A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “She begged me nae to tell ye, and she told me again and again that the past was laid to rest. She was desperate for peace, but I could never have allowed the two of ye to marry without yer knowin’ the person she was. But I allowed her to choose her own time, knowin’ that eventually she would be forced to reveal herself. But that was before today,” Hamish said.

  “Ye knew, and yet didnae tell me?” Rory said, angered by his brother in law’s decision to keep this secret from him.

  “I wanted to believe her, though I was angry with her. I threatened her with the truth, but I know well enough myself that tis’ possible for a man to change. There was a time when ye and I were sworn enemies and I was willin’ to accept that Margaret may have changed as she claimed,” Hamish replied.

  “And now? Dae ye still think so? Ye accused her of the foulest treachery of betrayin’ us to her people when we were at our weakest,” Rory replied.

  “And I stand by my accusation, though how she protests her innocence is enough for me to wonder if I am right in my conclusions,” Hamish said, sighing and glancing around him.

  “But who else could have so readily betrayed us? There is only one other that I daenae trust, and that is Niall McCall, but he has always claimed such unwavering loyalty to my father and this clan, ?” Rory said, and Hamish shook his head.

  “The sooner we are rid of him, the better, but ye should speak with her. Go to the dungeons and see what she has to say. Ye know her better than anyone, and perhaps ye will be able to see for yerself if she is lyin’ or nae. Tis’ true that she lied about her past, about who she was, but to betray us? The more I think on it, the more I wonder, perhaps I was too hasty, I would not wish for the punishment of an innocent lass,” he replied.

  Rory was silent for a moment. He wondered if Hamish could be right, but knew he was so in love with Margaret that he would believe anything she said. It was the strangest of feelings; he hated her for what she had done but not for who she was. Musgrave or no, it mattered not, he was in love with her, and he could not merely cast those feelings aside and feel differently.

  “I cannae speak with her. I would forgive her, I would believe her, and it seems she has already spun her web of lies around and made me a laughin’ stock,” Rory said, beating his fist down on the grass.

  “Then we must look to the other,” Hamish said, pointing back towards the castle.

  “Ye mean …?” Rory replied, and Hamish nodded.

  “Aye, Niall McCall, a serpent in the grass. I have seen how he waits and watches,” Hamish said, glancing around him.

  “I daenae like the man, but what reason would he have to betray us to the English? He was loyal to my father, too loyal, too close. We will be rid of him soon enough, but a traitor? I am nae sure of that,” Rory said.

  He had no love for Niall McCall and would gladly have seen him sent on his way across the moorlands, never to return. But to think he had betrayed them when he had been Rory’s father’s closest advisor seemed a strange and perverse conclusion.

  “Ye have said yerself that ye know nothin’ of him. He simply appeared one day and became yer father’s closest confidant. We could all see it, Evie was worried, I was too. He was always in the shadows, always watchin’ and waitin’ for somethin’ and nae a man that I would trust,” Hamish replied.

  “He had eyes for Margaret, I know that she was scared of him,” Rory said, pondering Hamish’s words.

  “Aye, she confided as much in Evie. There was somethin’ about him, somethin’ I could never trust,” Hamish replied.

  “And what dae ye propose we dae?” Rory asked.

  “We seek a way to lure him out. Margaret is in the dungeons; she has nay way to send a message to the English, nay further way to betray us. If further treachery occurs, then surely we shall know from whence it came,” Hamish replied.

  Rory pondered for a moment. Niall had been absent from the battle, and from Isla’s bedside, he could be anywhere right now, even with the English. It was a thought which disturbed Rory, as he thought of Margaret in the dungeons. He wanted to see her, and his anger calmed just enough to set his thinking straight.

  She had seemed so sincere in her denials, though the shock of her true identity still disturbed him. To think that he had fallen in love with a Musgrave was quite simply astonishing. But she was right, it was only a name and bearing the name of Musgrave was far from being complacent in their wickedness. He rose from the grass, dusting himself off and nodding to Hamish.

  “I will follow Niall McCall; the time has come to find out who he is. Ye are right, we know nothin’ of him, but I will find out. First, I need to see Margaret,” he said.

  “But ye said that ye would forgive her if ye saw her,” Hamish replied, and Rory nodded.

  “I am a fool, but this fool fell in love with her. I want to believe that what she is sayin’ is true. I need to see her for myself, and I want to hear her explanation. She owes me that, at least, and I owe her the chance to speak as well,” Rory added.

  He strode off through the gardens, remembering the night when he and Margaret had sat and shared a kiss in the moonlight. He longed for that not to have been the false moment it now seemed. The passion of their words and the moment shared at the pool was now tainted. Could she have been so heartless to have used love to betray him?

  The soldiers at the entrance to the dungeon looked up as Rory approached, and he took a deep breath as they unlocked the door, and he was led inside. It was dark, and he could hear the moans of the prisoners coming up from below. One of the soldiers struck a flint upon an oil-soaked torch, and it burst into flame, illuminating the stairwell, which led down to the dungeons below.

