MacLaren, Chaumont, and Gavin stood a ways apart. The older warriors were grim. Gavin had taken a greenish hue. It was a sad business.
“Do ye have anything ye wish to say?” Campbell asked Andrew.
“I apologize for no’ returning your horses, and I apologize for being a party to the abduction o’ your sister. But I am no’ sorry to have met the Lady Cait. Wi’ my last breath I declare that I love her wi’ all of my worthless being. Please care for her. I fear she will take this hard.”
Campbell was surprised by the declaration of love by this man. It had been his firm belief that Andrew had misled Cait in his affections to try to seduce her or win her dowry. Andrew’s declaration of love on the verge of standing before Judgment spoke to his sincerity.
Campbell nodded to the hangman to continue. It didn’t change anything, but it made it more regrettable. A rope was tossed over a high limb of the tree they stood under and a noose was put around Andrew’s neck.
“I’m glad my mother is no’ alive to see this,” said Andrew, his voice wavering.
A lump formed in Campbell’s throat. He did not want to think of this lad having a grieving mother. He did not want to think of him falling in love with Cait. He did not want to think of him at all. He just wanted to get it over with. Andrew had committed a crime. None of his family would be safe if he let the lad live. This was the law of the Highlands. Everyone knew it. He had been found guilty by the council and sentence had been passed. It was Campbell’s responsibility to see it done.
“God have mercy on ye, Andrew McNab. I bear ye no ill will and hope ye will find mercy in the Judgment.”
“Thank ye,” Andrew said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I forgive ye this. Take care o’ Cait for me, will ye?”
“I always have,” said Campbell gruffly, but added more gently, “I will care for her. I will tell her ye met death as a man, and yer last thoughts were o’ her.”
Andrew nodded and closed his eyes. Campbell hesitated, dreading very much what he had to do next.
Campbell gave the signal and the hangman pulled Andrew McNab off the ground.
“Nay!” A screeching voice rose up from the loch like an avenging banshee, so inhuman was the sound. The hangman dropped the rope to cross himself, sending Andrew back to the ground.
Campbell stared into the mist, his hand on his sword hilt. Out of the fog two figures emerged.
“Dinna hurt him, David,” screamed Cait in a voice he had never heard from her before. “Dinna hurt him or I swear I shall make ye regret this day.”
“Cait!” coughed Andrew.
“Isabelle!” growled Campbell at the other shadowy figure. It could only be her. Meddling, defiant, impossible lass.
“Let him go now!” shrieked Cait.
“Dinna let her see this,” begged Andrew.
“Isabelle, come here where I can see ye. How did ye get here? Dinna tell me ye took poor Rabbie’s boat again,” shouted Campbell.
Isabelle shrugged. “How else could we cross?”
“Ye are no’ paying heed to the important issue here,” yelled Cait. “I want ye to let my husband go!”
Campbell continued to direct his attention to Isabelle. “I canna believe ye would steal his boat again, especially after all the pain ye caused the last time.”
“But I’ll put it back straightaway,” explained Isabelle. “Yer sister can be most persuasive.”
“Cait is no’ at issue here, she…” Campbell stopped midsentence as if suddenly coming to a realization. He looked down at Cait. “Did ye say husband?”
“Aye!” declared Cait triumphantly, glad to have Campbell’s attention at last. “We were wed last night. He is yer kin now. Ye canna kill him.”
Isabelle wished Cait would stop talking. With every word Isabelle felt herself slipping in Campbell’s estimation. He glared at her now.
“Did ye know o’ this?” he asked Isabelle, his voice deceptively soft.
Isabelle could not bring herself to lie directly to him so she chose the next best thing and pretended she could not hear him. She stared at her feet as if something very interesting was occurring near her toes. She could feel the heat from Campbell’s glare.
“Ye do no’ have my approval to wed this man,” said Campbell to Cait. “Ye will marry Gavin Patrick here.” Campbell gestured to a young lad hardly older than Cait. Was this the monstrous Gavin from whom she helped Cait to escape?
“Approval or no’, we have wed just the same,” said Cait.
