When the priest came in the morning for confession, his hopes disappeared into the dark corner of his room. It was hard to sit alone with the knowledge of his fate. His only comfort was that he probably would not have to wait much longer.
Andrew sat back on his bench and closed his eyes. His thoughts turned to Cait once again. He had decided that if he was to die for it, those few days with her were enough. Though, if he had known he would be condemned to die, he would have taken her to his bed. It was a shame to die a virgin, but nothing could be done about it now.
He pictured Cait on the grassy hill, her blond hair blowing around her. He remembered their sweet kiss. He could almost feel her soft lips on his. He pictured going down on one knee, asking her to be his wife, and in his dream she did not refuse him. This time she said yes and hugged him tight. He wrapped his arms around her and gently laid her down on the soft grass of the hill. She kissed his neck and pulled him closer. And this time there was no burly brother to ruin the moment.
Andrew sunk back on the stone bench. His senses must be starting to go for he could hear the swish of her skirts, smell the lavender soap she used. It was wonderful and torturous. He opened his eyes feeling more alone than ever.
Before him stood Lady Cait. He wondered at what point his mind had abandoned him for madness. He stood, but the vision remained. She was an angel of perfection, her silver gown shimmering in the light of the single candle she held. She looked so real he stepped forward until he reached the end of his chain.
“Cait,” he rasped, his voice rough from lack of use.
“Andrew?” The apparition spoke. He was hearing voices now too. Oh well, at least his madness gave him a vision of her.
“Andrew, are ye well?” She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him.
“Och, but ye’re real, my dearest, sweetest Cait.” Andrew crushed Cait with his embrace.
“Canna… breathe…”
Andrew released her. “Sorry, but how is it… oh, ye are here. I love ye, I love ye.”
“Andrew, I feared ye would be angry wi’ me for no’ telling ye the truth.”
“I could ne’er be angry wi’ ye. Only, can ye stay a while? I would so much like to have ye here for a while, if ye could.”
“Aye, we have a plan. A plan for ye to escape.” Cait took the key she’d swiped from the guard’s belt and unlocked Andrew’s chains.
Andrew stared at her. Could this be true? He wondered for a moment if the honorable thing to do would be to refuse and accept his sentence. He quickly rejected the notion as sheer foolishness. “Sweet Cait, I knew ye would help me. But I dinna want to put ye in danger.”
“Dinna worry yerself over me. I am not the one they want to hang.”
“True.”
“I winna let them kill you. I winna let ye die for something ye dinna do.”
“Yer brother is a fair man, Cait. He is no’ executing me for abducting ye.”
“Then why has he sentenced ye to die?”
“Stealing the horses.”
“The horses?!” Isabelle put her hands on her hips. “Why should he care for that?”
“’Tis a hanging offence,” Andrew said apologetically. “And truth be told, I wasna going to return them.”
A faint glow of a candle grew brighter. Someone was coming.
“Hide,” hissed Andrew, and pushed Cait under his stone bench.
“Cait?” said a female voice.
“’Tis safe, ’tis my friend, Isabelle,” said Cait in relief.
Isabelle emerged with a single candle and a man cloaked in a cape and hood. “This is the man I spoke of,” said Isabelle. “He can marry you if it be your wish.”
“I can perform the service, but it will no’ be recognized by Campbell,” said the cloaked man.
Isabelle looked at the minstrel. He didn’t look like himself. He didn’t sound like himself. Interesting. She set out to find the minstrel when he had approached her cloaked, his face obscured, saying he was ready to perform the service.
“We understand, we wish to be wed,” said Andrew. He looked nervously at Cait. “At least I do, if it be yer wish.”
“Aye,” said Cait with a bright smile. “I wish nothing more than to be yer wife.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. She wished nothing more? Isabelle shivered in the dank surroundings. The ambiance was somewhat lacking, but Cait was beaming at Andrew as if standing in a field of flowers.
