by Emily Royal
“I don’t believe in your demons or your gods.”
“It matters not. The devil takes his own, even if they deny him. You killed my people. You killed my da!”
“We were defending ourselves against your attack,” Arran said. “You should not have waged war on us unless you were prepared to suffer the consequences of defeat. Every soldier knows that.”
“We were promised there’d be no defence.”
“Who promised?”
The girl struggled again, but Arran held her firm.
“We were betrayed.” She spat once more.
Icy fingers clenched Tavish’s stomach, twisting it into a hard knot.
A traitor!
“Who betrayed you?”
“Curse you!” the girl cried. “Curse you and your whore!”
Your whore…
Did she mean Elyssia? Where would she have seen her before? Perhaps the girl had been a captive of Allendyne in the past. Or had she been present when Angus had taken Elyssia away—when he and Malcolm had been killed by the barbarians?
“Duncan, fetch the Englishwoman.”
* * *
By the time Duncan returned with Elyssia, the barbarian had grown calmer. Her hands secured by a rope, Arran had tethered her to an iron ring set into the wall. Images of Elyssia, bound at the neck, pricked at his conscience. But enemies must be restricted—and punished. Despite the fires of defiance in her eyes, she looked fragile and defenceless, crouching on the floor while Arran watched over her. Though she cursed him and called him a coward, his real reason had been for her protection. The barbarians who roamed the land, clanless and landless, worshipped the pagan gods of old and believed in old magic. To reveal her name to the people, she viewed as heathens, exposed her to the ancient demons she feared.
For her, death at her own hands would be preferable to the spells an enemy could weave with her name; ancient superstitions, beliefs Tavish could never comprehend. But the defiance in her eyes barely masked the sheer terror deep inside her.
The air prickled as he sensed Elyssia’s arrival, his body reacting to her closeness. Curse his weakness!
A surge of jealousy sent fire through his veins. She had not come alone.
Richard’s eyes blazed as they focused on Tavish, and Elyssia leaned into his embrace, brother and sister united against him.
“Why have you summoned my sister?”
Tavish motioned towards the girl.
Elyssia’s eyes widened as she saw the prisoner.
“Who’s that?”
“Her people attacked us.”
“She’s just a child!” Elyssia cried. “Do you still have a taste for chaining defenceless women like animals? Or do you think that by tethering her by the hands, rather than the neck, you are no longer a savage?”
Tavish pointed to the girl. “She’s the savage, as are her people.”
“Where are her people?”
“Dead. They raided us and were defeated—thanks to Margaret and my brother. This girl is the sole survivor.”
“You summoned me to show me this? Let her go!”
“No. Not until I find out why.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You’ve encountered Morcar’s people before. Perhaps you know something.”
He motioned to Mella. “Tell her, savage. Tell her what you told me.”
The girl let out a coarse laugh, throaty cackles spiralling into the air, tightening Tavish’s skin with fear, bringing forth nightmares of old, dreams of witches casting evil spells on the unwary.
“Ye’re right to trust no one, MacLean,” she laughed. “Who among your clan, even now, plots your death?”
Elyssia’s eyes hardened. “I see,” she said. “You think I would betray you, that I’d wish to further the cause of vengeance until all are dead save for memories? Memories of hatred and the lust for power?”
Did she think he sought to accuse her? Even now?
“Good God, Elyssia, how can you think…”
“No, Tavish.”
She turned her head away, disgust in her eyes. “I’ll deny nothing, Tavish MacLean. All I’ve ever wanted is to see my sister, and now my son, safe from harm. Why would I waste my efforts betraying yet another man who sees me as nothing more than a whore? I no longer care what you think of me. Secure me in a cell if you will, but I’d ask you to decide here and now. I grow weary of waiting.”
Mella’s cackles grew soft, but she continued to chuckle to herself.
How could Elyssia so readily believe he would think the worst of her?
“I wasn’t accusing you.”
He reached out to her, but she pulled away.
“Richard, take me away from him.”
“Elyssia,” Tavish pleaded, “what would you have me do?”
“Free the child.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Then release her into my custody,” Richard said. “Let me take her when I return home. You may think we English are brutal, but this child would fare better in my custody than yours.”
Tavish nodded. “Very well.”
“Treat her well, MacLean,” Richard warned. “Secure her somewhere other than this godforsaken cell. Do not make me regret sparing your life.”
Before Tavish could respond, Richard took his sister’s hand and led her out of the dungeon.
* * *
When he returned outside, Tavish breathed in the air, his lungs almost sighing with relief, drawing out the taste of the mould from the dungeons as poison from a wound.
Where was she?
Her voice carried across the air, accompanied by two others. Richard’s light timbre he recognised, the same lilt as hers. The third voice was that of the child, Conall; Flora’s bastard child—the child who had killed her.
“So you see, Conall, you’re my brother also.” Richard’s voice, full of love, sent a pulse of shame through Tavish. He had only ever seen the boy as the creature which had destroyed Flora. But Richard de Montford, one of the unfeeling English, treated him with love and respect.
“Lyssie and I want you to come home with us where you can be loved, as an equal.”
