Timeless Tales of Honor

by Suzan Tisdale

  He felt hot tears as they landed on his chest. He hoped they were tears of joy and not sorrow or regret over marrying him. He also hoped he had not caused her any great amount of pain. “Lass, why do ye cry?” he whispered, his voice laced with concern.

  “I’m happy.” It wasn’t a complete lie, for she was happy beyond all human comprehension. Intermingled with that however, was the sorrow for what she would do when he fell asleep.

  Duncan patted her arm gently, giving her a slight hug. “No regrets?”

  “Only that I had not met you long ago.” Which was the truth. Had she grown up here, had her life been different, then her heart would not be now disintegrating into ashes.

  “We’ve our whole lives to make up fer it,” he said sweetly.

  Aishlinn could only nod her head. She wanted not to utter any lies to him. Lies, it seemed, had been what her entire life had been based upon. Wanting only to leave him with a night of very happy memories, she remained silent.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aishlinn had accidentally discovered the secret passages below the castle by chance one day when she had first begun working in the kitchens. Back then she had still been quite frightened and unsure of herself and the people who had opened their home to her. She had tucked the knowledge securely away in the event she should ever need to flee.

  She waited for Duncan to fall asleep after they had joined together a third time before quietly pulling on her shift and slipping to her own room. She found that her legs had the consistency of fresh porridge and walking was quite difficult.

  Moving quietly in the dark of her room, she prayed she’d not make any sounds that would carry through her broken door. She slipped into a plain brown dress and tugged on her leather boots. She pulled a wimple over her head and grabbed a plaid from her table.

  She wanted to leave something behind for Duncan, something other than just memories of last night. Taking the chance, she quickly took a few things from her trunk and slipped back into his room where she left them on the pillow next to his beautiful face. Tears threatened and her throat felt swollen when she looked at him for the last time. She prayed over him that God would keep him safe and that he would understand that what she was doing was for the good of the entire clan.

  She made her way down the stairs and to the kitchen unseen, grabbing a lighted torch along the way. Though she would have preferred to leave on horseback, she could not take the chance of walking across the courtyard to the stables.

  Quietly, she slipped down the stairs into the larder where the secret door to safety lay hidden behind a set of heavy wooden shelves. She rested the torch on the wall while she pulled at the shelves. The door moaned and creaked its opposition and she sent up another fervent prayer that no one in the castle had heard it.

  Not wanting to take the chance at the door voicing another loud objection at being closed, she left it open as she retrieved the torch and fled. Her mind went back to a night not long ago when she had fled through the secret corridors and passages of Castle Firth. That night Baltair had helped her flee to freedom and had blessedly saved her.

  This night however, she did not flee in fear to save her own life. She fled to save the lives of others.

  She wound her way through the damp corridors, her heart pounding with the fear that Duncan would wake too soon and thus foil her attempts to save his life. She knew he wouldn’t understand her motives or her reason.

  Her husband was stubborn that way and she supposed she rather liked that about him. Her stomach tightened when she thought of him as her husband and all that could have been had her life not been built around the lies of one mad man that had been traded for the lies of another.

  Heavenly Father but she would miss Duncan! Choking back tears and the urge to turn around just to see him one last time.

  The hidden corridors wound this way and that under the castle walls a great distance before ending at a set of stairs that led up. A heavy wooden door lay concealed under a tall oak tree and it took several attempts at pushing it with her shoulder before it finally relented. The hinges, rusted from lack of use, creaked ominously and she hoped it was far enough away from the castle that the guards would not hear.

  She took a chance and stuck her head above ground so that she could see the watchtowers of Castle Gregor far in the distance. She worried that the guards might see the light of her torch, even across this expanse of land. Tossing the torch to the floor, she watched as it sizzled and hissed before relinquishing its flame. She took a deep breath and climbed up, pausing only long enough to cast one last look at Castle Gregor. Her heart sank for the hundredth time in less than a day and the tears returned. She knew this would be the last time she would ever lay eyes on her home.

  * * *

  Duncan woke to early morning sunlight shining upon his face. He was feeling quite content and happy until he reached out for his wife and found the spot where she should have been empty and cold.

  He bolted upright when he saw the dried flowers, heather, and parchment lying on her pillow. His heart seized in his chest as he grabbed the parchment and opened it and saw that it was the note he had written her not long ago.

  He let loose with a low, angry growl as he flung himself from the bed and dressed quickly. He tucked the heather inside his tunic and strapped his broadsword to his back before grabbing his scabbard, mace and dirks. Tucking his weapons into his boots and belt he rushed from the room and yelled for Angus.

  Angus was opening his door as Duncan stomped down the hallway. “What the bloody hell?” Angus boomed and tried to focus his bleary eyes. When he saw the look on Duncan’s face he knew it could not be anything good.

  “Aishlinn be gone!” he yelled as he approached him.

  “What the hell do ye mean she be gone?” Angus bellowed his question.

  “She left! Sometime in the night.”

  They stood staring at one another, angry expressions painted on their faces. Within moments the hallway had filled with people wondering what the yelling was about.

