Isabelle nodded. She did not wish to be the object of Mairi’s displeasure.
“Who is dying?” Isabelle called after Mairi, recalling that she mentioned something about last rites.
“The prisoner has been tried and found guilty. He will hang.” Mairi strode off toward the keep.
Isabelle sighed and shook her head. Cait would not take this well. She expected Isabelle to save Andrew… but how? Isabelle walked slowly back to the keep to meet with the other sisters for their excursion to see the traveling merchants.
She must devise a plan, and soon.
***
Isabelle accompanied the Campbell sisters to the village, but the joy of the escapade had been drained. Mairi’s words washed over her like a bucket of ice-cold loch water. The priest would be here soon no doubt, and that would mean the end of young Andrew McNab, and David’s marriage to the most venomous snake womanhood had ever boasted as its member. This was not going well at all.
Cait linked arms with her and even smiled with enjoyment. Isabelle had not the heart to tell her Andrew had been sentenced to death. She noted that Mairi also did not volunteer the information.
“I wish to find some cloth to make a wedding dress,” whispered Cait, her golden hair flowing in the soft breeze. “I hope David will release him soon. Then we need only to convince him to allow me to wed Andrew.”
There was so little hope for that sentiment, Isabelle did not know how to begin. “This looks a pleasant village,” she said instead.
The village was indeed pleasant, and the traders had set out wagons of wares. Whoever had given the report that they had silk had been correct. Isabelle brushed her hands over a soft silk the color of a light blue sky. It would look very nice trimmed in silver, particularly with Cait’s coloring. She was thinking again of Cait’s wedding to the doomed man. Isabelle sighed. Unhappy topic. How was she ever going to save Andrew?
Isabelle brushed her hands over a scarlet bundle of damask. She had a bundle not unlike this at home. She doubted she would ever see it again. Another sigh escaped her lips.
“I can see m’lady is no’ pleased wi’ the wares. But I have more, here in the wagon. Come, let me show ye our finer weaves.”
Isabelle absently let herself be taken to the back of the wagon. She was well within sight of the Campbell sisters.
“My lady,” whispered the man when they could no longer be heard. Isabelle started at the familiarity of his voice. She stared at his face, recognition hitting her with a physical force.
The captain of her guard grabbed her hand to keep her from falling.
“Nay, I can see ye are still no’ pleased. But wait; I have something here ye will like,” said her guard in a loud voice and drew her farther to the back of the wagon.
“My lady, are you well?” asked Captain Corbett in a cautious whisper.
“Yes, yes, but this is incredible!”
“What’s incredible, Isabelle?” asked Cait behind her.
“Why… why these prices. Are they not remarkable?” said Isabelle.
Cait frowned. “I woud’na say so.” Cait gave her a look that said she thought Isabelle was a poor negotiator and wandered off to shop some more.
“Why are you here?” Isabelle’s brain was whirling in a dizzy attempt to comprehend the meaning of the man before her.
“I have sworn to protect you. We obtained the ransom demand Laird Campbell sent to Tynsdale and came to rescue you.”
“Captain Corbett, you are truly remarkable, but how did you travel through Scotland?” Isabelle was incredulous.
“I am merely a humble merchant.”
“You posed as a merchant to pass through Scot territory? Oh, that was my damask I saw there! But how are you able to blend in? You sounded very much the Scot.”
“My mother was a Scot, but this is not important. We must free you. It is Campbell who is holding you for ransom?”
“Yes, he sent word to Lord Tynsdale demanding ransom for my release, though he has changed his mind about that now.”
“He will receive no ransom, for Lord Tynsdale is—”
“Isabelle, come look at this,” called Cait.
“We must get you out of here, m’lady,” Corbett said in a low voice.
“I cannot leave now,” Isabelle whispered back.
“My men can cause a distraction and we can run.”