“What of the Lady Alice?”
“She’ll remain here.” Elyssia’s soft voice spoke, a trace of sadness dampening her tone. “She has found someone to care for her. We’ll miss her dreadfully, but we cannot deny her the pleasure of a husband—or the love of someone who understands her value.”
As Tavish rounded a corner, the three came into view. Conall sat on the edge of the well, Elyssia and Richard either side. Elyssia drew the child’s hand to her breast.
“Conall, I love you as I love Richard. You’re our flesh and blood, and your home is with us. Would you not wish to be part of a proper family, something you’ve been denied all your life?”
“Are ye not to remain here, Elyssia?”
“No, Conall, my love. I would only stay if Alice needed me. But she has Finlay now. I gladly relinquish my responsibility to him, because he loves her. For myself, I have nothing here, and no wish to remain. This is not my home, neither is it yours. Our home is in England.”
The boy nodded, and Elyssia drew him to her, the act piercing Tavish’s heart.
Despite all he had undergone to bring her to him, she wished to be gone. But could he blame her?
“Run along now, child,” Richard said, “our sister is tired and must rest.”
As Conall scampered back into the building, Tavish heard Elyssia laugh—a sound he had never heard before. A laugh of joy, of hope. When had Tavish given her either?
The best he had offered was to set her up as his whore.
Now, he wanted more. He wanted to shout from the battlements, to declare his love for her above all.
He wanted her.
But she no longer wanted him.
The twins embraced and kissed before they parted. Richard headed to the stables and Elyssia towards her chamber.
Tavish moved out of hiding an
d blocked her path. She stopped, body tensing as if anticipating a blow.
“Is this how you thank me for freeing you, Elyssia?” Flinching inwardly at his rough tone, he drew himself to his full height. But his actions no longer cowed her.
“If I’m free, am I not able to make my own choices, including where my home is? Or does your notion of freedom only mean an exchange of one prison for another?”
“You wish to leave?”
“Do my wishes matter to you? You take what you want and keep it in a cage. First me and my sister, and now that poor child. You’ve hidden her in your dungeon, so the fruits of your savage desire for vengeance are not visible, lest they prick your conscience. Or are you yet to gain a conscience?”
“What did your conscience say when you condemned my sister to rape and torture?”
Regret tore through him as the words fell from his lips. Dear God, what had he just said?
Her defiant gaze darkened with pain—the guilt she would always carry with her.
How could he have used such a weapon to spear her with? Duncan was right. He did not deserve her.
“Can I never atone for what I did?” she said. “What would you have me do, Tavish? Remain here as your whore, chained in your dungeon, tethered to your bed? Will that bring her back? Will her spirit rest in peace, knowing another woman suffers at your hand in the same manner in which she suffered at the hands of my father?”
Her voice broke, and she wiped her face, glistening with moisture.
“Let me go,” she whispered. “The hatred you bear will destroy both of us. Marry Margaret and let me go. You’ve done what you set out to do. You placed a Scottish bastard in the belly of your enemy’s daughter.”
Bastard. To think she used that word to describe their son; that his hatred had driven her to it.
“Aye, I did,” he snarled, his voice shaking. He had lost her—all he had left was the force of his anger to fuel his cruelty.
“Be off with thee. Take yer little bastard and go!”
Her face grew pale before she turned and ran to the building.
He closed his eyes but could not shut out the voice of his conscience.
How could ye, how could ye…
“How could ye, Tavish!”
A hand gripped his shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh, forcing him to open his eyes. Duncan stood before him.
“You foolish man!” he hissed. “Though why I should call ye a man, I know not.”
“What would you have me do, Duncan? I won’t force her to stay.”
“Fight for her!” Duncan cried. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing? You want her, Tavish. I’ve known you all my life and understand you better than you do yourself. Your guilt eats away at you because you believe you don’t deserve her. So what do you do? Everything in your power to drive her away! If she leaves of her own accord, then you never have to face up to what you have done.”
“You speak nonsense.”
Before Tavish could react, pain exploded in his face, and he reeled backwards.
Duncan’s eyes blazed with fury, his right hand drawn into a fist, the skin of the knuckles broken where he had struck Tavish square on the jaw.
“You call yourself a man? Would a real man let the woman he loves slip through his fingers? No! He would beg forgiveness at the feet of one he has wronged. Admitting your folly is not a weakness, Tav, but a strength. In understanding where he has sinned, a man can grow and become stronger. Otherwise, he remains weak and descends into savagery.”
Duncan touched Tavish’s chin.
“You’ll lose her to the English unless you act now.”
“I’ve already lost her, Duncan. By nature of her birth, she never was mine. By letting her go, I’m doing her a service. The clan could never accept her.”
“You’re wrong, Tavish. Look around you. Isla, Arran—they love and respect her. Aye, some mistrust her, but if you openly accepted her, they’d follow your lead. Even Callum.”
Duncan cupped his hand against Tavish’s cheek.
“Forgive me, my friend. Sometimes we need a sharp reminder of where our heart lies. Tell me honestly, would you take her as your wife to rule the clan with ye? Do ye love her?”