“Then ye shall soon be a widow,” said Campbell. He signaled the hangman who tied the rope to a tree branch. Andrew was fine as long as he maintained good posture. Campbell motioned to a few of the guards. “Take Lady Tynsdale and Lady Cait back to the castle.”
“Ye canna kill him. He may be the father o’ my unborn child,” declared Cait with vengeance.
“Cait, wheesht!” exclaimed Andrew, looking even more pale, if such a thing was possible.
“Cait,” said Isabelle in an undertone. “I do not think you are improving Andrew’s odds of seeing tomorrow.”
Campbell grabbed Cait by the shoulders. “Did this bastard get ye wi’ child? Answer me!”
“I… I dinna ken… yet. But I could be. We… after the wedding last night, ye understand.”
Isabelle could tell by the murderous look of death in Campbell’s eye that he did understand. He understood all too well. Campbell let Cait go and gripped the hilt of his sword with white knuckles. He took a step toward Andrew, and Isabelle wondered if they now needed to advocate for him to hang Andrew, as opposed to hacking him to death in some slow and torturous manner.
“Riders approaching!”
Whatever Campbell was going to do was halted with the arrival of several men on horseback. Four horsemen stayed on the hillside, their identities cloaked in the mist. A fifth rode forward to meet them. The sound of many hooves echoed off through the hills, but how many more horsemen remained unseen in the mist, Isabelle could not tell.
“State yer name and yer business,” cried one of Campbell’s soldiers.
“I am a messenger from Lord Tynsdale for Laird Campbell.”
Isabelle’s heart lurched and sank. Tynsdale had come to ransom her? No, no it could not be. She was so close to escaping him.
Campbell exhaled loudly. “I am the Campbell. I am attending to business as ye see. Please step back, I will see ye when I have completed my task.”
Another rider rode forward until Isabelle could make out the form of Simon, Tynsdale’s bastard son.
“You bring the Lady Tynsdale to watch a hanging, do you?” asked Simon. “Curious habits you barbarian Highlanders have. Come now, this business will take but a trifle of your time. We have your ransom, the Lady Tynsdale comes with us.”
“And ye are?”
Simon dismounted along with the other riders that were visible and bowed with a flourish. “Sir Simon, sent by Tynsdale to return his beloved wife.”
Isabelle’s blood turned to ice, chilling her with every beat of her heart. “No,” Isabelle’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “No, I will not go back with him.”
“Take the ladies back to the castle,” Campbell commanded one of his solders. His face was gray and without emotion. He did not look at her.
Simon stepped forward. “I would rather you not do that. Here is your demand in full.” He nodded to a man who brought a velvet pouch and opened it. It was full of gold coins. “You have been paid. Hand over the Lady Tynsdale. There is very little else to discuss.”
“There is much to discuss. Ye will wait.”
Simon motioned with his hand, and more dark gray figures emerged from the mist on the hillside above. Many appeared to be holding crossbows. Isabelle stepped nearer to Campbell.
“Cait,” Isabelle said hoarsely, “get back to the boat. Go back to the castle.”
“I will no’ leave wi’out Andrew.”
“What trouble is this?” said a low voice behind them. Isabelle spun around to
see James Douglas stroll up the bank dressed for battle. “We heard the screaming.”
“What goes here?” said Stewart, also stepping out of the shadows. They were followed by Campbell’s brothers and several of their retinue.
It was becoming a full house, and the bank by the loch was getting crowded. Isabelle glanced back and forth between the English and the Scots. She had the unhappy realization she was standing at the center of what may be their next battle.
“Now ’tis truly a party,” said Simon in a mocking tone. “Tynsdale has done what you have asked. The ransom has been paid. The return of his wife is all that is required of you. Come, Lady Tynsdale. Let us return to your husband.”
“No,” said Isabelle, stepping even closer to Campbell. She could not return to Tynsdale, but if she did not go… the English had the high ground. Campbell, his brothers, and Cait stood below them. If there was a fight, the Campbells would be caught in the crossfire. Isabelle turned to Simon, she must find a way out of this. “Simon, why do you wish me to return? Was it not you who warned me never to return to Tynsdale?”
