“May you burn in hell,” Brice whispered.
With a growing sense of desperation he raced up the stone steps, Angus just paces behind him. In the great hall, the last of Holden Mackay’s men joined his comrades in death.
~ ~ ~
Rowena sat in the middle of the floor and tasted her own blood. Dazed, she wiped a hand across her mouth and stared for long minutes at her bloodstained hand. Slowly, stiffly, she drew herself to a chair and sat, staring at the flames of the fire, seeing nothing.
The lady Meredith had been correct to tie her and cover her mouth. That alone had probably saved her life. When Holden Mackay had discovered Rowena in place of Meredith, he had demanded an explanation. Once he realized that his prize had eluded him, he had flown into a murderous rage. Never, never had Rowena seen anyone in such a fury. He had picked up a chair and hurled it against the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Still not satisfied he had lifted Rowena from the chair and slapped her, beat her, pummeled her, until she begged for mercy. It was only her plea that she had been overpowered that had saved her from certain death. That, and the sound of battle below stairs. When Holden Mackay left the room to join the fighting, he had been gripped by a lust for blood.
Rowena knew that she should escape while there was yet time. But she seemed gripped by some sort of lethargy. And so she sat, listening to the sounds of battle, staring into the flames of the fire.
That was how Brice found her.
He raced into the chamber, with Angus just a few paces behind. Both men came to an abrupt halt at the sight that greeted them. The room looked more like a battlefield than the laird of the manor’s sleeping chamber.
With eyes dulled by pain Rowena glanced up. In a trembling voice she whispered, “My lord Campbell.”
He was shocked at finding her here. “Rowena? Did we not pass you some hours ago outside Mackay’s fortress?”
She stared in silence, not seeming to comprehend.
Seeing her shocking condition he went to her and knelt before her. He took her hands in his. They were cold. So cold. In her eyes was a glazed look, such as he had often seen in men after battle.
In a tone meant to soothe he said softly, “You are safe now, Rowena. Holden Mackay is dead.”
He watched her shoulders slump as she seemed to let go of the terrible tension that had held her in its grip. A sigh rose up from deep within her.
“What has happened here? Where is the lady Meredith?”
Rowena stared into his dark eyes. He had always been so kind to her. She wanted to return the favor. But it was hard to think.
“Holden Mackay sent for me to dress the lady.” She stared down at the bloodstained gown she was wearing. “He chose this gown. He said he wanted her to look like the bride you would never have.”
Brice’s eyes narrowed. In his jaw a little muscle began working.
“Did he touch her?” His hand curled into a fist. “Did he harm her in any way?”
She shook her head.
“You are certain?”
Rowena met his gaze, then slowly nodded.
He felt as if a band around his heart had suddenly been removed. With a rush of relief he asked softly, “Why are you wearing the gown, Rowena?”
Why indeed? She shook her head, as if to erase the pain of Holden Mackay’s fists. Slowly, haltingly, her mind cleared.
“When we were alone, the lady Meredith asked me to change clothes with her. I put on her gown.”
“Why?”
“So that when she opened the door, the guards outside would think that she was still seated by the fire.”
“Why would they not recognize her when she opened the door?”
“The lady Meredith was disguised as me.”
Brice could only stare in silence as the meaning sank in. “The lady wore my cloak and carried my bundle of gowns.”
Brice turned to Angus, who stood listening. “The old crone outside the fortress.”
Angus let out a moan. “Brice, she is hours ahead of us on the trail.”
“Aye.” Brice glanced down at Rowena. “And this dazed, bloody creature has taken a beating for her kindness.”
“Had it not been for the lady Meredith’s thoughtfulness, I feel certain I would not have survived.”
Brice’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the lady kindly bound my hands and covered my mouth, saying that unless Holden Mackay was convinced that I had been forced into this, he would kill me.”
Brice and Angus surveyed the rubble that had once been Holden Mackay’s sleeping chamber.
