I have better results when I lock my shrews in the dungeon.”
Ursula cringed under the table, remembering the horror of those days when Rosalyn had been the object of his desire and she’d almost died because of his treatment.
“The dungeon is yours if you deem it necessary,” the Scottish laird offered. Ian’s boisterous laugh echoed through the grand hall. “You could nae be a MacKenzie. You are too weak.”
When silence followed the snub, Ursula braced for the worst, but Ethan finally replied, “Noble Englishmen do not draw swords for battle over ladies, only over land titles.”
Ursula sighed softly. Ethan had decided not to argue, and that may have curtailed any additional probing for proof of the MacKenzie accusation. She hoped her outburst wouldn’t be taken seriously, and she chided herself for losing her wits under the MacDonald laird’s heavy hand.
“Now that you have had some refreshments, my men will escort you around the grounds. I have other matters to attend to,” Ian told Ethan.
As Ursula huddled under the table, she was happy to see the laird’s feet go out of her view. After a few moments, the sound of retreating footsteps stopped. Had they forgotten about her? The head table’s thick linen covering concealed her completely.
Now that the threats against her had ended, Ursula ruminated on her circumstance, angry that she’d let Ethan have his way.
If they’d traveled with Alasdair, he’d have never allowed her to enter the castle without a plan or protection.
Men could be such idiots. If she’d been granted permission to travel alone, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Ursula crawled under the table to the end, where she poked her head out to assess her options. She let out a sigh of relief when she found the great hall empty.
If the laird had higher priorities, and Ethan was being entertained, she would find a quiet, secluded spot to hide until she could figure out a plan to get out of Eilean Donan.
How odd it was that the place she’d dreamed of visiting had become a nightmare. Even though the great hall was one of the grandest she’d seen, the ugliness of the MacDonalds spoiled the gleam of the jewel that was Eilean Donan Castle.
As she walked out of the keep through the kitchen, hoping to blend in with the servants and handmaidens bustling about, she found her way through an entrance to a courtyard. It was a beautiful space with a lovely, intimate garden. And beyond the flora was a courtyard of stone that looked out over a short seawall.
By now the sun reigned over the sky, and the sea loch waters glittered from all the attention.
It wasn’t until she heard shouting that her gaze traveled to the far right of the courtyard. There, Ethan stood surrounded by Ian’s Highland soldiers.
She squinted against the sun, shading her eyes with one hand, hoping to see what the commotion was all about.
Ethan’s back was to the seawall and his hands were tied in front of him. Ursula tried to keep her wits about her as her heart began to race. Clearly, Ethan wasn’t taking a tour of the grounds. He had been taken prisoner.
With panic about to set in, Ursula quickly glanced around, getting her bearings. She had no idea where Conn’s men had gone.
Who would protect her if Ethan was locked away?
Had Ian taken her word that Ethan was of Clan MacKenzie? And if he believed that, what were her chances of getting out of here alive?
She slumped down and snuck around the corner of the entrance to the keep’s kitchen. Even though she was terrified about what was going on, she could not look away.
Ethan stood on top of the wall, hands bound, glancing over his shoulder at the ocean behind him, making agitated movements as if he was trying to break free of his bon
dage.
Then in an instant, he was gone from the ledge. One of the soldiers had shoved him off.
Ursula swallowed her fear. She would have to figure out a way to escape the same fate.
She leaped to her feet and spun around, ready to run. Run anywhere. Just run. And run she did, right into the arms of Ian, Laird of MacDonald. The man who had spanked her.
“There’s the lassie,” he said, firmly taking hold of her shoulders. “What did your husband suggest?” he asked, staring over her head. He looked down at her, his eyes feigning surprise. “The dungeon, was it not?”
Chapter 31
The waiting had taken its toll. Once it was confirmed by Conn’s men that Ursula had entered Eilean Donan, Alasdair was even more agitated than before.
After some discussion with Conn’s men, it was clear to him the soldiers had lost their respect for Ethan after they’d journeyed under his leadership to Eilean Donan.
Alasdair found Conn’s clansmen loyal, having promised their laird to guard Ursula with their lives. It wasn’t difficult to earn their trust when he explained his concerns about her safety and his plan to steal into the castle to rescue her from the MacDonalds and Ethan.
Once darkness was complete, Alasdair led the men to the banks of the sea loch. Crawling on their bellies under a moonless sky, they traveled the length of a furlong from the woods to the edge of the loch.
With the water only up to their waists, they stayed low, wading across the short distance. Once the last man was on the island, Alasdair guided them through the sea gate, then up a narrow stone stairwell to a walled courtyard.
Alasdair had visited Eilean Donan only a year ago with his own clan captain. They’d been guests of the MacKenzies. And the proud laird had provided a tour of his fiefdom, even its dungeon.
That knowledge had been helpful to Alasdair when he had laid out the plan to Conn’s men earlier. Now that they were on the grounds, Alasdair led them through a servants’ entrance. Finding the great hall in the middle of dinner service and the buttery empty, he and the men wended their way around wooden worktables, dodging butter churns, to the door on the opposite side.
Finally, when all six were gathered in the outer hall, Alasdair guided them to a dark open doorway and an alcove with a narrow loophole window. Enough light shone into the space that housed a stone bench. It appeared to be a religious sanctuary.
After leaving two of Conn’s men there, and two at the door to the back courtyard around the corner, he led Gavin to the spiral staircase opening.
He peered down the circular path. The dungeon was at the end of it.
When the light disappeared around the first bend, Alasdair reached out both hands, touching the walls on either side, cautiously placing one foot after the other. Slowly, he and Gavin descended the angled steps.
With each turn, the air grew colder. More damp. And after his right foot could step down no farther, an awful stench assaulted him.
