Elizabeth, ever the realist, stared at her mother wide-eyed. “But how could that be? What did she wear herself?”
“Why she brought a change of clothes with her.”
Madeline felt a surge of excitement and rose quickly to her feet. “We could do something similar. Of course, Andrew is much too large to pass for any woman, but what if there were a man and a woman for the visit? He could wear the man’s clothing to leave.”
“But then wouldn’t someone have to be left behind? That would be entirely too dangerous. They’d execute the second man,” Anne observed.
“I’d do it,” Fergus declared. “I’d exchange my life for the MacCarnan any day.”
“Nay, Fergus, you’re too big a fellow. A giant such as yourself draws attention. They’d know the difference if Andrew walked out instead of you. Then it would all be for naught.”
Anne was right, Madeline realized. Still, there had to be a way. She bit down on her lower lip thoughtfully. “What if we chose a man who looked a lot like Andrew?”
“Like myself?” Ian MacCarnan asked.
Madeline flushed deeply. She hadn’t meant to ask anyone in particular to take such a risk.
“I would be the perfect choice,” Ian continued. “Andrew and I were oft mistaken for each other as boys. The family said we looked more like brothers than cousins. And since I am a priest, when they find me in his stead, nothing will happen. I did no soldiering and they cannot try me for treason.”
“Your robes will prove the perfect disguise,” Madeline agreed excitedly. “And since you are Andrew’s cousin, they’ll not deny you entry. You can say you came to hear his confession, to save his immortal soul. I’ll come as well. That way, if there’s talking to be done on the way out, I will do it. Then they won’t be tempted to look too closely at you.”
“Nay, Maddy,” Anne said, “I’m the lad’s mother. ‘Tis fitting that I go.”
Madeline reached out and took her cousin’s hand. “I feel to blame for what happened to Andrew. But for me, he would have escaped the English snare and been free as the wind. Please, let me try to make amends. I’ll tell the English I am Andrew’s betrothed, come to have a final visit with him. They’ll not deny me. Besides, if anything should go wrong, well, you heard Gareth Eriksen, all they’ll do is send me back to France. I’m not an English subject. It’s safer for me to chance it.”
“I don’t like letting you take the risk, lass, but I cannot deny you are right.”
Once the decision was made, they acted quickly. Madeline, who rarely sat on a horse, rode next to Father Ian, and together they made their way to Carlisle. Often in the mornings, she’d begun feeling sick to her stomach which made the riding that much more difficult. Father Ian was not insensible to her discomfort, although she complained not at all. He stopped often so that Madeline might walk about and straighten her back and legs. The inns they stayed at were austere but the hospitality was always courteous.
When they crossed the border into England, Madeline smiled for the first time. During the long ride, it had not seemed possible that they could really succeed. Now that they had reached England, she felt a new sense of confidence. Just then, she heard the mournful trill of a bird.
“What haunting sound is that?” she asked the young priest.
“‘Tis the curious note of the curlew to warn us that we’re out of Scotland now.”
Madeline looked off to the distant moors and sighed deeply. For better or worse, they would give their best efforts to the MacCarnan’s rescue.
As they rode into Carlisle, Madeline studied the old English city with interest. The castle was the most noteworthy thing about it.
“Ye know the history?” Ian asked, raising an auburn brow inquiringly.
She shook her head. “No, I have little knowledge of Northern England.”
“This castle once held Mary Stuart. Before that, it was destroyed by the Danes in the year 900 and then rebuilt.”
She studied the dreary fortress. “The less time we’re forced to spend here, the happier I will be. It is an evil place. I can feel no affection for it.”
♥ ♥ ♥
The plan went perfectly at first. They were allowed admittance to the prisoner, and as they stood in the dark, dank cell, Andrew greeted Madeline and Ian warmly. As soon as the guard left, talk began in earnest. Ian explained what they intended in a soft whisper.
“Nay,” Andrew argued. “‘Tis too dangerous.”
“We have prepared for everything. Trust us,” Madeline implored.
She looked from Andrew to Ian and thought that it would be very easy to make the exchange. Andrew, who was naturally broader and more muscular than Ian, had lost weight during his confinement. The truth was, he looked pale and ill. But at least he was still alive.
“You’ll go with Madeline in my robes,” Ian ordered. “We’ve come too far to give up that easily. Besides, there’s little risk for her or myself.”
“I’m chained here,” Andrew said, holding up his shackled arm.
Madeline nearly gasped when she saw how raw and bloody his hands were at the wrists.
“There’s a small saw in my corset. I wrapped it with care and placed it against my body, certain they would never search that closely,” Madeline said, turning so that she might in all modesty remove the carefully wrapped metal object that pressed uncomfortably against her ribs and abdomen.
Ian took the saw from her as Madeline moved herself in front of the small peephole so that the guards would not be able to see what was going on in the cell.
Ian was halfway through the chain when they heard a key once again turn in the lock. Quickly, the priest hid the serrated tool behind him.
The guard sauntered in and glanced around the room suspiciously. “Aren’t you folk done with your jabbering?”
“He is not confessed as yet. Please leave us,” Ian said using his most authoritative voice.
