“But then?” Duncan asked, silencing the renewed growl from their companion.
Nicholas took a shallow, careful breath, testing to see how much damage Uilliam’s fist had done him. So far, ’twas not bad. He was not naïve enough to think it would not be worse on the morrow. When he was sure he could both stand and breathe he continued.
“But then Lady Elspet performed the blessing and I felt it, felt the power in the blessing. Rowan was quite literally stunned by it, though she says such a thing had not happened before. It became clear to me that it was not just a legend, not just a relic. It became clear that there really was power in the Targe. ’Twas later that I saw the stone and ’twas not until this day that I understood”—he suddenly realized these men did not yet know that Elspet was no longer the Guardian. No one had told them and it was not his place to reveal the news—“about the Guardian.”
“And this Archie kens this?” Duncan asked when Uilliam did not.
“Some of it. Enough to know that taking the Targe to King Edward will ensure that nothing will stop the king’s men from sweeping up this valley and into the heart of the Highlands. Enough to know that the one who delivers it will gain great wealth and the monarch’s regard.”
“You.” Uilliam’s voice was flat, dangerous.
“’Twas to be me and Archie but things changed.”
“Rowan.” It was Duncan now.
“Aye.” Nicholas held his breath, waiting to see if they would believe him, though he knew if the situation were reversed he would never believe the story.
“You ken there can never be anything between you?” Duncan said, a curious softness taking the hard edge off the words.
Nicholas looked Duncan in the eye—the man deserved that. “I ken it is difficult, but I hope…”
“Does she feel the same?” Duncan asked again.
Nicholas nodded, his own hope that somehow they would find their way through this mess to each other, clogging his throat. “She did before she learned why I came here. I hope she will again.”
“I will be damned if I allow such a thing.” Uilliam’s voice was a low snarl. “Kenneth will agree.”
Nicholas refused to let hope slip away, though he knew the road ahead of him was fraught with many obstacles.
“I understand,” he said, “but I am determined to keep Rowan and this clan safe from Edward’s machinations. Know this for the truth it is: Archie is dangerous. I have known him for years, and was not unlike him… until recently. He feels nothing for those between him and his prize. Plus he feels betrayed by me and that will fuel his desire to take the Targe and win the reward Edward dangles in front of us like a worm to a hungry fish. You ken Edward’s drive to conquer Scotland, to be king of all the islands. Archie is a mirror of his master and he will not stop until he has his prize.”
“So you tell us this out of the pureness of your heart?” Uilliam clearly did not believe him.
“Nay, for there is no pureness in my heart except where Rowan has taken up residence within it.” The warmth he’d drawn from her, the caring, the beginnings of love, filled him, hardening him to his task: the betrayal of not only Archie, but King Edward.
If he succeeded in thwarting the taking of the Targe from these good people his life would be forfeit. King Edward would never let such a betrayal stand unanswered. One way or another, it would surely be Nicholas’s head upon a pike outside the Tower. But if he could contrive to keep Rowan safe from such a fate, and her clan, then perhaps he would be worthy of the trust she had given him before she knew the truth. Perhaps he would earn it back.
“I would not see Rowan,” he said, “nor any of those she loves, hurt because of my past and my belated conscience. Keep me here if you must. Bar the door. But warn Kenneth. Send out scouts to find Archie before he returns here to take the Targe, for I guarantee that he will not rest until he has it.”
The two men stood before him, distrust rolling off them as they assessed his words. It was clear that any trust he had built with these two was destroyed.
“Ask Rowan if what I say is true.”
“Rowan has met this Archie?” Duncan’s voice was pure surprise.
Nicholas shoved his hair back from his face, wincing at the memory of what Archie had tried to do to Rowan. “She has,” he said. “Ask her and do not tarry. Go find her now. Archie must be stopped before he gets here. ’Twill take little effort for him to find his way into the castle with the curtain wall laid low. He has no conscience. Everyone who bides here is in mortal danger if they get in his way.”