Only the dead could smell this rancid. He shuddered at the thought of Ursula being here. Taking a few steps forward and keeping his arms outstretched, it wasn’t long before Alasdair’s fingers swept cross cold iron bars.
Gavin followed with his hand on Alasdair’s good shoulder. They moved down the narrow corridor in silence.
Then he heard it. A faint wail. Like a crying child, one who couldn’t catch their breath between sobs.
Alasdair quickened his pace. Brushing his fingers along the bars helped him stay the course as he moved toward the sound.
The cry grew louder, then piercing. He stopped, but Gavin stumbled over him in the dark. In his clumsiness, Gordon’s man clawed at Alasdair’s scarred shoulder to keep from falling.
Alasdair bit his tongue. “God’s teeth,” he ground out.
The sobbing stopped abruptly.
He held his breath. After a few heartbeats, he let it out.
What was he afraid of?
Whoever was here had to be locked in a cell, a prisoner who the MacDonalds hated enough to put behind bars with lock and key.
When a sniffle broke the silence, Alasdair spoke out. “We are looking for a friend.”
“Alasdair?”
“Ursula?” His heart stopped racing. “Praise the Almighty.”
“Alasdair, you’ve come to save me?”
“Well, I’ve come this far. ’Twould be a waste not to save you.” He laughed. The action caused some pain in his scar, fresh from Gavin’s stumble, but he shook it off. “Keep talking so your voice will guide me,” he directed.
“They killed Ethan,” she blurted out. “I was afraid they’d kill me, too.”
Praise the saints he’d found her in time. Ethan could rot in hell for all he cared.
“Stick your hand through the bars so I can find you,” he instructed, continuing to make his way and running his hands along the cell bars on either side. The hallway was that narrow.
Gavin shuffled along behind him in silence.
When her fingers brushed against his, a jolt of heat surged through his veins, and he ground to a stop.
Without a second thought, he covered his hand over hers. “I’m here.”
Ursula let out a little sob, not like the wailing ones he’d heard earlier, but one full of gratefulness. She squeezed his arm lightly. “I’ve tried to find a key.” She made a sniffling sound. “I’ve crawled along the floors and felt about the walls as far as I can reach outside this chamber.”
Alasdair was amused. “What would be the point of locking you up if they left a key for you?” He rubbed her hand to warm it. ’Twas cold as ice.
Ursula let out an embarrassed chuckle.
Alasdair squeezed her hand. “Gavin and I will search for a key, perhaps left for the guards. If not, we’ll force the door open.”
When she gasped, he was determined more than ever to find a way to set her free. But after a few moments of futile reaching, Alasdair returned and gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
“Step back and to the side in case the door collapses to the floor,” Alasdair advised, counting on breaking the hinges.
“Let’s find the outer edges of the door.” He spoke out into the darkness with instructions for Gavin. “Then we’ll synchronize our efforts with one mighty kick. That should do some damage.”
Alasdair walked forward, and even though there was no light in the dungeon, his eyes had become accustomed enough to see the faint edges of the cell bars in front of him. “When I count to three. Ready, Gavin?”
“Ready.”
Alasdair counted, “One, two, three.”
When they kicked, the metal groaned in response, but did not budge.
“Again.”
They both gave the door the best of their boots. It gave way, but he could tell, even in the darkened corridor, not far enough for Ursula to squeeze through.
“We are close. Again!”
When their combined efforts met the door, it groaned even louder this time.
Alasdair stepped up to the bars and examined the hinges. He shook the door near the lock where it was nearly coming apart from the frame.
“One more time. She’s almost free,” he said with jubilation. “One, two . . .”
“Three,” said a voice he didn’t recognize.
Alasdair hung his head. Time had run out.
Chapter 32
Ursula strained to hear some movement. Anything. There was complete silence in the dungeon. Why hadn’t they kicked the door again?
A dull light appeared at the far left near the underground entrance to the dungeons. Her heart pounded as if it were in her ears.
But as the glow of a torch approached, and Alasdair moved toward the light, Ursula’s heart sank, even before she recognized the words of the MacDonald laird.
&
nbsp; “You were nae invited MacLeod. You know what we do with uninvited guests?”
“Show them what cowards you are when you hold all the power?”
There was shuffling farther down the corridor out of her view, and a torch fell to the floor. Ursula rushed to the bars from the back of the cell where she’d been ordered to stay. By the time she could see what was going on, Ian MacDonald had Alasdair in a headlock.
She choked on her gasp.
Peering between the bars, Ursula counted eight men carrying iron axes and torches, looking like they’d kill with no regrets.
“Trespassers are dealt with accordingly,” Ian MacDonald said in a foreboding tone. He released Alasdair to one of his men and walked up to where Ursula stood at the bars to examine the damage on the cell frame.
“Out,” the laird ordered when he was finished with his assessment, glaring at her. “In here,” he shouted, clipping his words and pointing to the adjacent open cell.
This was no time for Ursula to show disobedience. She acquiesced silently, shuffling into the adjacent cell. When she looked over her shoulder to find out what plans Ian had for Alasdair, she found the castle’s laird shoving the Highlander in behind her, slamming the door closed.
“You should be the prisoner,” Alasdair shouted. “You’re trespassing on MacKenzie property.”
MacDonald erupted in an ugly laugh. “There’s nae a Highlander who would have the courage to lock me up,” the laird boasted.
“Unlock this cage and let us have a fair fight,” Alasdair proposed, gripping the bars tightly, while Ursula clung to the shadows. Better not to be caught between these two dueling Highland warriors.
“On the morrow your fate will be decided,” MacDonald promised, and then the leader spun away from the cell, his men dragging Gavin with them. As the footsteps echoed and the light receded, she heard Ian say, “We’ll see what you are made of.”
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 21