“No, I gave my word. I cannot go now.” Isabelle thought fast, looking at the cart of wares. “Is there some reason you could come to the castle? You could sneak a person out in your cart when you leave.”
Her guard thought a moment. “I have ten men with me. I’m not sure why they would ask us to go into the castle.”
Isabelle remembered the troubadour who seemed to go anywhere he wished. “Is there any act you could do? Can you sing?”
“Nay,” said her guard, looking affronted, but then he thought for a moment. “Some of my men like to tumble, a few quite good at it.”
“Could you make it into some kind of acrobatic performance?”
“I suppose I—”
“Mairi!” called Isabelle. “This man says his brothers are acrobats. Do let’s invite them in to perform tonight.” Isabelle clasped her hands in excitement and smiled. It was no act, she was excited.
Mairi frowned as if weighing her options.
“And they juggle,” added Isabelle, sweetening the deal.
“Ooooh, Mairi, let’s invite them in. I love jugglers,” said Fiona.
Mairi shrugged and gave her consent to the plan.
“I don’t know how to juggle,” whispered her captain.
Isabelle smiled at him. “You have till supper to learn.”
Isabelle went to find Rabbie with a bounce in her step. He promised to show her his favorite insects by the bank of the loch and the hills above, and she would not miss it for anything. Isabelle smiled. She would save Andrew and her people. She had a plan.
Thirty-Six
Everything was going according to plan. Isabelle’s guard, along with their wagon of wares, was brought over the ferry to the castle island. She was thrilled to have them so close, but noted that they were grim and stone-faced. She acknowledged that walking into the castle gates of their enemy must not be their first choice of things to do with their evening. They did it because she asked it of them. A humbling thought, but she shook it off. It would all work out in the end. It must.
Isabelle found a quiet place to tell Cait of Andrew’s death sentence and Isabelle’s plan for rescuing him. As Isabelle expected, Cait’s tears flowed freely at the news, until Isabelle could redirect her thoughts on her escape plans. Cait was overjoyed, yet she found something missing in the scheme.
“I must be wed,” said Cait, the authority in her voice ringing like a female version of David Campbell.
“Wed?”
“To Andrew. We must be married before he leaves. We must.”
“Cait.” Isabelle shook her head. “How do you plan to do that?”
“I dinna ken, but it is the only hope I have of avoiding marriage with Gavin Patrick. If I am already wed, David canna force me.”
“I find it very likely that he would refuse to acknowledge—”
“Please, Isabelle. I need this. I need a reason, some rationale for refusing the man David chose for me. Without it, I have nothing.”
Isabelle opened her mouth to say it was impossible, then stopped, a flash of insight striking her. “I will try, Cait. That is all I can say.” Isabelle hustled away. She needed to find the minstrel.
Isabelle looked through the castle, but could not find him laughing in the great room with the men or strumming a romantic tune in the solar. She wandered through the courtyard and around the grounds and finally found him wrapped in a long cloak.
“Where do you go, sir?” she asked.
The minstrel smiled. “You have new entertainment, ’tis time for me to move on.”
Isabelle glanced around to make sure she was not overheard. They were stand
ing inside the inner gate of the castle, but no one was near or taking particular notice.
“I need your help tonight,” she said in a low voice.
The minstrel gave her a suspicious half smile. “I think it is most definitely time for me to go.”
“I need you to perform a wedding,” Isabelle whispered.
The minstrel raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
“I know you can do it. I heard you give the last rites to Rabbie. Are you a priest or do you just know the words?”
The minstrel’s face turned ashen. He continued to stare at her in silence.
“’Tis for Lady Cait and Andrew McNab.”
“The man who is condemned to die?”
“Yes. Can you not do this little thing? It would mean so much to Cait and Andrew.”
“’Tis not a little thing you ask of me. Even if I spoke the words, this marriage would not be sanctioned by the Church. It would not be recognized.”
“I understand, but it would mean a lot to them, and you said yourself that the man is condemned to die. Could you think of it as a last request?”