Brice’s tone was low with wonder. “From the looks of all this, the lady made a wise decision.” He turned to Angus. “Assemble the men. We ride to the Lowlands. And pray we catch up to Meredith before Gareth MacKenzie gets news of what has happened here this day.”
Rowena caught Brice’s hand. Her eyes brimming with tears she whispered, “Tell the lady Meredith that I send my gratitude. And my love.”
Love. Brice felt a sudden shaft of fear that left his blood like ice. Love was what drove him. It was what caused him such pain.
“Pray I do not fail her,” he murmured. “Or I may as well join Holden Mackay in the fires of hell.”
Chapter Twenty
Meredith was hopelessly lost.
The route from Kinloch House had been difficult enough to follow. But now that she had managed to escape Mackay’s fortress, she could locate no familiar landmarks. Plunging blindly through thickets and woods, she urged her mount onward, praying that eventually she would find a river or stream that would point the way homeward.
The only thought that gave her the strength to go on was the knowledge that she had persuaded Brice to remain in his Highland home where he was safe. Whenever she felt the fear begin to engulf her, she would cling to her belief that Brice was out of harm’s way. She closed her eyes, trying to picture him as she had so often seen him, lounging in a chair drawn up before the fire, a tankard of ale in his hand, his men clustered about him and Jamie hanging on his every word.
She experienced such a crushing sense of loss, she felt tears mist her eyes.
As she passed beneath a low-hanging branch, it clawed at her cloak and snagged her hair. She ducked low in the saddle, then noted over her shoulder that the bundle of gowns had pried open. Bare branches suddenly bloomed with brilliant scarlet satin, rich ruby velvet and shimmering blue silk.
A breeze caught the rest of the gowns; blowing them into the brush where they were caught and held by jagged stalks and thorns.
“I leave them to you, Mistress Tree.” The strange sight gave her sagging spirits a lift. “May you look fetching for years to come.”
The sound of her own voice startled her. She had been alone on the trail too long.
Spotting an open area just ahead, she dug in her heels and urged her horse into a run.
~ ~ ~
Night had long ago fallen and still Meredith continued on. The land had gentled, from steep rocky crags to rolling hills. Though she was not yet asleep, she was no longer alert. The whir and chirp of night creatures and the steady even gait of her mount lulled her until her head bobbed.
When the horse came to the banks of a river, he lowered his head and drank. The sound startled Meredith. She was instantly awake.
For long minutes she merely stared at the narrow ribbon of water glistening in the moonlight. Then she let out a cry of pure delight. Wonder of wonders. They were standing on the banks of the river Tweed. It meandered through gently rolling countryside. Looming in the distance were the Cheviot Hills. Beyond that, England. And there, on the opposite shore of the river, its many turrets shimmering in the silvery moonlight, stood MacAlpin Castle.
Home. There were so many times when she had thought she would never see it again. Now that she was so near, the tears would not stop flowing.
She slid from the saddle and knelt on the bank of the river, drinking her fill. Removing her cloak, she folded it ca
refully. Then, pulling herself once more into the saddle, she urged her mount into the shallows. Soon the water was deep, and the horse began to swim, while Meredith gamely held on. By the time they had crossed to the far shore, both horse and rider were shivering from the frigid waters. She bundled herself into the cloak and, bending low over the horse’s neck, urged him into a trot. The night air danced through her hair as her horse’s hooves ate up the final miles.
How Meredith longed to cross the courtyard at breakneck speed and toss the reins to a stable boy as she had done hundreds of times in her young life. How she yearned to hear old Bancroft, the aging doorkeeper, announce her to those assembled. How desperately she desired to throw herself into the outstretched arms of her sisters and hug them to her. But all that must wait.
First she must ascertain that Gareth MacKenzie and his men had not already taken over MacAlpin Castle, hoping to ensnare her in a trap.
Leaving her horse in a stand of trees, she crept toward the rear tower of the castle. Shivering as she crouched behind a row of shrubbery, she studied the darkened windows of the upper floor.