“I understand ye confessed to the abduction of Lady Cait,” said the minstrel in an odd Scottish accent. Cait and Andrew would never know who he was.
“Nay, it wasna him, it was his older brother Archie,” said Cait.
“Wheesht, Cait,” hushed Andrew. “I dinna wish to bring trouble to my clan, sir.”
“So ye accept blame for a crime ye dinna commit. Admirable. Please take the hand o’ yer betrothed,” The minstrel priest performed the Latin service well. At least he did as well as Isabelle’s understanding of Latin allowed her to judge. He switched to English for the vows, which the couple repeated with breathless anticipation.
Isabelle fluctuated between happiness in seeing her plan come together and irritation at the dewy-eyed couple before her who were oblivious to the barriers before them. If Andrew could escape from the castle, he would have to stay one step ahead of Campbell. And how could Cait ever hope that Campbell would allow her to be with Andrew? The happy couple did not seem to appreciate the kind of danger that surrounded them. Or perhaps they were just savoring what might be their last moments together.
The minstrel spoke a blessing and prayed for the couple. He prayed for eternal salvation and peace in the arms of Mother Mary which, considering Andrew’s death sentence, seemed appropriate. “Ye both understand this marriage will no’ save ye in Campbell’s eyes.”
“Aye, I understand,” said Andrew. “It was verra kind o’ ye to provide a service. May I ken the name o’ our benefactor?”
The robed minstrel stood silent for a moment, then made the sign of the cross. “Be at peace. Go wi’ God.”
The robed man walked slowly up the stairs, as if he carried many more years than he did. Truly, Isabelle began to wonder herself if this was truly the minstrel or if he had sent some other Scottish priest to do the job. Shaking her head at the puzzle, she turned back to Andrew and Cait who were ignoring her in their embrace.
“Wait until dark, then make your escape,” said Isabelle, getting back to the essentials. “I have told the silk peddler to expect you to hide in his wagon. You will leave when he does at first light.”
“Are you sure he can be trusted?” asked Andrew.
“Yes, I would bet my life on it. And since you have few alternatives I would say this is your best chance at regaining your freedom.”
“But what of the guard when we emerge?” asked Cait. “Surely there will be a new guard to take the place o’ the sleeping one. Can ye get him to drink the sleeping draft too?”
Isabelle’s shoulders slumped. She had not thought of that. “No, I used all I had on this potion.”
“I can overpower the guard,” said Andrew. “Especially if ye put the key back on his belt, no one will know I’ve been unchained.”
Isabelle took the offered key, unease creeping down her spine. “You will not do serious harm, will you? I do not want the blood of Campbell’s guards on my hands.”
“Nay, I swear to ye on my life I shall overpower him and leave him tied up, but alive.”
“O’ course Andrew winna hurt anyone,” gasped a shocked Cait. “And I’ll be here to help.”
“No,” said Isabelle. “You must go back to the ladies’ solar. You can meet Andrew to say good-bye in the wagon, but you will be missed if you are gone any longer.”
“Nay,” said Cait, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m no’ going to say good-bye to Andrew, I’m going wi’ him. I’m his wife now and I shall stand by him.” Cait’s chin started to tremble. “I winna leave now. This is my only chance to be wi’ him.”
“Listen to me,” said Isabelle. “Andrew will have a better chance of getting away if you are not with him. If Campbell thinks he has kidnapped you again he will never stop searching until he finds you.”
“As long as he finds us after our firstborn enters the world, there will be very little he can do but accept us. Please, Isabelle, this is my only chance. I know I am the sister of the laird, but shoud’na I have a chance at happiness? If I stay, David will force me to wed Gavin Patrick, and I will be miserable all my days.” Tears streamed down Cait’s face.
Isabelle sighed. “What am I supposed to say when you are missed?”
“Ye’ll think of something. Ye’re smart that way.”
Isabelle trudged back up the stairs to place the key to the shackles back on the belt of the sleeping guard. She had certainly gotten herself into a muddle now. Good thing she planned to be on that wagon herself. She did not want to be around when Campbell found out they all were gone. And yet, she understood wanting to be with the man she loved.