Uilliam glowered at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows, his fists still clenched so hard that even in the dim light of the hut the man’s knuckles shown white. A frustrated “arrrg” burst from him as he pivoted and left the hut. Nicholas took a long, deep breath.
“Will he speak to Rowan?” he asked Duncan, who still stood staring at him.
“Aye, he will. I shall see to it.”
“My thanks. If I had this to do again, I would not have brought such danger to your door.”
Duncan stood stone still for a moment before answering. “I do not ken why, but I believe you. I have seen you with Rowan and she with you. Your affection for each other does not feel feigned. She would not have brought you into Lady Elspet’s chamber if she did not trust you.”
Nicholas did not correct the man, for he had not been taken inside the chamber by Rowan, only to it, but he would take what advantage he could if it meant Duncan would help stop Archie.
“Duncan, I know Archie better than anyone. I know the man’s habits, his strengths. I know his weaknesses, too. I need to speak with the chief. None of you know how Archie thinks or what he is capable of. I am the one to stop him before he gets back to the castle.”
Nicholas could see Duncan weighing his words. “Naught good can come of this situation,” Duncan said. “You will not be released, of that I am certain, but I will see that your warning is heeded.”
Duncan pushed the heavy door closed, taking what light there had been with it. As the lock snapped shut Nicholas slid to the floor, bracing his back against the wall. He doubted not that Duncan would do his best to make Kenneth listen to reason, to prepare the castle for Archie’s inevitable return, but Nicholas could not simply sit there and wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAWN WAS BREAKING as Rowan finished dressing. She perched on the edge of her bed and pulled her hair into a tight braid, determined that at least this one thing would be fully under her control today. Tendrils sprang loose about her face before she’d even secured the end with a leather thong.
Nothing was in her control, not even her own hair.
She cradled her head in her hands, fighting the urge to climb back under her blankets and hide from the day. But that would be cowardly and the clan had no time for her to give in to such weakness.
She pushed up from her bed, threw her braid behind her, and straightened her back. She was the Guardian of the Targe. The clan would look to her for their protection. They would need her and her gift if they were to thwart Archie, and ultimately his king. They would need her to be strong.
And in order to be strong for them, she must learn to call upon her gift, to focus it through the Targe. She closed her eyes, trying to feel the flowing pressure, trying to summon it, coax it to her. But there was nothing but the aches and pains from her run through the forest yesterday.
She had so much to learn and no time to waste.
She shook Scotia awake. “You must attend your mum this morning. Jeanette and I have work to do.”
Scotia’s eyes slitted open. “ ’Tis just dawn. Jeanette will not need me for several hours.”
“On a typical day, aye, but this is not a typical day. Get out of bed. Attend your mum. We all have responsibilities this morn we did not have a day ago.”
Scotia grumbled, but did as Rowan asked.
“Tell Jeanette to meet me below in Auntie’s old bedchamber as soon as she may.” Rowan picked up the ermin
e sack from the stool by her bed and left Scotia grumbling about how she was always the one who had to do as she was told and how someday that would all change.
Rowan couldn’t help but laugh as she descended the stair to the floor below. It was the same complaint Scotia had been muttering about for years. At least some things hadn’t changed yesterday.
As she let herself into the neglected bedchamber she and Jeanette had agreed was as safe a place as they could find within the castle for the work they did this day, she mulled over the information they had collected from Denis last evening.
He had seen the wall fall, first bowing outward then bursting, except for the section nearest the gate. It, too, had bowed outward then seemed to be pushed back upon its foundation before it had finally collapsed upon itself, sending part of its stones down the hillside and the rest piled upon themselves. He cast it off as fancy on his part, old eyes, imagination, but Rowan knew deep inside that he was right. Something had pushed the wall outward. She had pushed back, somehow holding it long enough for Nicholas, Scotia, and herself to escape the devastation. She had felt the pressure give, though at the time she had not noted what she did.
