Murtagh stood waiting in the large open area running across the front of the stable. Eight horses, saddled and ready, milled about behind him. Willie moved among them, double-checking their straps and reins. Ferd secured the supplies that Graham and Duncan passed over to him.
“Ye’ll keep to the northern pass, aye?” Murtagh stated more in the tone of an order than a suggestion. “More snow there but passable.” He gave the horse standing beside him an affectionate rub on its shaggy neck. “These lads love snow and mud even better. They’ll get ye through whatever ye come upon with no trouble at all.”
Alexander held out his right hand, nodding as Murtagh took it and gripped him by the forearm. “I am most grateful to ye.”
Murtagh gave Alexander's arm a meaningful shake as he nodded toward Catriona. “Get her away from here and dinna bring her back, ye ken?”
Catriona rushed forward. “Hear me when I say I’ll no' be leaving the ones I love to Calum’s merciless ways. I’ll be back as soon as I find a way to rid ourselves of him, I swear it.”
Murtagh looked at her for a long moment, his face more lined with age and weariness than Catriona had ever noticed before. His beard was shot with silver and in dire need of a trim. Catriona smiled. She could just hear Mrs. Aberfeldy fussing at him to tend to his own grooming instead of spending so much time worrying after the horses’ needs.
His already severe squint beneath his gray bushy brows drew in tighter until his eyes were mere slits glinting in the lantern light. He turned back to Alexander as though Catriona had never spoken. “Keep her away from here. The bastard will kill her for certain e'er she returns.”
“I’ll keep her safe,” Alexander replied with a solemn nod. “I swear it.”
'Twould do no good to argue with the gruff old man. She’d learned that long ago. Murtagh had been the father she’d never had, and she loved him. Even though the stoic, grumpy Murtagh had never displayed affection of any kind, she’d always known he’d cared about her. He’d shown his partialness to her in subtle ways. She’d never forget the time he’d selected the finest colt of their herds of rare warhorses, then raised it, and trained it for her use alone even though doing so went against her father’s orders.
But she’d show him. As soon as she and Alexander had a proper plan of attack in place, she’d be back to save them all. She ached to throw her arms around him and hug him goodbye just as she had wished to do with Gaersa, but she knew it would pain him to no end if she did such a thing. Instead, she made her way to her horse, standing at the back of the group of strong, hardy mounts that Murtagh had handpicked for their journey. She almost wept when she spotted the wooden stool Murtagh had fashioned just for her and even marked with her initials so she’d be able to climb aboard the giant hairy-footed horses unassisted whenever she wished. It stood at the ready beside her horse.
Alexander and his men mounted up. Alexander gave Catriona a frowning glance and motioned her forward but the tight narrow space didn’t afford the room needed to weave her large steed to his side at the front of the pack. A sense of being cared for warmed through her and set off an excited fluttery feeling in her middle. She was about to be free and embrace life. She waved him onward, understanding he didn’t like her position at the back of the herd but they’d made it this far. I trust Murtagh and the stable boys. 'Twill be fine, I'm sure.
The horses shifted and sidestepped in place with restless grumbling and snorts, ready and eager to be free of the stable and out in the open air. With Ferd’s help, Murtagh unlatched the widest gate at the front of the stable and walked it open, swinging it into the frigid winds cutting across the outside paddock. They moved to one side, standing at the wide doorway as the horses filed out and turned toward the smaller, more concealed side opening in the curtain wall.
As she passed through the stable door, she touched her gloved hand to her heart then lifted it to Murtagh. He acknowledged the gesture with a single curt nod then turned away, motioning to the boys to man the gate and help him secure the stable. Just as her horse was about to follow the others out through the curtain wall, three sharp reports of gunfire split the frigid night air, exploding in rapid succession like a firing squad, and echoing off the side of the mountain.
Catriona reined in her horse and looked back. Terror closed icy fingers around her throat and squeezed. “No. No, it canna be so,” she choked out, hot tears springing to her eyes but not blinding her to the horror in front of the stable.