  “Dae ye need an escort, Laird?” one of the soldiers asked, but Rory shook his head.

  “I shall only be a few moments,” he said, taking the torch and making his way down the steps.

  Water dripped from the stones above; the dungeons hollowed out from the very foundations of the castle. Rats scuttled before him, and a hand grabbed at him in the darkness, causing him to shrink back.

  “Is that Fraser Elliott? Let me go, let me go,” a hollow and eerie voice cried out in the darkness.

  “My father is dead and ye, Donald McClain will rot in this dungeon for yer crimes,” Rory said, bringing the torch towards the man’s cell and illuminating his contorted face.

  “And what of the lass? Will ye leave her to rot here too with us?” the man asked, as other voices cried out from the cells.

  But Rory made no reply, shaking his head and walking off along the rows of cells searching for Margaret. She was at the end of the corridor, huddled in a corner, her shawl pulled over her.

  “Margaret, is that ye there?” he called out, and the figure looked up.

  She had been crying, the light from the flaming torch picking out the look of fear upon her face. She struggled to her feet and rushed to the cell door, holding the bars and looking imploringly at Rory, who now stepped back, holding the torch aloft.

  It seemed a cruel and wicked thing to lock her in the dungeon. For a moment, he did not speak but only looked at Margaret, trying to discern the truth in the lies she had spun. Was she truthful? Had she rejected her Musgrave past in favor of siding with him and his clan? He wanted so desperately to believe her.

  “Rory, please, you must know that I am telling you the truth. I know you must hate me, but …” she began.

  “I daenae hate ye, Margaret, but I daenae know if ye are tellin’ the truth or nae. Ye have lied to me about who ye are, and have brought suspicion upon yerself. I daenae know who to believe, and for now, I must keep ye here in the dungeons. My family would never allow ye to leave, nae if what they believe is true,” Rory said.

  “But tis’ nae true, Rory. Search yer heart, surely ye must know that I love ye,” she said, a note of anger in her voice.

  At these words, Rory felt his heart miss a beat. He loved her too, and he could not fall out of love so easily. Whatever she had done, he would still f
eel the same, though he would curse himself if it were the truth. But, as he looked at her, he could see nothing but sincerity in her eyes, a look of pleading and imploring, hoping to change his mind.

  “My heart tells me one thing and my mind another. I am torn and in doubt,” he replied.

  “Then I will say it again, Rory. I love you, and I shall always love you. I do not blame you for thinking this way, for it is natural that you should. But know this, I may be a Musgrave in name, but I am no Musgrave in nature. Can you not see that?” she said.

  He looked at her for a moment longer before sighing and turning away. He wanted to stay, to talk with her further, but he would only believe her words. His heart told him to accept the truth of what she said, but his mind knew differently. His mother and the others would never forgive him if he let her go; they would never accept that a Musgrave could be sincere or change their nature. Once a Musgrave always a Musgrave.

  “I cannae stay here,” he said, and not heeding her cries, retreated along the corridor.

  “But I am telling the truth, Rory,” she cried out angrily, “you will see that. Search your heart and do not be drawn by the prejudices of the past.”

  “The poor lass, what a cruel man ye are, just like yer father,” Donald McClain said, as Rory passed by his cell.

  “Better a cruel man than a dead one,” Rory replied, as the man began to laugh.

  But, as he came to the door of the dungeons, he signaled to the guard and ordered Margaret be brought a blanket, food, and water. Liar or not, he did not like to think of her locked in that rat-infested dungeon with only thieves and murders for company.

  He was relieved to leave the dungeons behind, his head swimming with possibilities. He hurried across the courtyard towards the keep, glancing around him for any signs of Niall McCall. The afternoon was drawing on, the weather closing in once again, and Rory suddenly felt exhausted. It had been the longest of days, and the funeral of his father that morning seemed a distant memory.

  He paused on the steps of the keep, looking back towards the castle gates and the high walls which surrounded it. He wondered how long it would be before the English came - if they came at all. Had Margaret told them of the castle’s defenses and strengths? She had never shown interest in such things. Indeed, she had tried her best to avoid such situations. All she had been concerned with were the children, their lessons, and sharing the life of the clan.

  “Did ye see her?” Hamish asked, appearing in the doorway of the keep.

  “Aye, I saw her, and my heart and my mind are torn,” he replied.

  “It has been a long day for us all. Come now, take some victuals and some rest, tomorrow ye shall know more perhaps,” he said, ushering Rory inside.

  He did not go to the great hall but instead to his chambers, not wishing to speak with the rest of his family or hear more words of anger breathed against Margaret. They had decided that she was guilty, and that was that.

  He lay on his bed, staring up at the stone ceiling of his chambers, the full weight of his responsibility now laying heavily upon him. He was Laird, and there was no one else to take the burden. His father was gone, and it was Rory who must now bear the troubles of the clan.