Simon’s eyes never left Campbell. “What a fancy imagination my lady has.”
“’Twas not my imaginings and you know it, Simon,” said Isabelle with the indignation of surprise. All these years she had thought of Simon as a sort of savior. What was he doing now?
“And if the lady does not wish to return to her husband?” asked Campbell.
“What does her ladyship’s opinion have to do with her return? She is his wife. Her wishes can have no bearing on this matter.”
Behind her, Isabelle heard the slosh of the ferry raft going back to the island. They were bringing out more troops. Campbell was stalling for time.
“As a knight, I canna return a lady to anyone who may do her harm.”
“As a man you cannot stand in between what God has joined together. She is his wife. You have already shown yourself to be opportunistic in the advancement of your own coffers. Take your coin and be done with it. The lady belongs to her husband, and to him she shall now return or you be no knight.” Simon stepped closer to Isabelle and she moved closer to Campbell.
“Be that as it may, ye shall no’ take her against her will.”
“’Tis her husband’s will that matters. Or have you thought to put yourself in that role? Do you think to steal another man’s wife? You shall be excommunicated from the fellowship of the Church, and Tynsdale will raise an army like you have never seen to wreak havoc on the Scots in vengeance for the defilement of his wife.” Simon lowered his voice and stepped closer to Campbell. “Come now, my friend. No wench is worth that. Let the harlot return to her husband and you can buy a hundred comely wenches to keep you company.”
“Dinna disrespect the Lady Tynsdale,” Campbell growled.
“No disrespect intended,” said Simon, the words somehow emerging from his lips pressed together in a tight, fake smile.
“What seems to be the trouble here?” asked Douglas. “If she be ransomed, give the English lass back so we can be rid o’ her.”
“Aye. We can ill afford the ill will o’ the king o’ England. Give the lady back to her kin,” said the Steward of Scotland in a voice that sounded more like a royal decree than a friendly suggestion.
“No!” shouted a voice from the fog. “The Lady Tynsdale will not go with Simon, for he is a thief and a liar.”
Captain Corbett emerged out of the mist, walking up the shore to the hangman’s tree. Isabelle shook her head, trying to prevent him from revealing himself, but he would not be thwarted.
“And what business is this o’ yers, peddler?” Campbell’s voice growled with irritation.
“I am Corbett, the Captain of the Guard for the Lady Tynsdale. The Earl of Tynsdale is dead. It is not her husband who ransoms her.”
“Dead!” gasped Isabelle.
“I know you not, and I declare your words false,” said Simon to Corbett. “Tynsdale is alive and concerned to retrieve back what is his. Give me the lady, Campbell. You have no right to keep her.”
“Hold now,” said MacLaren. He turned to Corbett asking, “how do ye ken Tynsdale is dead?”
“After we lost the Lady Tynsdale, we searched for her long, but she could not be found. I sent some of my men to spy on Tynsdale. From those with cause to hate Simon, we learned Tynsdale was dead, and that Campbell was holding Isabelle for ransom. Soon it was all the talk in the town of how King Edward waited less than a fortnight after Tynsdale’s death before seizing his castle and lands since he had no issue.”
“He does have a son!” shouted Simon. “I am Tynsdale’s heir. It should all go to me.”
“So ye admit that Tynsdale is dead,” said Campbell in a low voice, steady and calm.
“My husband is dead?” Isabelle’s gaze drifted between Simon and Captain Corbett. Could it be true? Could she really be free?
“Aye, m’lady, Tynsdale is dead. But when Simon was ousted from Tynsdale castle, his army took Alnsworth by force,” continued Corbett.
Isabelle inhaled a sharp breath. “Simon attacked Alnsworth?”
“I’m sorry, m’lady. Most of my men were out looking for you and he caught us unawares.”
“Marjorie! Is she safe?” Isabelle asked Corbett, her heart frozen between beats.
“Yes, she escaped the castle before he took possession,” reassured Corbett.