Even for just one night.
Thirty-Eight
Isabelle slipped back up to the sleeping quarters and bundled some pillows under the blanket on Cait’s bed. She hoped Mairi would not check on her. Then she went into the ladies’ solar. It was empty, since the entertainment was just ending. She would have but a moment to do this. She took a quill and found a parchment. She would not leave again without an explanation.
Isabelle hoped that if Campbell knew she was safe with her own guard, he would let her go without pursuing her. The need for secrecy might not even be warranted. He might allow her to leave with her guard, without complaint. He had, after all, said he would give her to the bishop instead. Yet he was still a wanted man in England, and her soldiers were Englishmen. Captain Corbett had trusted her by coming into Campbell’s gates. She could not betray him, not knowing what Campbell or his illustrious houseguests might do. No, she needed to sneak away quietly.
She stared at the blank page, wondering what to write. How could she express her feelings toward Campbell? Her conscience bothered her. She had promised Campbell not to escape. She argued with herself that if she left a note, it wasn’t truly running away. It was a poor excuse, but it was all she had.
Footsteps and happy female chatter could be heard from down the hall. Isabelle scratched a few lines of inadequate explanation and rolled the parchment, stuffing it in the pocket of her skirts.
“Lady Tynsdale,” said Mairi, entering the solar. “Where is Cait?”
“She is over-tired from lack of sleep. I had her lie down to rest.”
“Poor Cait. Ye missed a fine performance,” said Fiona, her folded arms resting on her large belly.
“Aye, ’twas amazing,” said young Gwyneth.
“’Twas a paltry attempt at best,” said Lady Eileen, and all the heat left the room.
The Campbell ladies gave Eileen a wide berth and talked softly amongst themselves.
“Did ye see Gavin Patrick arrive wi’ his uncle, Laird MacLaren, and his stepfather, Chaumont?” asked Fiona.
“Is Gavin the one Cait is going to wed?” asked Effie.
“Aye, he is a handsome one,” said Elyne. “But why are they here now?”
“They come to witness the execution,” said Fiona, her voice low. Isabelle strained to hear the conversation.
“Poor Cait, she winna be pleased,” said Effie.
Isabelle rolled her eyes at the understatement. Yes, Cait would be quite displeased indeed, and possibly homicidal. Isabelle was glad Andrew would escape that night. She doubted he had many mornings left him.
Isabelle tarried in the solar only as long as she deemed necessary, then made a great show of yawning and telling the company she needed to get some rest. In her sleeping quarters, Isabelle stuffed some pillows under the blanket on her pallet and slipped in the note for Campbell. She hoped he would understand.
Isabelle crept to the courtyard toward the wagons. Darkness had fallen fast, the thick clouds shutting out the moon. If she was wise, she would crawl into the wagons and wait for her men to leave at first light. No more pickle barrels or tar-filled boats. This time she would escape on a bed of silk. A faint light shone in the window of the chapel.
Campbell.
***
Campbell knelt before the altar in the chapel and prayed for guidance. Had he not always sought to follow the will of God? How could God abandon him now? What was he to do? He had carefully managed to keep Douglas and Stewart apart after supper and ushered them to bed rather early. It was all he could do. Cait’s betrothed, Gavin Patrick, along with MacLaren and Chaumont, had come to witness the execution.
Campbell put his head in his hands. He did not like this responsibility. He actually found Andrew McNab to be a likable lad, and Campbell guessed he took more on his shoulders than was his due to protect his clan. Campbell admired that, yet the lad had been caught with Cait. He had to die. No member of his family could travel safely again if he did not make an example of him.
Campbell shook his head. Being laird meant he had to do some unpleasant things. But he was laird, and he would see them done.
“Why do you pray so long, my lord?”