“If I do this,” the minstrel’s eyes blazed into hers, “I would ask for your discretion and that you not reveal what you have heard or seen of me.”
“Who have I to tell? You can rely on my discretion, I promise you.”
The minstrel looked less than pleased, but folded his arms across himself and asked, “What would you have me do?”
***
Campbell sat at the high table, the Douglas on one side of him, Lady Eileen on the other. He feared looking at either of them so he watched Isabelle take her place at the table. She was looking bonnie tonight, stunning actually. Not that he noticed. Eileen at his elbow exhaled sharply. She had noted his gaze. He could feel her anger seep from her pores. What a lovely couple they would make. He should say something to her, but frankly, the woman scared him.
He could not bring himself to marry her. Not just because she was a viper of the first order, but by aligning himself with Douglas he would be expected to support his scheme to turn over the monarchy to England, then try to steal it back by putting Douglas on the throne. As much as he loved the man sitting at his left, this sort of treason could not sit well with him, and would plunge the country deep into civil war.
And yet his alternative was to align with Stewart the steward, who asked him to stand against his monarch and leave king David with his English captors indefinitely, while Stewart became the default King of Scotland. It was not a happy choice.
Isabelle’s smile caught his attention. She was talking to one of his brothers, lucky bastard. What was going to happen to her? He noted Douglas failed to mention exactly how large a settlement he would gain from England when he agreed to the unholy alliance. Tynsdale’s estate. Isabelle’s home. Campbell could arrange for her to avoid going back to her husband for now, but unless her king decided to champion her, she would be sent back to her husband. Were her lands to be given to Douglas too? What would happen to her if Tynsdale lost everything and her plea for a divorce was denied?
A page tapped his shoulder, and Campbell turned to receive his message.
“Another party approaches, Laird. ’Tis Lord Stewart the steward.”
Oh. My. Hell.
Campbell gripped the table to keep from a telling emotional outburst. When would this nightmare end? “Are ye sure?” he finally managed.
“Aye, sir. ’Tis the Steward o’ Scotland and no mistake.”
“Here? Now?” asked Douglas. He eyed Campbell suspiciously. “Ye dinna tell me ye expected Stewart.”
“’Tis no’ expected. Though he is always welcome,” Campbell hastened to add.
“How cozy we shall all be,” said Douglas, his voice cold.
“Aye, well, Innis Chonnel is always happy to welcome visitors.” Campbell tried for forced cheerfulness and fell well short of the mark. “If ye will excuse me, I will invite them in for supper.” He left the great hall, the eyes of Douglas burning into his back. What on Earth would bring Stewart here? Douglas, that had to be it. He would not be surprised if Stewart had his own spies on that powerful laird. He must have learned of his journey to Innis Chonnel and decided to come himself.
Campbell’s fears were confirmed when he met Stewart in the outer gate. He had arrived with his own long line of conveniences and his granddaughter in tow. The Steward of Scotland would not sit back and let Campbell be wed to a Douglas without a fight.
“Greetings, my lord.” Campbell bowed to Stewart.
“Greetings, lad, I daresay ye dinna expect me, did ye?”
“Not at all, but ye are always welcome. Please join us in the hall for supper, ye must be famished from your journey.”
“Any other visitors here, lad?” Clearly, Stewart did not feel the need to play coy.
“Aye, Douglas awaits yer pleasure in the hall.”
“And he’s brought that daughter wi’ him, no doubt. That’s no wife for ye, lad. She’ll see ye to an early grave and no mistake.”
Campbell gave him a tight smile. The man was right of course, but Campbell’s goal was to avoid all mention of matrimony with either of his houseguests. This was going to end poorly. There was no way to pick a bride without picking a side of war and mortally offending one of his allies. This was going to end very poorly indeed.