  Angus fists clenched into balls and his knuckles turned white. “Do ye think…” his voice trailed off for he could not bear to speak his thoughts out loud.

  Duncan nodded his head. “Aye, I do!”

  Angus rushed back into his room to dress while Duncan gave an order to a lad who stood in the hallway.

  “Get all the men in the gathering room at once! Every last man in this castle is to assemble immediately. Have the warnings blown!”

  The lad left at a full run, understanding the importance of Duncan’s order.

  “What has happened?” Isobel asked worriedly as she wrapped a plaid around her shoulders.

  Angus was livid. “Me foolish daughter has left! And I suspect she’s gone to turn herself over to the damned English!”

  His voice boomed as he strapped his broadsword to his back and hurriedly tucked a dirk into each of his boots.

  Horror washed over Isobel’s face. “Why? Why would she do such a thing?” She could make no sense of it.

  “Because she believes if she turns herself over to the English, there’ll be no battle!” Angus roared. “She thinks she’s saving the clan by doing it!” His hands shook as he shoved a dirk into his belt and strapped his sword around his waist.

  Isobel covered her mouth with her hand. “How could she have left unseen?” she asked.

  Duncan’s eyes grew wide. “The passages,” he said, turning on his heals and running as fast as he could to the kitchens.

  “Mary!” he called. “Have ye been to the larder yet this morn?”

  “I have,” Laren said from her place by the fire, her voice quivering at Duncan’s scowl and angry voice.

  “Could ye tell if the passage door had been moved?” he demanded.

  She nodded her head. “It was standing wide open when I went down this morn. I thought it was the lads! They sometimes like to sneak down there to drink ale when no one is looking!”

  Duncan let loose a tirade o
f blasphemies as he left the kitchens and headed back to the gathering room. Men were pouring in from all directions, some fully dressed and strapping on weapons, while others came barefooted or bare-chested or both.

  “Aishlinn has gone,” he said, as Richard and Findley entered the room with Black Richard and Wee William.

  “Gone?” Wee William asked looking perplexed. “Gone where?”

  Duncan ran a hand through his hair as anger flashed within him. “We think she’s gone to turn herself over to the English.”

  Black Richard stood aghast at the idea. “Why in God’s name would she do that?”

  Angus entered the room in time to answer his question. “She thinks if she turns herself over to the English, there’ll be no bloodshed in her name.” His voice boomed, silencing each man in the room.

  “She left through the passages, Angus,” Duncan told him. “But I’ve no idea how long ago.”

  When he got his wife back he would tie her to their bed each night before he’d allow her another opportunity to do something so foolish.

  Angus began giving orders. “I want fifty, nay seventy-five of my best men on horseback within the next five minutes.” He yelled at Richard who quickly left the room with Wee William and Rowan following in close pursuit.

  Angus looked at Duncan. “With any luck, she be wanderin’ aimlessly about and has not yet run into the English bastards.”

  The two men looked at each other for a moment. Duncan shook his head. “Ya’ve no’ yet been blessed with seein’ yer daughter’s persistence and stubbornness first hand,” he told him. “She’s either holdin’ them all prisoner at the end of a bow, or she’s surrendered and is halfway to England!”

  Angus pursed his lips. She was definitely Laiden’s daughter. No child of his would be so foolish.

  * * *

  Aishlinn was not certain how long she had been walking for she had no idea what time she had left the castle. Her feet and legs told her that it had been quite some time for they were beginning to ache. Of course the exercising of marital rights and consummation that she had partaken of not once, not twice, but three times last night did not help her current physical state much.

  She had no real idea where she was going and could only pray that she would catch up to the English before Duncan woke and found her gone. She prayed as well that if Duncan and Angus set out for her, they would not find her.

  Perspiration had broken out on her forehead from the great distance of land she had covered. The sun had risen long ago and was very high in the eastern sky. She was walking through a dense thicket of woods, heading in a northeasterly direction. With no real idea as to where the English might have been, she resolved herself to the fact that she might have to walk all the way back to Penrith in order to save the lives of her clan. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make, however, and she could only pray that she would not starve to death or fall and break her neck in the process

  As she walked along she kept her eyes firmly planted on the ground for she had already tripped three times. Lost in her thoughts and prayers, she was shaken back to the present by the twitter and snort of a horse. When she looked up to find the source, she was staring into the eyes of a very frightening looking man. Within moments three more equally terrifying men presented themselves, each on horseback. Each wore the bright red coats of King Edwards’s army.

  “Well, good day to you!” the soldier said. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” he asked as he dismounted his steed and walked towards her, smiling as if she were a long lost friend. His teeth were just a few shades darker than stone and his eyes held a hopeful glare.

  Aishlinn swallowed hard for she was quite afraid, but her pride would not allow her to let him see her fear. “I am Aishlinn,” she said firmly. “I am the one your earl seeks.”

  The soldier stared at her. “Show me your hair.” He demanded disbelievingly. Aishlinn removed her wimple and he could see that, in fact, she did have short blonde hair.