Campbell knew her voice without looking. Isabelle had come for him. She sat in the pew next to him, her silken black hair covered by a simple, gauzy veil and flowing loose down her back. Her brown eyes shimmered in the candlelight, bringing warmth to the cold night.
His Isabelle was here. Everything was right once more. “Ye left before the entertainment,” said Campbell.
“I was helping Cait,” answered Isabelle. It was true, if vague.
“Thank ye for yer kindness to her.”
Isabelle frowned and pursed her lips together, trying to block the stab of guilt. “I have only wanted to help her. I hope you know that.”
“Aye, and I thank ye for yer help tonight. I dinna ken what to do wi’ Douglas and Stewart. That is why I pray. I pray long because I have not received an answer to my question.”
“And what is your question? Maybe I can help.”
“I doubt it.” David Campbell put his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. “I pray for guidance in marriage.”
“After speaking with both Douglas and Stewart have you been swayed to one side or the other?”
“Nay. They both have plans for power. Plans they wish me to support. They will be at war soon I fear, and I will be forced to take a stand.”
“Well then, in absence of a clear choice, you are free to choose whichever bride you find more palatable.”
Campbell snorted. “That rules out Lady Eileen.”
Isabelle laughed. Campbell joked so rarely it always surprised her when he did. “I tell you, there is no love for her in the ladies’ solar. What is Miss Stewart like? Surely she is a better match for you.”
“Ye saw her at the banquet.”
“Did I?”
“Aye, she arrived wi’ Stewart. She was seated to my left.”
“The child?” Isabelle was incredulous.
“Stewart says she is twelve years.”
“No! She is no more twelve years than I am. Why, you would become an old man before she reached her maturity.”
“Thank ye verra much.”
“’Tis true and you know it. How old are you? You could be her father I feel sure.”
“I am thirty-three and until this moment I had thought I had a few years before my dotage. I so appreciate yer correction of my false pride.”
Isabelle smiled. “I did not mean to suggest you would be singing with the angels soon.”
“Thank ye for that at least.”
“I mean a man of your stature could have two or three years left in him at least.”
&nbs
p; David Campbell’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight and the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Two or three years. How generous.”
Isabelle smiled and patted his hand consolingly. “At the very least.”
David Campbell laughed out loud. Isabelle reveled in the sound, loud and throaty and very much alive. David slid a little closer and put his arm around her shoulders. Isabelle liked the feel of his arm, solid and warm. Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the faint sound of crickets floating through the night into the chapel. The chapel was dark, lit by a single, flickering candle, throwing faint dancing shadows onto the walls.
“I was married at sixteen,” Isabelle began, a lump forming in her throat. She had never spoken of it before. She had wished to forget, to pretend it never happened. Somehow, though, she wanted to tell Campbell. She needed him to understand. “Tynsdale was in his fifties at that time. I was to be his fourth wife.”
Campbell said nothing but gently rubbed her shoulder.
“After the plague took my parents and siblings, I was left the heir of Alnsworth. I understand Tynsdale well compensated my uncle for the marriage contract with me.” Isabelle spoke a little fast not wishing to dwell on the sad facts. “I was married at Tynsdale Castle. I met him for the first time in front of the priest. I was terrified. After the feast, they took me to his chamber.” Isabelle’s voice trailed off. She stood and took a step toward the altar. She could not look at Campbell when she told him.
“I was put in his bed. Tynsdale came for me. It was… unpleasant. Afterward, he laughed and told me to cry if I needed to, but to accustom myself to it. He left, and I did cry. I thought my life could not get any worse, but I was wrong. A few hours later, Tynsdale stormed back into the room. He dragged me from the bed and screamed that I was a whore. He struck me across the face. I was so shocked I didn’t even feel it. He hit me several times I think, I… I do not like to… ’tis difficult to remember.”
Isabelle took a breath, her scar throbbed in pain. “He threw me across the room, then bashed my head into a table. There was so much blood…” Isabelle’s voice abandoned her.
The Highlander’s Heart Page 28