“You must go tell William to release him.”
Kat stared. “Wherefore should I do so?”
Isabella looked at her impatiently. “The king would not expend the men and coin to return and recapture a place as remote as this. All William need do is gather his men, leave Colyne here and that will be an end to it. He will do it, mark my word, if you ask it.”
Kat stepped back. “Are you mad, poppet? Release a highwayman—”
“Colyne is no highwayman!”
“A kidnapper and rebel against the king!”
Isabella ran after Kat and caught hold of her arm. “If he were left here—”
“With the castle taken and the king’s men around?” Kat demanded. “How, then, upon his return to court would William explain letting a rebel run free in the countryside? Or do you think he too shall betray the king for the MacKimzie’s sake?”
“Colyne can go to France, he has lands there.” The thought of it brought such a wave of pain and longing she closed her eyes for a moment.
Better he is free in France and parted forever from me than to remain here and be the king’s prisoner.
“Oh, Kat, but it is so simple! A moment’s inattention, a guard called away at the right moment and Colyne escapes—”
“Then William would look a bumbling fool!”
Kat shook off her hold.
“What does it matter how William looks?” Isabella cried. “You would rather have Colyne brought—chained!—to the king?”
Kat rounded on her. “This is our doing, Isabella! This is the escape you planned and we three brought about! Our place is at the court and yours is with your husband!”
Isabella shook her head. “You do not understand! Colyne and I—”
“Oh, I know he broke with the MacLaulach girl!” Katherine interrupted sharply. “No doubt the MacKimzie intended you take her place as mistress of this tiny holding, to rule over sheep and cows, where even the lady of the house turns herself to rough work! But this is not the life to which you were born, Isabella! You are meant for better! You are the daughter of an earl, cousin to the Queen of Scotland and the King of England both!”
“I do not care for any of that, Kat! Not anymore.”
“So you say now, my lady. I think you will find your place at court more suits you than being doxy to a beggarly Highlander.”
The breath rushed out of Isabella’s lungs. “I hardly think it is your place to—”
“My lady,” Katherine interrupted coldly, “I am sure when you are delivered of Lord Douglas’s child you will see the wisdom of having taken your rightful place at court. Now, the nobleman entrusted to bring you to the queen—and your husband—awaits us.”
With that Kat turned away, her feet crunching in the snow.
In a moment Isabella stood alone in the clearing, her breath visible in the cold.
Gently her hand brushed her abdomen. The hopes she had for this child, to be raised with its father, with love—
She swallowed hard. The child would have her love. And she would undo the suffering she had brought upon its father.
He only need escape from William and his men…
Isabella was already in the saddle when the guards brought Colyne.
Her lips parted and she nearly cried out at the sight of him. A guard stood on either side of him, each clasping one of his arms. His shoulders were slumped, his head hung in utter defeat, his wrists already bound with rough rope.
Her eyes never left him and she willed him to look at her. If he did, surely he would see the love she had for him, her determination to set him free.
Colyne did not even raise his head.
The guards pushed him on toward the waiting carriage. William had forbidden him to ride and meant to put him instead in the carriage that had carried himself and Kat to Castle MacKimzie those months ago.
They pushed him inside. Colyne looked blankly ahead of him.
Isabella gritted her teeth at the humiliation they were visiting upon him, already urging Cobweb forward to intervene when William shot her a sharp, warning look.
She hesitated, Cobweb shifting uneasily beneath her.
Isabella’s glance went to the men around them, their curious looks turning toward her.
Her hands tightened on the reins as one of the king’s men bound Colyne by the ankles as well.
William yanked the curtains of the carriage closed and tied them shut.
The ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles and Colyne was glad of the pain. His shoulder ached too from being jolted around in the carriage. She had been right those months ago; riding in this freezing thing could make anyone ill.
He closed his eyes briefly at the thought of her, letting the unmerciful rocking of the carriage bruise his shoulder.
I should have made them kill me.
He had run toward the castle, toward home. He could scarce keep his feet under him for the snow and ice. The uneven ground made the run an agony of slowness, the sword in his hand seemed to have tripled its weight. The aftermath of Jargeau, Meung-sur-Loire, a dozen other battles in France, haunted his memory. Men caught up in battle would slaughter the innocent, even women, even children.
What have ye done, Isabella?
He ran faster. His breathing was ragged, his breath visible and moist on his cheeks as his footfalls pounded along the bridge.
No sounds of fighting, of struggle? No war cries or clanging of swords?
Caitrina, Jamie, Angus, dozens of beloved faces flashed through his mind. The cousins he had grown up with, children he knew before they could walk. They were there, all of them, left defenseless at his order.
Four of the king’s men surrounded him the moment he entered the courtyard.
Many of his clan were here, surrounded by guards, forced to cower on the ground. They looked back at him, his friends, his family, frightened, defeated. Some were wounded. One of the MacLaulachs lay dead, the snow red beneath him, his wife weeping beside him.
The children huddled against their mothers. Caitrina and her new husband knelt in the snow under the swords of the king’s men…
Colyne hefted his sword in defiance as the king’s men leveled their weapons.
He had ordered the gate kept open for her sake.