Three bodies lay scattered across the ground, limp and lifeless in the golden glow of the lantern light shining out through the still open stable door. Dark stains spread around the crumpled forms. The heat of their spilled blood melted the snow around the bodies, turning it to a vile slush. Murtagh, Willie, and Ferd. Shot in the backs of their heads. Dead because of her.
Alexander shouted her name. Catriona heard him from deep within her terrified stupor, but was powerless to react. Her mount stood still, waiting for instruction. Those instructions weren't within her grasp at the moment. Catriona sat paralyzed by the barbaric end of those who had cared enough to help her, those brave enough to challenge Calum.
Duff and Hew stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed over their chests and cradling their pistols in the crooks of their elbows. The evil pair of miscreants fixed her with dual merciless grins as they sauntered toward her with slow, menacing steps.
The ratcheting sounds of unwinding chains rattled across the bailey. A loud familiar thud sounded behind her, breaking her paralysis so she could turn. The raised portcullis of the curtain wall slammed shut as she faced it. Trapped. Catriona found herself trapped within and Alexander and his men were powerless to help her. The sturdy gate barred them from her, shunning them to the outer side of the wall. With a squeeze of her knees, she urged her mount to the gate, sidling up alongside the thick heavy boards spaced just wide enough to shoot arrows at an invading enemy. She could see Alexander on the other side, witness the anguish in his face. Despair engulfing her, she held out a hand, fingers widespread. Helplessness wrenched a keening wail from the depths of her soul.
“Catriona!” he roared, racing his mount back and forth in front of the gate.
“Save yourself!” she sobbed through the barrier preventing her escape. “Run,” she screamed just as Duff yanked the reins out of her hands and held tight to her horse. The evil fool shoved the barrel of his pistol in between the bars of the gate and pointed it at Alexander. He paused, glanced back at Catriona and winked, then turned back and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 11
No matter how close she sat to the fire, nor how tight she hugged her cloak around herself, Catriona remained ice cold and numb clear to the bone. She stared at the roiling glow of the red coals and the pale weak flames flickering in the tiny hearth. How had everything gone so wrong? Who had betrayed her? She closed her eyes as a fresh onslaught of tears and despair overcame her.
Murtagh. The unrelenting pain of his murder assaulted her with guilt and remorse. 'Twas her fault. If she hadna challenged Calum, dearest grouchy old Murtagh would still be alive. “Sweet Murtagh,” she whispered between hiccupping sobs. “I’m so verra sorry.”
And Alexander. If possible, even more pain seared through her heart. She prayed he’d dodged the foul Duff’s bullet, prayed he’d been out of range and escaped. Calum’s hellhound had crowed with glee after firing the shot, sworn he’d hit Alexander, and gloated about it every step of the way to this godforsaken room.
Perched on the slab of dusty stone protruding up from the floor around the small fireplace, Catriona leaned against the flat, round sandstones forming the walls of the narrow hearth and the chimney. No other light flickered in the small forgotten room in the northernmost wing of the keep, the part of the keep her parents had shared when Mother still lived. This part of the stronghold had been closed off for years. No one would look for her here. The tight, narrow room had more than likely been a tiny space for a maidservant.
A small cot, draped with
a ratty, dust-encrusted sheet, took up one wall and a dented chamber pot squatted beside it. A tattered tapestry sagged down from the corner of the single window at the end of the boxy space; the glass cracked from top to bottom and smudged with so much filth little light, whether from moon, stars, or rising sun, filtered through it. A three-legged stool filled the small spot beneath the window. Candle stubs, squat and round but burned down to near uselessness, littered the floor along the wall. Perhaps, Catriona hadna been the first imprisoned here.
Keys rattled and clanked against the door.
Catriona pressed back against the stones of the hearth, swallowing hard as she watched what she felt was a demonic light flicker and dance its way toward her from under the door. It had to be Calum or one of his blackguards. No one else knew she was here. With a final heart-stopping metallic thud, the thick squat door swung open with a slow chilling creak.
“My dear sweet lass. What have they done to ye?”
“Gaersa!” Catriona sprang up from the floor, flinging herself into the aging housekeeper’s open arms. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against Gaersa’s plump shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry about Murtagh.”