Relief melted into molten anger, which rushed up Isabelle’s spine, making her bolder than she ought. She turned a malevolent glare on Simon. “And all these years I thought you were my friend. But no, Simon, you have been trying to get all that you could for yourself.” A sudden realization struck her. “It was you! It was you who turned my husband against me. What did you say to him? Did you accuse me of being a whore as you just did to Laird Campbell? You did not wish to save me, you wanted to get rid of me.”
Isabelle stepped even closer to Simon as if to see him better, to look through his hauberk into the darkness of his soul. “I see it all so clearly now. You wished to inherit, but to do so you could not let your father have any other children, any legitimate children. So you chased me away. And it was you who killed his other two wives.”
“Yes, of course it was me,” jeered Simon. “It was hardly difficult and no great loss. Just as no one will mourn your sorry life.” With the quickness of a man who lived his life by cunning and violence, Simon leapt forward and grabbed Isabelle, twisting her around and holding a knife to her throat.
“Now I am going to take this piece of baggage back to England and you are going to get back to your hanging.” Simon backed away slowly, dragging Isabelle with him.
Campbell drew his sword with a sharp, metallic ring that sliced through the gray morning mist. “Let her go and I may let you live.” It was his best offer to Simon.
On the hillside above them, more gray shapes became visible, holding bows at the ready. “I think not,” said Simon, his voice tight with excitement. “Call back your men or you all will die.”
Forty
Isabelle went rigid. Her heart stopped beating. Unlike when McNab threatened her, the knife at her throat was cold and sure. It would take but a quick flick of his wrist to leave her dead.
Campbell growled and her heart sprang back to life. He held his sword at the ready. If Simon slit her throat, she had the grim satisfaction of knowing that Campbell would see Simon dead before she hit the ground. Simon knew it too, and it was the only thing keeping her alive.
Simon dragged Isabelle back away from Campbell and his brothers. Isabelle kept her eyes on Campbell. As long as she could see him, she knew she would be safe. Though how he was going to rescue her she did not know. She was not one to pray often, but she did so now, praying for a way out, for safety for Campbell, his clan, and for her.
A fierce battle cry sliced through the mist and was suddenly strangled into silence. Simon’s arm jerked up and the knife flew away. Isabelle broke free and spun to face her attacker. She gasped at the sight. Andrew was hang
ing by his neck from the tree, his legs wrapped around Simon, pulling him away from her.
“Attack!” someone called and everything became a blur of motion. Simon threw off Andrew as arrows began to rain down from the hillside.
“Get down,” shouted Campbell and pushed her to the ground. “Stay down,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze and jumped up to run after Simon.
“Cut him down,” screeched Cait, running to Andrew’s side.
Isabelle started to get up to do so, but Captain Corbett pushed her back down. Gavin Patrick raced to Andrew, slicing through the hangman’s rope, and Andrew collapsed on the ground.
Simon’s men shot bolts down from the hillside, while others ran into the fray. Campbell’s men rushed out with shields to protect them from a barrage of arrows. Douglas, Stewart, and their men created a shield barrier and charged up the hill at Simon’s men. Isabelle’s own guard had not shields, so they ducked behind some rocks and fought any who came near.
Arrows rained down on them with a crisp slice through the air as they passed. Close, very close. More gray figures joined the others on the hill. We’re all dead, thought Isabelle. Simon’s army had caught them on low ground with nowhere to go but the loch. Yet the bolts came at a slower pace, and Isabelle realized with a rush of joy that the new figures on the hill were Campbell’s own men who had flanked Simon’s archers.
In the thick, gray mist, figures disappeared and reemerged into her vision without warning. Around her were the sounds of battle. Steel and iron bashed together with a ring and crunch. Men yelled, cursed, and shouted a barrage of commands. The smell of blood was in the air.
“Get her. Kill the bitch!” yelled the voice of Simon. Isabelle knew it was her he was trying to kill. He appeared above her, slicing through her guards. He raised his sword for a death blow, but suddenly Campbell was there, his sword blocking Simon’s steel with a tremendous clang.
The Highlander’s Heart Page 30