He had failed them all.
They would have the satisfaction of watching him die for it.
“Hold, my lord!” William cried from horseback behind him.
Colyne turned to face him and the knight dismounted. The king’s men, more confident than ever they could cut him down quickly, moved closer.
“Stand you by! Leave him to me!” William ordered, holding his gloved palm to them. The men were confused, glancing at each other. “Obey me!”
Colyne stood ready as the men backed away.
“Come now, English!” Colyne taunted. “Kill me if ye can, old man!”
He took a step toward William and then another, the snow crunching beneath his boots, but the knight did not draw his own sword.
“Defend yerself!”
William held his arms wide and walked toward him. “My lord, I beg you, surrender to the king’s justice.”
“The king’s justice? Aye, and may James be called back to rule in hell where he belongs!” Colyne took another step toward him. “Fight, man! I’ll slay ye where ye stand if ye dinna!”
“Then you would fall far from my measure of you, my lord.” William stepped forward, his hands held out, palms up. “MacKimzie, the day is lost.”
“Then I’ll die here on me own land!”
William nodded. “Perhaps the king will be satisfied with that. But His Majesty was ever one to see his justice done himself.”
Colyne bared his teeth. The wind picked up, the ice stinging his eyes. The MacLaulach’s woman sobbed and some of the little ones did too. His nose stung with the smell of terror and blood they had brought into his home.
“If ye won’t fight, die and be damned!” Colyne spat and took another step forward
. His blade was at William’s throat now.
“I give my word, in all faith, MacKimzie,” William said, his voice low and urgent. “That if you will yield to the king’s justice, if you accept the judgment of law, I will do all I can to protect those left here from his vengeance.”
“The king is a demon born! He lives on blood as he does cruelty!” Colyne shook his head. “Do ye nae know, man? At the least of it James will seize these lands and turn them all out to starve!”
So easy. A turn of his wrist and William’s throat would be cut. He could draw back and run him through if he chose. He might even take one or two of the king’s men too before they fell upon him.
William wet his lips. “His Majesty is sometimes harsh but if he believes they obeyed you as chieftain, methinks he can be persuaded to mercy. Your uncle or nephew inherits. It is not as if you leave a son behind.”
Colyne went still, the sword gripped in his hand, and it was all he could do not to cry out.
He had loved her, her and their child too.
He would have died for them.
For her.
And the bairn, innocent no matter what she had done. He could never claim it now, not by word or deed.
“No,” Colyne murmured. “There is nae child o’ mine.”
She hath given it all—herself, the clan, even the bairn, to Douglas and the king.
I have nothing now but the hope that stretching my neck will be enough to satisfy James.
In a swift movement Colyne offered up his sword.
“No!” Caitrina shook off Ihone’s hold, and pushed herself to her feet.
William held his hand out to the guards and they let her pass, hobbling on her crutch to him.
“No!” Caitrina gripped him in an embrace.
“It’s all right,” Colyne said automatically, his arms going around her, his cheek against the softness of her hair.
“Yer not goin’!” she insisted, against his chest.
He stroked the back of her head as he did when she was a little girl woken by nightmares about the king and his men. “I have to.”
Over Caitrina’s shoulder, Colyne met Ihone’s eyes. His new brother, for one, understood he would be not be coming back.
Keep her—keep all my clan—safe, as I should have done.
Ihone gave a slight nod, knowing without being told what Colyne would ask of him. Colyne felt a rush of gratitude and returned the nod.
“Escape if ye can,” she whispered. “We’ll fight them here and come for ye.”
“No,” he said firmly, taking her by the shoulders to look into her face. “Malcolm is laird now, and Jamie after him.”
She shook her head, her brow furrowed in stubborn denial.
“Keep yerself alive, and yer man.” He touched his hand to her cheek. “Make a good life, sister.” He gave her a half smile. “Name at least one of yer brood after me, and warn him not to be sae great a fool as his uncle was.”
“Colyne—”
“No.” He shook his head again and dropped his arms. “’Tis done now. I vow I’ll gain ye the king’s mercy if I can.”
William nodded to Ihone to come closer and gently urged her toward her husband.
“You will have to be bound, MacKimzie,” William said, already motioning the guards forward.
One yanked Colyne’s hands in front of him and one readied a length of rope.
“No!” Caitrina wailed, trying to push past them. One turned to strike her but Ihone shielded her, pulling her back.
“No! Let me go!” Her face distorted with grief as she twisted around, her hand reaching for him. “Colyne! Dinna let them take ye!”
He bent his head as the king’s men tied his wrists.
Ihone had to hold Caitrina back when they took him away. Her sobs, her screamed curses on William and the king, followed him out.
Now, Colyne watched the landscape go by through the little gap between the curtain and the carriage side. Colyne wondered if James would order his head put on a pike outside the city walls as his father’s had been.
Every turn of the wheel and passing tree took him farther from home and closer to Perth.
To the king.
Through the tiny gap in the curtains Colyne saw the breath of the horses, the broad backs of the king’s men around her. He caught glimpses of her now and again, riding her fine, fat palfrey to join the court, the rich cape of an earl’s daughter draped around her.