What would it be to have such a woman by his side, to help him rule the clan with her strength and compassion? She would devote herself to his people as she had tended to them, even while a prisoner. She would love their son, who would rule after him. And she would set fire to his passions in his bed.
Such a prize was within his grasp. He only needed a little humility.
Duncan’s expression transformed into a knowing smile.
“Ye have no need to speak, Tav. With your silence, you’ve given me a truer answer than you ever could with words.”
A small cry made him turn towards the building. Margaret stood in the doorway, her eyes wet with tears. Her crushed expression told him all he needed to know.
She had heard.
* * *
Elyssia shifted in the cot. The flame of a solitary candle cast shadows across the chamber. They flickered in the breeze which the hangings could not completely smother.
Gentle snores penetrated the silence. The baby was asleep.
Why had she woken?
A sound. A footstep, followed by another, the low hiss of a breath.
“Who’s there?”
A shape emerged from the shadows.
“Who are you?”
Was it a ghost? Had the spirit of Flora MacLean come to claim her?
You condemned my sister to rape and torture.
Since uttering the words which had cut through her heart, he had avoided her. She’d kept herself busy helping Alice prepare for the simple ceremony which would bind her to Finlay.
As for Tavish, he would never forgive her.
She reached towards the cot where the baby slept. A glint of steel flashed in the candlelight.
“Don’t move!” a voice hissed.
It was a woman. Had the barbarian child come to kill her?
“What are you doing?” Elyssia asked. “Mella? Is that your name? I have no quarrel with you. What purpose would killing me serve? You’ll never escape.”
“I have no wish to escape.”
It wasn’t the barbarian child.
“Margaret! What are you doing?”
“You think you can whore your way into his bed again?” Margaret snarled. “You spin your witchcraft to poison his mind against me. And now you have the brat—another spell you can weave unless I obliterate it.”
Margaret sprang towards the crib and picked up the child.
“No!” Elyssia screamed.
Margaret held her knife against the baby’s chest, the glint of light on the metal winking cruelly at Elyssia.
“Don’t move! Or I’ll slice the brat in two.”
“Not my son. I’ll do anything you want. Please!”
“Anything?” Margaret laughed. “Filthy whore! You think I’d succumb to your evil as the men you offered yourself to? You might have spread your legs for Tavish and offered yourself to Angus, but you’ll not find me as weak. I’m a woman and cannot be tempted.”
She twisted the blade, and the baby let out a wail.
“Silence, you little bastard,” she snarled. “We women are thought to be weak, while the men rule over us. Why, even though Callum is a mere boy, the clan turned to him in Tavish’s absence and not me. Though I understood where the danger lay, I was ignored because of my sex. But no more. Tonight I reclaim my position, and none shall deny me; not even an English whore.”
“Margaret, I’m leaving with my brother. Once Alice is wed, you’ll never see me again.”
“You think I’d let that half-wit remain here? Once I’ve dealt with you, I’ll dispose of her also. She should have been slaughtered at birth.”
“You think by killing me he’ll love you?”
“Morcar’s brat will take the blame. That little savage was supposed to die along with the others
, but she can serve a better purpose now.”
Margaret’s usually gentle voice turned harsh; the voice of evil, lust for power dripping from her lips. “Morcar was a fool. He thought he could control me, but like all men he underestimated me.”
“You’re the traitor?”
“Did you never wonder how they came across you that day in the forest after I’d sent you for berries? It was my misfortune that Tavish had gone looking for you. They were supposed to rip you apart.”
“But you were so kind to me.”
“Aye,” Margaret sneered. “I had thought as a woman you’d have the wits to see through my ruse, but you didn’t. Like the men, you were foolish enough to believe a few softly spoken words. I played you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Only your idiot sister looked at me with suspicion, but not even you listened to her.”
Elyssia’s stomach churned. Surely Margaret had not been responsible for what Angus had done to her?
“Was it you who persuaded Angus to… to take me home?”
Margaret laughed, tightening her hold on the baby.
“I used his hatred for the English and his lust for your fat thighs to persuade him to rid me of you. I trusted Morcar’s men to dispose of him in turn so he’d not betray me. My plan should have succeeded. I was sure the wolves had taken you. But no, even the basest creature can survive a tempest when others are slain. The devil truly does protect his own.”
Traitorous bitch!
Angus’s words floated into Elyssia’s memory. She had thought them a final insult. But they had been a warning.
“You betrayed him.”
“He’d served his purpose.”
How was it that such a gentle-looking creature harboured such a black soul?
“Did you plan the attack on Glenblane?”
“I promised Morcar the estate and the title, told him of the wealth hidden within. The foolish savage trusted me! I only had to sow the seed of doubt in Callum’s mind to persuade him to order the men to lie in wait.”
“You engineered a massacre?”
“What would you care?” Margaret cried. “Their only use was to rid me of you, and they failed. They were savages, born of the dirt of the earth, deserving nothing but to be wiped from the land as vermin.”
“You sound like my father,” Elyssia said quietly. “He condemned that which he did not understand.”