Meredith and her sisters had often horrified their mother by climbing to the upper balconies. They knew every stone, every indentation, along the wall. Now such childhood games would stand her in good stead. Tossing aside her cloak she reached up until she located the jagged edge of a stone with her fingertips. Pulling herself up, she probed with the toe of her boot until she found a foothold. Stretching, she found another rough stone and pulled herself up farther. Again and again she repeated the process until she had reached the upper balcony of her old room. With her last ounce of strength she pulled herself over the edge of the balcony and slumped to the floor, taking in great gulps of air.
As her breathing grew more steady she paused to listen. There was no sound of movement within her old rooms. Crossing the balcony she stepped into the sitting chamber. The room was cold. No fire had been set in the fireplace.
She crossed the room quickly and listened at the door before throwing it open and striding quickly down the hall. She passed several doors before pausing to listen once again.
She pushed open a door and stepped inside. In the sitting chamber a fire crackled invitingly. From the sleeping chamber beyond she could see the movement of shadows. Someone was preparing for sleep.
She crept silently across the room and peered through the open doorway. When she was certain that the persons inside were friendly, she stepped into the light.
Meredith drank in the sight of the slender young woman with coal-black hair that fell in waves to below her waist. Her blue-violet eyes widened for a moment. Then Brenna was racing to her, arms outstretched.
“Meredith. Oh, Meredith.”
The two young women fell into each other’s arms, laughing and crying.
“They told us you were dead.”
“You can see for yourself that I am not.”
“Oh. Let me look at you.” Brenna held her older sister at arm’s length, then drew her close again, trying to swallow the lump that seemed stuck in her throat. “You are so cold. And wet.”
“Aye to both. My horse and I swam the river.”
“Here.” Brenna began removing Meredith’s wet clothes, then wrapped her in an ermine-lined cape.
Across the room an old woman stared at Meredith as if seeing a ghost. When at last she was able to gather her wits about her she hurried across the room and began fussing with the cape.
“Ye’ll catch the death. Out of those wet boots now.”
“Morna.” Meredith caught the old woman’s hands and held them when she tried to pull away. “There’s no need to fuss.”
“But I...” Her old nurse found that she could not go on. With tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks she drew the girl into her arms and clung to her.
“Oh, lass. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“There now, Morna. You see, I’m fine. Just fine.” Meredith patted her shoulder, then held her a little away.
Brenna, watching the reunion between Meredith and their old nurse, whispered, “I must tell Megan.”
Meredith caught her arm and held her when she tried to turn away. In low tones she said, “Only Megan. You must tell no one else that I am here.”
Brenna studied her sister for a moment, then nodded. “I will tell no one.”
Within minutes Brenna had returned with their youngest sister. At ten and four Megan was already as tall as Meredith and still growing. Her hair the color of ripe wheat and gold-flecked eyes in a small oval face promised a rare beauty when she grew to womanhood.
She pulled her arm free of Brenna’s grasp and stamped her foot. “What is it you cannot tell me?”
“This.” Brenna stood aside and allowed the youngest to peer into her sleeping chamber.
Megan’s eyes grew round before filling with tears. In quick strides she was across the room, locked in her sister’s embrace.
“Oh, Meredith. We thought you dead.”
“Aye. I have heard the rumors of my death. Though I must confess there were many times when I thought they would be true.”
“Why must you keep your presence here a secret?”
“I am here to unmask Gareth MacKenzie as a liar.” Megan turned to stare at sixteen-year-old Brenna, who looked stricken.
Seeing her shock and pain Meredith placed an arm about her sister’s shoulders. “What is it, Brenna? What have I said to cause such pain?”
“Gareth has been—courting me.” Brenna thought of the uneasy hours she had been forced to spend in the company of Gareth MacKenzie. “Thankfully I have never been alone with him. Old Morna saw to that,” Brenna said with a smile. Her smile suddenly faded. “Gareth has already sought the approval of the clan to wed me when he returns from Edinburgh.”