“Aye, he could have had the woman by now for all the time you’re taking! Well, here’s another visitor for the heathen traitor. He’ll join you he says.”
Into the small cell walked Gareth Eriksen, the last person Madeline had ever expected to see again. She felt the room darken before her eyes and it took all her presence of mind not to faint. Suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach. Fear seized her throat like a savage dog.
He stared at the three of them with those hard, glittering blue eyes so like the dome of heaven.
“And what have we here?”
“We’re visiting. Kindly get out!” Madeline said, scarcely able to control her anger.
“I will leave in good time, Mademoiselle. When I am ready and not before.”
He walked around the cell thoughtfully. All three of them stared at him but no one spoke. Then, quite suddenly, he pulled Ian’s hands around and grabbed hold of the cutting implement.
“I thought it was something of the sort. You fools! How far do you think you would get?” His piercing eyes moved from Andrew to Ian and rested with savage intent on Madeline.
“We would have gotten Andrew out of here if not for you. He would have walked out in Ian’s robes. Please, just get out and let us be.” She knew it was useless to beg; yet she was desperate.
“You know I cannot do that.”
“Your duty, of course,” she raged, tears welling.
Gareth stared into her incandescent eyes and was almost overcome. He had never known a more exciting or beautiful woman. Her passionate spirit truly surprised him. She seemed neither afraid nor intimidated; only furious that he had caught them.
“Your cousin is not going to die, Madeline. I have made the arrangements. That is why I am here. I came to tell him today.”
“I do not believe you!”
“I assure you that I speak the truth.” His dispassionate voice carried the ring of veracity.
“Why should you help? I do not understand.”
He sighed deeply. “I am not certain I do either, but I’ve taken care of the matter nonetheless.
Pardons can be had, though not very easily. However, if one has the money or the connection, or perhaps both, such things can be arranged.”
“And you arranged it? Why?” She stared at him in bewilderment.
“I owe the MacCarnan. That damn giant could have murdered me but Andrew stayed his hand. Patience, woman, and you will have your betrothed back again.” He could hear the edge to his voice but hoped that it would go unnoticed. He did not want to explain anything further to her.
“How can I know that you’re not tricking us?”
“He’s not a liar,” Andrew said. “I want you and Ian to leave. I trust the Viking. He dinna lie to us. Go home, lass. I won’t have either of you taking any further risks on my behalf.”
“As you wish,” Father Ian said. He turned to Gareth, imparting a grave look on the tall, blond soldier. “You best be telling the truth. Your immortal soul is in jeopardy.”
Gareth gave the priest a patronizing smile. “Such threats have little power over me. My soul is most likely beyond salvation in any case.”
Madeline looked to Andrew; she did not wish to leave without him, but their mission seemed hopeless now.
“Ye must go,” Andrew urged. “Come, let me hold you for one, fleeting moment before we must part.”
She did not look at Gareth but moved into her cousin’s embracing arms and kissed him with as much passion as she could manage. Then she cast a glowering glance at Gareth. His look gave away nothing. But his hand snaked out and grabbed her none too gently as she tried to pass him.
“Take this little thing with you,” he said, handing her the saw.
“I’ll hide it under my robes,” Ian offered. “They’ll no’ bother to search me again on the way out.”
When they were finally gone, Gareth turned to Andrew MacCarnan. “I was telling the truth,” he said. “It has cost me more than I wish to say, but I have secured your pardon, although you must realize that your lands and title are gone, forfeit to the Crown. That cannot be helped. What has been saved is your life. You will return to your family in approximately two months’ time. I will also make certain that you are not misused during the remainder of your internment.”
Andrew thanked him gratefully, but Gareth was in no mood for thanks. “I’ve salved my conscience,” he said. “You owe me no thanks.”
That was true enough. As Gareth left the MacCarnan’s cell, he thought back to the events leading to this day. It had been a bitter struggle. A great battle had been fought within himself, and he had won it – or perhaps lost, depending upon how he chose to view matters.
Sixteen
As a veteran soldier, Gareth Eriksen was accustomed to physical discomfort and pain, accepting such situations with philosophical stoicism and mental detachment, but that was as nothing compared to the anguish of mind he suffered after leaving Glencarnan. Andrew MacCarnan had caused doubt to form in Gareth’s mind. Had he shamefully abused Madeline de Marnay? But didn’t the wench have it coming? She never told him that she was betrothed to MacCarnan. Instead, she had enticed him with her sweet face and exquisite body. She had gotten exactly what she deserved. Then why did he feel so wretched every time he thought about her? Why did his conscience plague him so? And why did he still wake up in the morning aroused and wanting her? He did not want to think about the lying witch ever again, but it was as if she had cast some evil spell over him. His mind was obsessed with her.
After turning MacCarnan over at Carlisle, his conscience continued to plague him. Finally, he had gone to the Duke of Cumberland. It had been a while since he saw William Augustus.