She’d spent another hour with her uncle, Uilliam, and Duncan, answering questions about Archie, Nicholas, their mission, and what had happened by the loch. The men had been angry and a bit stunned by what had transpired, though she had left out the part where Archie had attempted to despoil her. She had defended herself. Nicholas had kept Archie busy so she could escape. Nothing terrible had happened… not physically. Besides, she needed them thinking, not going after Archie in a haze of fury. And finally, she’d been able to bathe and rest, though sleep had eluded her for a long time as worry about Nicholas, Archie, and her own new station in the clan clambered through her mind, tumbling one over the other.
She knew there had been a large band of men who had left the castle before dawn. By now they would be spread out, searching for any sign of Archie in the forest.
What she didn’t know was if she and Duncan had convinced the chief that Nicholas should be numbered in that group so they could use his knowledge of Archie in their efforts. She’d been surprised by Duncan’s support of Nicholas but then he was a clear thinker. Kenneth valued his mind for strategy, his ability to understand their enemies, so perhaps, if her own argument had not meant anything to Kenneth, Duncan’s would.
Turning her attention to her own task this day, she opened the ermine sack and pulled the Targe stone out, balancing it in her palm. Last night she had not wanted to touch it. But now…
She tossed the sack onto a chest at the end of the bed and settled the stone between both palms. She felt nothing but its cold weight. She raised it up, as if in offering, as she’d seen Elspet do. Nothing.
Perhaps she must speak the prayers, make the signs in the air.
“What are you doing?!”
Rowan spun, startled. Pressure surged through her, then through the stone, as if a dam had been breached. The door slammed into Jeanette, knocking her off her feet, back out into the corridor, closing her out of the chamber. Rowan wanted to move, wanted to drop the Targe stone, wanted to go to Jeanette. But she could not move. Whatever the force was that her gift called up, it poured through her, liquid and strong, holding her in place, whipping an unnatural wind around her. Fear gripped her. If she had been able to force back stone walls before she had been made Guardian, what could she do to this tower now? To this castle? Goose bumps covered her body. The energy grew stronger. The wind made the heavy bed creak and shiver.
She tried to cry out but her voice was no more than a whisper in a tempest.
JEANETTE LAY ON the corridor floor trying to remember how she got there. Her head ached fiercely when she touched it and her hand came away smeared with blood. What had happened to her?
Quickly she surveyed her body for more injuries but other than a tenderness on her backside, and some scrapes on her hands where she must have broken her fall, her head seemed to have the only real wound. She pushed herself up and as she spied the closed door in front of her it all came rushing back.
Rowan. The Targe stone. A sudden fierce pressure like a slap from a hand she could not see, knocking the door into her, shutting her out of the chamber. What had Rowan done?
She got to her feet, pausing only for a second as her vision darkened at the edges, then cleared again. She reached for the latch and pushed but the door resisted.
“Rowan?” she called. “Open the door!”
There was an odd rushing sound from within, but nothing from Rowan. Jeanette pushed the door again, setting her shoulder to it, but still it would not open. The rushing sound grew louder and Jeanette went from irritated to worried.
“Rowan, if you can hear me, try to pull the energy back into you!” she shouted through the thick door. “Try!” She banged on the door with her fist. If Rowan could pull her gift back, even a little bit, Jeanette might be able to get the door open. She banged on the door, harder. “Rowan!”
“Jeanette?”
It was her turn to be startled, but the results were far different.
“You are hurt!” Helen said, dropping her bucket of ashes to the floor as she rushed to Jeanette’s side. “What happened?”
“No time to explain.” Jeanette wiped the trickle of blood from her brow with the back of her hand. “I need help getting this door open. Is Da above?”
“Aye!”
“Fetch him quickly. Tell him—” She did not wish to reveal that Rowan was the new Guardian yet, not until her cousin could bring hope and confidence to the clan instead of danger. “Tell him I am hurt, and that Rowan may be, too.”