“He is not here then?”
“Nay.”
At her words, Meredith felt a wave of relief. At least for now she was safe.
“He left only yesterday with a large party of MacKenzie men to seek an audience with the queen. He intends to ask Her Majesty to declare you dead.”
“And to declare you the next of kin.” Meredith stroked her sister’s hair before asking, “Do you love Gareth MacKenzie?”
“Love him?” Brenna trembled and Meredith drew her close. Against her cheek the young woman murmured, “I do not love Gareth. I fear him. But Duncan and the others urged me to accept his offer of marriage in order to secure our borders.”
“They said Brenna could do no less than you, Meredith, if she were truly the MacAlpin.” Megan’s tawny eyes flashed. “We knew that you did not love Desmond. Yet you agreed to wed him for the sake of the clan.”
“Aye. Poor Duncan,” Meredith said softly. “He was so certain that Gareth would be as good as his word. He is like all the others. Fooled by Gareth’s charm, and unable to see what he really is.”
“Enough about Gareth MacKenzie. How did you manage to escape from the Highland Barbarian?” Megan asked.
Meredith suddenly realized how much had happened since her abduction at the altar. Her own sisters did not even know about the man who had stolen her heart.
“Come,” Meredith said, catching Megan’s hand. “Find me a night shift. We will all climb into Brenna’s big bed and whisper and giggle as we did when we were children. I will tell you everything.”
“I will go below stairs and fetch some biscuits. I’ve heard those Highlanders eat raw meat.” Morna studied the slender girl and added, “It’s a wonder you haven’t faded away in that barbaric place.”
Meredith laughed at her old nurse’s words. But as Morna started for the door, Meredith’s words stopped her. “Not a word that I am here.”
“Not even to Bancroft?”
“Nay. Not even to him. For a little while longer no one must know that I am still alive. Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
Morna put her hand on the door but Meredith again stopped her. With the beginnings of a smile she added, “Bring mea
t and cheese as well. And mayhaps a goblet of ale.”
“Ale?” Brenna turned to study her sister.
Meredith laughed. “Aye. Ale. I have learned to like the taste of it. Besides it will warm me.”
“I will fetch a night shift,” Megan called.
“Hurry back. There is much to tell.”
Already the horrors of the past months were slipping from her. How good it was to be home. What a joy to be able to share with her sisters all that had happened since last they were together.
~ ~ ~
“And he loves you, too?”
“Aye.”
“It is all so romantic.” Brenna sighed.
“But I do not understand,” Megan interrupted. “He is a Highlander. A barbarian. And you are the MacAlpin.”
“He is an educated, cultured gentleman,” Meredith said. “And a trusted friend of the queen.”
“If Brice Campbell loves you, why did he let you come alone to clear his good name?”
“Because now that everyone thinks him dead, he will no longer be hunted. If he shows himself, he will once again have to fear for his life.”
“But he is the Highland Barbarian,” Megan persisted. “He is the strongest, bravest man alive. All my life I have heard songs sung about him, legends whispered about him. If he is so fearless, why would he be afraid to be hunted?”
Meredith was growing weary of her sisters’ questions. Brenna had wanted to know everything, from the moment she had been abducted at the altar, to the moment she climbed the wall of the MacAlpin Castle. Megan, on the other hand, was only interested in the reasons why.
“Do you think he will come for you?” Brenna asked, stifling a yawn.
“Nay.” Meredith was annoyed to feel tears spring to her eyes. She tried to blink them away but they continued until they clouded her vision. “I begged him to stay where he would be safe.”
“But if he loved you he would care more about your safety than his own.”
Megan turned to study her oldest sister. “Are you crying?” In consternation she turned to the middle sister. “Brenna, I have never before seen Meredith cry.”
Highland Barbarian (Highlander Series) Page 20