“Hush now,” Gaersa soothed in a voice broken and quivering with her own tears. “'Twas no' your fault, child, 'twas no' your fault.” She patted and rubbed Catriona’s back as the two held each other tight and rocked back and forth in their misery.
Gaersa took a gentle hold of Catriona’s shoulders and set her aside. She reached just outside the doorway and fetched the small lantern hanging on the latch beside the door. Light held high, she looked about the small room, her mouth clamped into a scowling frown and her face drawn with weariness and sorrow. “I canna believe they put ye here. No’ in this room.”
Something in Gaersa’s voice told Catriona that they once used this small room for something sinister rather than an innocuous resting place for a servant. “I didna ken this place. Not even when Mother lived.”
Gaersa hitched her way to the window and placed the lantern on the small ledge. With a dismal sigh, she ripped the dusty coverlet off the small ramshackle bed, bundled it up and dragged it and the moth-eaten pallet beneath it into the hall. She turned back into the room and gave a sad shake of her head as she stared down at what was little more than a wide wooden bench. “This room is where your father found his pleasure when his drunken binges pushed his wickedness to even darker depths.”
She motioned a bent finger toward a pair of rusty shackles hanging from iron rings embedded in the wall above the bed, odious accouterments that Catriona hadna noticed. “An evil monster, your father was.” Her hand dropped to her side as she turned to Catriona. “Calum kens this place well because this was where his father trained him to be just as vile and cruel.”
Gaersa’s words made the room feel even colder and the damp mustiness hanging heavy in the air took on a more nauseating stench. Catriona pressed her fists hard against her stomach and struggled not to gag on the bile rising in the back of her throat. She had always known her father was even more cruel when he drank but she’d imagined nothing as depraved as this. Now she understood why Mother had become so inconsolable and enraged the night that Catriona had forgotten to bolt the door to her chambers and secure it even more so with a heavy bar drawn down across the inside of the door. She’d been less than ten years old at the time and had ne’er understood why Mother had always insisted she bolt and bar her door whenever she was within and not in Mother’s presence. Now she knew.
A fearsome thought struck her. “Ye shouldna be here, Gaersa.” She took hold of the old woman’s plump arm and turned her toward the door. “I canna bear to lose ye, too. Go now and dinna come back.”
Gaersa gave her a sad smile and shook her head. “Calum knows I’m here and he willna harm me.”
“How can ye say that?” Catriona tried to move Gaersa with a firm but gentle push toward the door but the stubborn matron planted her stance and held fast. “He killed Murtagh just as sure as if he’d pulled the trigger himself.”
“Calum willna harm me,” Agnes repeated as she toddled just outside the door and fetched a cloth sack so bulging and full it almost became wedged in the small doorway. She pulled out bedding and blankets and spread them on the bed. Then she retrieved an even smaller cloth bundle and a wineskin from the bottom of the sack. “Bannocks and water. 'Twas all he’d allow me to bring up to ye tonight.”
“He allowed it? Why?” Catriona could scarce believe her wicked brother hadn’t just thrown her into the abandoned wing and left her there to die. She’d been more than shocked that Duff had even built her a fire before he’d left and locked the door behind him. “And how can ye be so verra certain that Calum willna harm ye if he sees all that ye’ve done for me?”
“Who do ye think tended to young Calum’s wounds after his father finished with him?”
A cold, ominous knowing wrapped around her like a killing frost. “He hurt Calum?” When Gaersa had said they had used the room to teach Calum cruelty, she’d ne’er imagined that Calum had been a victim rather than a participant. She couldna bear to think of what her father might have done.
But now that she thought back over her childhood, she could almost pinpoint when it must have first happened. Calum would have only been nine or maybe ten years old. That was when his behavior changed. He’d been so different before then. She and Calum had almost been close. She tore her gaze from the shackles and looked Gaersa in the face. “But how did he get to him? Mother taught us to keep away from Father when he drank, taught us to bolt our doors whenever we went to our rooms.”
Gaersa looked away, avoiding Catriona’s gaze. “Your Mother gave him to your sire to keep ye safe.”