She betrayed me.
She betrayed us all.
In his mind he could still hear Caitrina screaming.
The rough bindings on his wrists drew blood as his hands clenched into fists.
At the inn’s gate, Isabella allowed one of the guards to help her from the saddle. Rarely in her life had she been forced to ride as long as this and she was unaccustomed now even to short rides. Her legs were so stiff she needed to lean on the man to walk.
She looked round for Colyne only to see the curtain remained shut and two guards had already taken their places, swords at the ready. She craned her neck, but she caught no sight of him before she was ushered through the stone archway and into the dirt courtyard.
Two-story timber-framed wings enclosed either side of the courtyard, a line of doorways visible on both floors. External galleries and stairways reached doorways to the rooms on the upper floors.
Inside, the wooden hall was high ceilinged, the roof beams open, and a cheery fire burned in the center hearth. The floor rushes looked to have been changed not long before but it smelled of stale drink, old food, and the piss of the guard dogs.
A very young but respectably wimpled woman hurried forward. Clad in a leather apron, the woman had a fresh, pink plumpness to her. She filled a few tankards and served them with a pert smile then went in search of her husband.
The trestle tables ran down either side of the room and wincing, Isabella lowered her sore backside onto a bench. Too parched to care about brew’s quality, Isabella drank it down.
“A goodly enough place,” Kat said wearily. “Is it not, poppet?”
William’s fatigue showed and he wiped his hand over his eyes. “By heaven’s grace, we shall pass the night comfortably here.”
“All of us?” Isabella asked.
He gave her an annoyed look. “I would have none out of doors in weather like this, my lady.”
“Oh, to be sure we shall be cozy in warm beds,” she said tartly. “Though some of us be tied up like geese hanging at a market.”
His tone turned sharp. “I am subject to the king’s will, as are we all. But all shall know the comfort of a fire and a good meal this night.”
“I find the fire most agreeable,” Kat put in. “This place will suit us well. Pity there is no family that holds these lands to welcome my lady.”
William looked at the fire. “Clan Campbell holds the castle at the Dorchart River.”
Isabella glanced at him. Not ask the hospitality of the castle for the queen’s cousin? But why?
Her heart quickened. If William avoided the castle he had good reason.
Could Colyne be kin to the Campbells? A proud family would not take well to their kinsmen being bound hand and foot, prisoner to King James.
James was not the only man with claim to the Scottish throne. It was whispered that his was not even the strongest claim.
The castle at the Dorchart River—
Held by enemy of the king or blood to Colyne, it mattered not. If he could reach the castle, there would be help for him there.
The king’s men might still hold Castle MacKimzie but if Colyne could return home, he had allies, as did the MacLaulach, who could be called upon to fight.
The innkeeper, florid faced and—by the size of his belly—prosperous, hurried in followed by his young wife. His glance quickly weighed the cost of their clothes and his welcome was warm indeed.
“You’ll have our best rooms, no danger, and your horses seen to as well.” The innkeeper nodded. “And how many of ye then, sir?”
“Myself, the ladies, our guards—”
“Ah, nae too many at this time of the year, my lord, and yer very welcome here! There’s nae better beds to be found hereabouts and a slap-up supper to boot!” From the look he gave the woman, she must be his recent wife. “Thanks to Beatrice, here.”
“And one prisoner,” William added.
The innkeeper blinked; his wife stopped to stare wide-eyed at William.
“A prisoner!” the innkeeper’s young wife cried. “I’ll not have a criminal under my roof! That one’ll be housed in the stable.”
“’Tis not for you to speak so of your betters!” Isabella flared. “This is a nobleman, awaiting pardon from the king. You should be honored to have him under your roof!”
The innkeeper gave his wife a sharp look.
Clearly not wishing to offend guests with the means to be generous, Beatrice bobbed a curtsy. “As ye say, milady.”
Isabella turned her glare on the innkeeper, who shifted uneasily and wiped his hands on his leather jerkin.
“Ah—well! To be sure we can find somethin’ to suit, my lord!” he enthused, a smile on his rounded, red face again. “Fine oak doors in this house, sir! Solid as anything! Ah, oh.” He glanced at Beatrice. “Ye have guards for the man, aye?”
“Provide the room and I shall bear the responsibility to guard the—” William glanced at Isabella. “The gentleman.”
The innkeeper clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together. “Ah, well done then! Well done!”
Kat rose wearily, rubbing her back. “I for one would be grateful to you, mistress, to show us to our room and send the maids with hot water too. Ah, but all that riding and cold has given me a stomach tonight! Are you not of a hunger, poppet?”
William had pushed them hard that day, and darkness was already gathering when Isabella and Kat returned to the hall for supper. She and Kat sat apart from the men at one of the long trestle tables, as befitted their rank and sex. The innkeeper’s wife served them quickly and then busied herself with the men.
“The ale is hearty enough,” Kat commented.
Isabella took a sip, wincing. “Hearty, but not pleasing.” She wrinkled her nose at the meal of thin pottage, cold beef, rough bread, and cheese but lifted her spoon anyway. “They cannot be hopeful of a tip.”
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