“You’ve done well,” the Duke said, inclining his double-chinned face toward Gareth. “Of course, I knew you would. MacCarnan was particularly slippery. My only regret is that we have not been able to get hold of Charles Edward. If you couldn’t manage it, I fear no one else will be able to catch him either. Amazing how those Highlanders are still finding ways to spite us. But their day is done. I can assure you of that. We’ve ground them beneath our boot heels.” The Duke jutted his stubborn jaw purposefully. “They’ll never wield those claymores again. MacCarnan was among the worst of the lot. I am grateful that we now have him under lock and key.”
“Actually, I wish to seek a pardon for the MacCarnan.”
The Duke stared at him as if he’d just announced that he himself were planning to lead an insurrection.
“I do not believe I heard you right.”
“You did indeed, Your Grace, I assure you. The MacCarnan is a most worthy fellow.”
“A worthy adversary, you mean. Even if I had the power to issue a pardon, I would not! My father, His Majesty, may allow some pardons, but he would be cold toward such a one as that.”
“Is there no way?” Gareth had asked.
Their eyes met. “If you were a private citizen, you might ask help of some influential person. There are those who have power, influence and wealth. Your own father, for instance, he would be the one to ask. He has my father’s ear more than any other peer in the realm. He is also the most powerful man in the North of England – next to myself of course.” The Duke of Cumberland’s plump face looked almost cherubic as it was transformed by a smug smile.
He knew very well that Gareth hated his father with an unmitigated passion. “You are aware that I will ask nothing of that man.”
“Pity, ‘tis probably the only way, you know. Don’t you think that you carry this hatred of your sire too far? Why should it rankle so that you are his bastard? He long ago acknowledged you. Being born on the right side of the blanket is not the most important thing in the world.”
“Forgive me for saying this, Your Royal Highness, but it seems so to you only because you have not suffered the same stigma that I have.”
The Duke nodded. “I do not deny that you are prevented from inheriting. As the eldest son, it should all be yours, of course. But bitterness accomplishes nothing. You should make peace with your father. I say this as your true friend. In any case, MacCarnan can receive a pardon no other way. Although why you should wish to help that savage creature is beyond my understanding.”
“I will take your advice,” Gareth told the Duke. “I will give up my commission and pursue this matter as a civilian.”
The Duke stared at him in consternation, raising his chubby, bejeweled fingers and then clasping them tightly together. “You are my best officer, my finest strategist. I hope you change your mind. This is an absurd decision and you are certain to regret it.”
“In truth, I am weary of soldiering. My sister soon comes of a marriageable age and I think it is time that I tended to my commitments at home.”
“This does not sit well with me, Gareth, but I respect your decision. Still, I expect peace for a time, and so I will not press you too greatly in this matter. Yet it is incumbent upon me to warn you that His Majesty will not be as accepting or tolerant as I. Indeed, it does not bode well for you to leave his service now. You know how highly he thinks of you, do you not? You would be greatly rewarded, a fine title, a goodly income. Who knows what else? Everyone admires a hero and you have served your country with great courage and dedication. No one appreciates that better than your King. Leaving his service now might be considered an act of disloyalty.”
“Disloyalty? It is nothing of the sort. This business with MacCarnan is a matter of principle, of conscience. I took something from him that was rightly his and I must make amends. In addition, he spared my life when he might well have taken it. I have a debt of honor to pay the man. Even if it costs me the respect of His Majesty and my prospects, it cannot be helped. I must do what I believe to be right.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Gareth’s meeting with his father was considerably less agreeable. As he had thought, the man lived in a kingly estate. There was no question of his father’s importance. But then, he had never doubted that. It only made the bile rise the more.
His father was a large, well-built man, descended from a long line of healthy males who had com
e over to England with the Conqueror himself. William of Normandy, now there was a bastard who had done quite well for himself, Gareth thought. But his own father had three other sons for his succession. Gareth had long ago accepted the fact that he had no place in his sire’s life.
The two men met in a magnificently appointed study. Gareth inclined his head slightly toward his father. The older man stared at him unmoved.
“You show me little of the respect which I deserve.” The Duke regarded him coldly.
“I feel little respect.” He kept his demeanor distant and aloof.
The Duke indicated a seat but Gareth chose to remain standing.
“Since we have not seen each other since you were a boy, I must ask what brings you to me now?”
Gareth told him about Andrew MacCarnan. All the time he spoke, the Duke listened and watched intently.
“This Scot must mean a great deal to you, otherwise I cannot imagine you coming here to speak for him.”
“I have my reasons,” he replied in a terse manner.
The Duke laughed out loud. “You were never one for speaking plainly. Even as a boy, you were taciturn.” He paused thoughtfully. “I see you’ve kept your mother’s fine, fair looks. Does my daughter also favor her mother?”
“Do you have any right to ask of her?” Gareth countered bitterly.
Anger lit the Duke’s midnight blue eyes. “Every right as her father. You have denied me access to my daughter and I shall not forgive you that.”
“You were not there when her mother died, were you? It is your fault that Gwenda has had to grow up without the love and care of a mother.” The anger Gareth had carried within him for so many years now welled up within him and would not be denied.
“How dare you blame me for the woman’s own action!”
“And what precipitated that action?” Gareth, usually able to keep his true feelings under tight control, was losing his pose of indifference. Emotions that had been tightly reined for so many years rose to the surface unbidden.
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