  “I see why the earl wants you. You are a pretty thing.”

  The way his eyes washed over her made her skin crawl but she stood firm and resolute. “Where is your camp?” she asked, lifting her chin in an attempt to look far more confident than she truly felt. “Take me to your sergeant,” she demanded of him.

  The soldier drew his hand back and slapped her hard across her face, the force of it knocking her to the ground. She tasted blood as anger roiled in her belly.

  The soldier bent over and glared angrily at her. “You’ll not be giving me orders!” he spat at her then stood. He motioned to one of the other soldiers and told him to bind her hands.

  “Take the wench to Andrew,” he ordered.

  Before she could stand, her hands were bound with leather ties and she was tossed over the front of horse. The front of the saddle dug into her belly and sent a surge of pain clear to her toes as she tried to adjust herself. The soldier mounted and slapped her hard on her rump. He had a disgusting laugh, rather nasally in its intonation.

  “Settle down there woman! You’ll see yer earl soon enough.”

  They rode hard and fast and by the time they reached the English encampment Aishlinn was ready to vomit from the hard ride and the saddle that dug into her stomach.

  The soldiers stopped in front of a tent where she was unceremoniously tossed from the horse and landed hard on her rump. She wished momentarily that she had a sword, or a dirk that she could plunge into the bastard’s belly. Quashing her anger, she knew it would do her no good to fight. After all, she had willingly turned herself over to them. What had she expected? The same kindness and compassion her clan had shown her?

  A very tall man with dark hair, wearing the bright red coat of the English military exited the tent at hearing the commotion. His coat however, was embroidered with gold braids at the shoulders and cuffs and signified his command position. He stared down at her with dull brown eyes. He held an irritated expression to his face, as if he had just become aware that he had stepped in manure. “What is this?”

  “She says she is the one we seek, Andrew.” The soldier who had slapped her face walked towards him. “She does have green eyes and short hair.”

  The man they called Andrew continued looking aggravated. “How did her lip come to be cut?”

  “She fell,” the soldier offered nonchalantly.

  Aishlinn shot him a look that told anyone who might be paying any close attention that the man lied. Andrew asked her, “Is this true?”

  She hadn’t a clue how to answer and decided honesty might be the route best taken at the moment. She shook her head but remained quiet.

  “Which of them hit you?” he asked calmly.

  Aishlinn looked at the soldier standing next to Andrew who followed her gaze. “Go to your quarters and stay there,” he ordered him. Before he stomped away indignantly, the soldier shot Aishlinn a look that warned she might want to watch her back in the future.

  Andrew bent and grabbed Aishlinn by her elbow and helped her to stand. “I am deeply sorry for the deplorable actions of my men,” he said as he guided her into the tent. No matter how nicely he attempted to speak, her instincts warned her not to trust the kindness he was displaying.

  He sat her upon a chair and untied her bindings. He studied the burn marks the binds had left and shook his head. She did look a mess, with leaves in her hair and the cut lip, but he imagined she would clean up nicely and be presentable to the earl soon enough.

  “Tell me your name,” he said as he walked to a table and poured a tankard of ale. She declined his offer with a shake of her head.

  “I am Aishlinn,” she told him.

  “What is your last name?” he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting directly across from her.

  “I am a bastard child. I have no last name.” She would not give up her family name no matter what torture they chose to put her through.

  Andrew raised a curious brow. “Where have you been kept all these many months?” he as
ked quietly as he crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands upon his knee.

  “With a family several miles from here.”

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “I lied to them,” she began. “They knew not from where I came. They kindly took me in. I helped the lady wife around her home and with her bairns.”

  “I asked for a name,” he said.

  “Please, I tell you the truth. They know nothing of the earl and how I came to be here. They are truly innocent.” She swallowed hard, hoping she would not trip in her own lie.

  “When a visitor came to their home and told of the soldiers that were near and that they looked for a lass with cut hair and green eyes, I knew it was me they searched for. I knew I had to leave for I wanted no harm to come to them. I snuck away in the night to turn myself over to you.” Her voice cracked as she fought back tears. Parts of what she told him were true and she prayed that he would accept her story.

  Andrew eyed her for a moment. “So in order to save the lives of the family that took you in, you readily turned yourself over to us?” he asked calmly. Aishlinn could detect a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  “Aye,” she said.

  He stood then and walked about the room, his hands clasped at his back. He paused and looked to her. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “’Tis the truth. I swear it!” Aishlinn said, sending prayers up to God to make this man believe her.

  He strode so quickly to her that she had no time to brace herself before he slapped her across the face. The force of it brought stars to her eyes as she fell to the floor. Her cheek burned and she felt the welt rise almost instantly. He picked her up by her arms and shook her.

  “Do not lie to me again!” he said squeezing her arms with so much force she thought they might snap in two.

  “I speak the truth!” she pleaded with him. “I swear it! They were so kind to me. I knew your soldiers would not take kindly to anyone who helped me!” Her voice rose, thick with fear as she pleaded with him. “I want no harm to come to them. Please, I beg you!” Tears began to stream down her face.