What Gaersa proposed was unbelievable. “Nay.” Catriona shook her head as she backed toward the window. “That canna be true. Mother always favored Calum. Said he was the weak one. Spoiled him even.”
"Your Father made her choose. I remember that night as clear as if it were yesterday. He grabbed up wee Angus and held his blade to the lad’s throat. Little more than a bairn, he was, and just started to walking. He threatened to kill the wee babe if your Mother didna obey him and sacrifice one of ye to his games as he called them. Swore to her upon one of her most powerful curses in her grimoire, he did. Swore that whichever child she chose to spare, that child would be protected from him so long as he lived. 'Twas the dead of winter and he’d tired of the servants he’d already tormented and kent there’d be no fresh victims 'til they could hire new servants in the spring."
Catriona covered her ears and turned away. She couldna listen to any more, couldna bear any more pain, nor stomach any more suffering. Her splayed hand pressed flat on the cold cracked glass of the window, she shook with spasms of silent sobs, broken with dry retching.
“I’m thankful Alexander escaped this hellish place,” she whispered as tears burned down her face. “I hope he rides as fast and hard away from here as he can go.”
“Forgive me, lass. Believe me when I say, it breaks my old heart to have told ye these terrible things.” Gaersa squeezed her shoulders then lifted the lantern off the window ledge. “But it was time ye learned the truth to help ye better understand your brother and why he does such cruel things.”
“Understand him?” Catriona turned so fast she bumped the lantern and almost knocked it from Gaersa’s hand. “I’m sorry for what Father must have done to him. Truly, I am. But I canna understand nor forgive the monster he is—no matter his past.” No one could erase the cruelties Calum must’ve endured but nothing excused his perpetuating those cruelties on to others. “I love ye like a mother, Gaersa, but I beg ye, dinna return to this accursed room if your sole intent is to lecture me on turning the other cheek to my brother. I’d rather die and rot here than hear another word, ye ken?”
Gaersa acknowledged with a somber bowing of her capped head. “I understand.” Her gazed drifted to the hearth as she held the lantern between her hands. “Calum has sworn to keep ye here until J
ameson Campbell arrives and the two of ye are wed. Campbell has promised a strong alliance to Clan Neal in exchange for a wife and a dozen or so of our best horses, so ye should be safe from your brother’s wrath for a bit.”
What Gaersa said couldna be right. The old housekeeper must have misheard or gotten her information from an ill-informed rumor. Gordon Neal, her father, would never part with a dozen of his best horses. The herd of select and bred with the greatest care beasts had always been his pride and joy. 'Twas the one intelligent thing he’d ever done for the clan. The Neal herds were famous across Scotland and lusted after by many.
“I canna believe Father agreed to such,” she said as she broke a stick across her knee then added it to the fire. Duff had left her little fuel. She’d have to make the stingy pile of spindly bits of branches last as long as possible. “I know Calum told him of the betrothal.” With another stick, she stirred the fire. “He mentioned it. Seemed pleased because Calum told him he’d gotten Campbell to accept me with only a quarter of my dowry.” She rose from the fire and faced Gaersa. “But there’s no way he’d agree to losing his horses.”
“He doesna have to agree,” Gaersa said. “Your father is dead and Calum is now our chieftain.”
“Dead?” Catriona staggered back then sat on the bed with a hard bounce, her knees gone weak with all that had happened. “When?”
“This verra night.” Gaersa moved to the door, paused, then nodded toward the cloth of bread and the skin of water setting on the bed beside Catriona. “Eat, Catriona. Ye must keep your strength, aye?”
“For what reason?” Catriona snapped. “Why should I prolong this misery?”
The news of her father’s death came as a watershed for the clan, barraging her with its own disturbing emotions: a sense of relief and finality but also chilling fear and dread. Implausible as it was, her situation had become even more dire. Calum had seized the chieftainship, ignoring the Neal elders and their advice. What would happen to the innocent people of Clan Neal now? Head throbbing and no tears left to cry, Catriona shoved the food and water to the end of the cot, sagged across the pallet, and curled up into a tight ball. “Dinna bring any more food, Gaersa. I dinna wish it, aye?”
The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel Page 11