Moments later, Stewart was seated on the chair of honor at the high table and Campbell found himself wedged between the fuming Lady Eileen and Miss Beatrice, a wisp of a girl barely out of the nursery. Stewart proclaimed her to be twelve years old, but Campbell sincerely doubted the truth of that statement. She looked around the room with big, watery eyes, her bottom lip trembling. He turned to speak to her but she started to shake so he merely smiled and tried not to notice her fear. He wished he could hand her back to her mother for clearly she was not fully grown.
Lady Eileen stabbed at her meat with her knife and glared at him. He smiled in return, a false, please don’t kill me, sort of smile. He glanced over at Isabelle who was watching him with some interest. He had to fit in a pickle barrel. He just had to. Anything would be preferable to this.
Stewart stood and raised his goblet to get everyone’s attention. Campbell forced his face into something he hoped was neutral interest. Whatever Stewart was going to say, Campbell was certain he did not want to hear it.
“Please raise your cups to drink to the sovereignty of Scotland,” announced Stewart. People stood, cups in hand. “To Scotland, may we defend her freedom from the English oppressors with our hearts, our minds, and our very lives.”
“To Scotland!” the people responded cheerfully and drank.
Campbell glanced at Douglas, hoping that somehow he might have missed that indirect jab at him. No such luck. Douglas glowered in his whiskey.
“Aye, let us drink to Scotland.” Douglas rose and addressed the crowd. Campbell silently willed him to be civil, hoping to avoid a brawl in his hall. “To all her faithful servants. Let us cast away those who do not love her truly, and raise those who will serve her unto death.” Campbell cringed at the veiled reference to Scotland’s long-absent King David, but Campbell’s clan cheered and drank again, unaware of the battle between the two great men that was taking place at the head table.
It was Stewart’s turn to glare at his wine. He pushed back his chair as if he was going to stand up to make another toast. Campbell was desperate. How could he get the men to cease hostilities? He glanced across to Isabelle, sending her a silent plea for help. She took an apple from her plate and tossed it from hand to hand.
Stewart began to stand but Campbell shot up and exclaimed, “Entertainment! We have a great treat for our esteemed guests. Please bring in our jugglers at once. Hurry men, dinna keep us waiting.” Corbett and his men were hustled out and began to perform their acrobatic routine around the central hearth of the great hall. Campbell collapsed back in his chair. He looked again for Isabelle. What a blessing she was there.
Except, when he loo
ked for her, she was gone.
Thirty-Seven
Cait and Isabelle slipped out of the hall while everyone was watching the performance, then dashed down the side stairs toward the dungeon. Outside the door, Isabelle dumped the crushed herbs she had picked while appreciating insect life with Rabbie into the goblet of wine.
“Are ye sure this will work?” asked Cait. Her eyes were wide and she chewed on her lower lip.
“Certainly,” replied Isabelle, hoping she sounded more confident than she was. “I nursed my uncle for many years, and this never failed to put him to sleep.” She stirred the mixture with her finger, wishing she had been able to grind the herb a bit smaller. Little green flecks were now spinning around in the glass.
“Here,” said Isabelle, handing the goblet to Cait. “Get the guard to drink this without looking at it too close.”
“What if Andrew does’na wish to marry me?”
“I doubt that will happen.”
“But what if it does?”
“Then we can send him to perdition with the knowledge that we attempted to save his ungrateful neck.”
“Nay! We canna do that. Even if he does’na wish to wed, we still must save him.”
“Fine, fine. Hurry now, we have not much time.”
Isabelle gave Cait a bracing smile and set off to find the minstrel.
***
Andrew sat in the gray gloom of the dungeon waiting for a miracle he knew would not come. He was a McNab after all. He had taken responsibility for the abduction of Cait in order to prevent Campbell from destroying what was left of his clan. Yet he had hoped Cait would convince Campbell to spare his life, or his brother would arrive to save Andrew from the need to die bravely.
The Highlander’s Heart Page 27