Helen sprinted up the stairs without any more questions. Kenneth was roaring down the stairs almost immediately, skidding to a halt by Jeanette’s side, Helen on his heels. He reached toward Jeanette’s injury but she stopped him.
“I am fine. I need the door opened, Da,” Jeanette said to him. “But it will not budge. Rowan is within.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He tested the door, then put his shoulder to it and shoved. It opened, but only a little and Kenneth was hard pressed to keep it from slamming shut again. Jeanette slid through, quickly getting clear of the door this time. She froze at the whirlwind of destruction in the room, rapidly raising her arm to shield her face from flying debris.
Rowan stood just where she had been when Jeanette startled her, the Targe stone raised to the ceiling in her outstretched hands. Wind battered everything in the room except Rowan. The furniture had been displaced, the mattress cover lay in tatters on the floor. The heather that had filled it tumbled in the air, separating Jeanette from Rowan.
Jeanette waded into the vortex but could not reach Rowan. She backed away, sheltering against the wall near the door.
“Rowan! Look at me!” she shouted. Kenneth’s shouts joined hers and finally, slowly, as if she fought the wind, too, Rowan turned her head. Her lips were moving but Jeanette could hear nothing but the raging wind.
Jeanette rifled through all the Targe lore she had in her head but could remember nothing to help in this situation.
“Nicholas,” Kenneth said, his face red from his efforts to keep the door open. “Helen,” he said over his shoulder, “tell the guard I need Nicholas here now! Then fetch Uilliam and Duncan. Jeanette, come out while I can still hold the door.”
“Nay, Da, I shall stay here.”
Kenneth reached through the narrow opening and grabbed her arm, jerking her through the door and into the sudden calm of the corridor. He let the door slam behind him. “Wheesht, Jeanette,” he said to her, though she said nothing. “We cannot risk your life. You are the keeper of the lore, if not the Guardian of the Targe. Rowan will need you.”
“But we cannot leave her in there, Da. She cannot help herself.”
“And neither can we help her. But I believe Nicholas can.”
“Why?”
“He was the one who was able to reach her when she became Guardian. H
e was able to break her hold upon Elspet when none of us could. I do not understand it. I do not like it, but if he can help Rowan, then we have no choice but to let him.”
Jeanette agreed. “ ’Tis certainly worth a try.”
NICHOLAS HAD EXPLORED every part of the hut that served as his gaol and found no way out. The walls were sturdily built. The door was guarded at all times. It had been a cold night and he had learned to appreciate the usefulness of his plaid, which served as his bed and his blanket quite well. A lass had brought him bannocks and ale to break his fast but he had no appetite for them.
His guard had been relieved by another man before dawn. Nicholas had listened carefully, his ear against the door, as the two spoke briefly, and discovered that Uilliam was leading a group of warriors this morning to search for Archie.
Nicholas itched to get out of the dark, confining space and go with them. But no one had come for him. He was stuck, waiting, captive.
“Let him out! Let him out! Let him out!” a woman’s voice screeched, echoing through the bailey. “The chief says let him out!” she said as she arrived outside the door.
“Uilliam said—” The guard looked from Helen to the door he guarded and back.
“Rowan is in trouble. The chief said to bring him to the tower, and you are to come with him! Open the door! ’Tis no time to waste, man!”
“What sort of trouble?” Nicholas asked as the guard rattled the lock and opened the door.
Helen stood there, wringing her hands. “I do not ken exactly, but Jeanette is injured and something terrible is happening to Rowan. Kenneth said to fetch you. Come!” she said racing toward the tower.
Nicholas took a quick look at the guard, who motioned for him to follow the woman. The two men sprinted after her.
Nicholas exited the stair a floor earlier than he had expected and was shocked at the large bruised lump on Jeanette’s forehead, a cut right in the middle of it. Kenneth scowled at him even as he motioned Nicholas close to the door they stood near. An eerie sound, like wind whistling on a winter’s night, came from behind it.
Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) Page 20