  “It cannae be her who has betrayed us, it cannae be,” he said, rolling on his side as tears formed in his eyes.

  But doubts filled his mind, plaguing him, as darkness began to fall about the castle. Could he believe Margaret’s story? Could he ever trust her again? But still, the thought of Niall McCall disturbed him, and he wondered if Hamish’s words were true.

  Eventually, he fell asleep. His dreams disturbed by images of the Musgraves and an invading English army. It had been a day of astonishing revelations, fraught with danger and sorrow, he felt exhausted, sleep the only remedy for his troubles.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Margaret opened her eyes, the flicker of a flame in the passageway outside her cell. She had barely slept even though she was exhausted, unable to summon the strength for anything but tears.

  How she had longed for Rory to forgive her and, when he had visited her earlier, she had thought it was to bring forgiveness. But it seemed that his heart hardened against her and that nothing she could say or do would convince him of the truth.

  Now, she sat up as footsteps approached. She scrambled to her feet, hurrying to the cell door and hoping to see Rory’s face in the torchlight. But it was a different face she now saw, one which caused a shudder to run through her as she backed away into the corner and turned her face away in fear.

  “So, this is where I find ye, lass,” Niall McCall said, leering through the bars, his face pressed close.

  “I have no business with you. What is it you want?” she asked, and he laughed.

  “Only to see the face of a traitor, a beautiful traitor though she be,” Niall replied.

  “I am no traitor, I may be a Musgrave, but that is all,” she said.

  “I could help ye,” he said, and she turned to look at him, an unpleasant smile playing across his face.

  “Help me? How could you help me? You will soon not find yourself in favor in this castle, Niall McCall. Your master is dead, and there is no need of a lapdog now,” she said, for she was not frightened of him.

  She had nothing more to lose and knew there was no love lost between Rory and Niall. Soon, this impostor would be gone, and though locked in the dungeons, she would no longer have to endure his unwelcome advances.

  “Ye have few friends here, Margaret. None but I,” he replied.

  “And you think that because you toss me a bare bone that I will suddenly become yours? You are nothing but a pathetic man, a man I have no liking for, even if you claim to be my only friend,” Margaret replied.

  “Very well, then ye shall remain in the darkness all alone,” he said, rattling the cell door before returning down the corridor and laughing.

  Margaret slumped to her knees, dejected, and defeated. What hope did she have now? She truly was alone. No longer a Musgrave but no Elliott either. An outcast to be despised. She cursed herself for not having told the truth, knowing that if she had done so, then she may not have been thought a traitor now.

  Why will he not believe me? Is there nothing I can do? She asked herself as a tear ran down her cheek.

  Rory awoke with a start, sitting up on the bed and wondering for a moment where he was. It was dark now, the candle burned almost down, and a cold draft swept beneath the door.

  He got up and went to the window, glancing up at the moon, which lay misty behind the clouds. He could see the watch upon the wall and hear the soldiers calling out to one another as they patrolled. But it was another sight which startled him, causing him to peer through the darkness in surprise.

  There, hurrying across the courtyard, was Niall McCall. He paused at the castle gate, speaking with the guards before the gate was swung open, and he disappeared out into the night. Rory knew there was not a moment to lose and pulling on his cloak, clattered down the steps and into the courtyard.

  Now is my chance to see where he goes, he said to himself as he hailed the soldier on the gate.

  “Where did Niall McCall go to?” Rory asked as the soldier on the gate looked up in surprise.

  “He has walked out to patrol the way into Lochrutton and to see that the English are nae abroad, Laird,” the soldier replied.

  “And what right did he have to dae that? He has nae sought my permission, or is he a law unto himself now?” Rory replied, “open the gates, I shall go out myself.”

  “But, Laird. The way will be dangerous, ye cannae go alone,” the soldier replied, but Rory laughed.

  “If Niall McCall can dae so, then I think I can too,” he replied, hurrying past the soldier and out onto the deserted way.

  The moon had appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating the moorlands in a milky glow. A chill cooled the air and frost clung upon the heathers as Rory pulled his cloak tightly around him.

  He glanced along the track, which
led towards the village and could just make out the figure of Niall McCall in the distance hurrying away. With a grim determination, Rory set off after him, running as best he could while keeping to the shadow of the trees, hoping that Niall would not see him.

  It was strange to think of the man leaving Kirklinton at such an hour. What business did he have doing so? Surely he would know how foolish it was to leave the safety of the castle alone for English soldiers might be nearby, and, if he captured, they would show him no mercy.

  Unless Hamish is right, he said to himself.

  Rory followed Niall as far as the turning to Lochrutton. Here, he paused and hid behind an outcrop of rocks, watching, as Niall paused and looked around him. It seemed as though he were expecting someone to appear, but just as suddenly as he stopped, he hurried along - making for the castle of McBryde.