The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Carmen Caine

  Kate stared at him, her thoughts strangely muddled. Why was the man speaking of Cameron?

  “Aye, I’ll watch him suffer!” Thomas continued, his voice shaking with pent emotion. “As ruler of this land, I’ll hound him—”

  “Ruler?” the weary, deep voice interrupted him with a disdainful snort. “Playing the puppet master will never be the same as being the king, ye fool! And your time is at an end. James will never forgive ye for what ye’ve done now.”

  Turning her head, Kate saw a finely dressed nobleman slouched against the wall, his hands and feet bound. There was a jagged cut on his forehead, and it took her moment to recognize his pale face as John Stewart, Earl of Mar, the youngest brother of King James.

  Kate caught her breath in surprise.

  “Aye.” Thomas smiled, apparently enjoying her reaction. “Even Mar, a prince of the royal Stewart blood is powerless before me. Even now the king mulls over tidings that his cherished brother conspired with sorcerers and witches to slay him.”

  Mar gave a contemptuous laugh. “He’ll never believe ye. At last, ye are undone, knave. Even now, my brother will be riding to Craigmillar to secure my freedom! Ach, ye are but a fool!”

  Thomas Cochrane’s lips twisted in a scornful smile. “Who is the fool? Your brother is a firm believer in the black arts. ‘Tis ye who will die right soon, ye and the witches that I say colluded with ye these past months, pleading with the devil to smite your own brother!”

  Mar gave a snort of disgust.

  Thomas shrugged. “I never would have harmed ye, Mar. ‘Twas Albany I was after, but then ye sought to kill me at the hunt. Ye brought this upon yourself!”

  At that, Mar fell silent, and Kate swallowed, shaking her head in bewilderment. She was feeling strangely lethargic and confused. Was she caught in some ghastly nightmare? She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake. But when she opened her eyes again, nothing changed.

  She frowned. Where was her father? Where was Sir Arval?

  “And ye, Kate!” Thomas sneered, dropping on one knee before her. “I respected ye. We are both commoners grasping for power, and I respected that in ye … until ye betrayed me by thieving the letters from Albany’s desk.” Reaching down, he grasped her by the throat and hissed. “And for that, ye’ll pay.”

  As his fingers pressed harder, she struggled for air, clawing desperately at his hands until he shoved her back with revulsion.

  Raising his hand, he moved towards her and struck her hard across the face.

  Pain exploded in her nose, and she fell back to the floor, striking her head. For a brief moment, she saw sparks of light followed quickly by a thick darkness, and then her vision returned.

  Looming over her, Thomas pulled a small, gold-inlaid dagger from his belt. With a gleam of pleasure in his eye, he trailed the blade down the side of her face, down her neck, and to the pearl-laced bodice of her gray gown. Then with a vicious jerk, he half-tore, half-ripped it away, using it to mop the blood streaming from her nose.

  Holding the bloodstained cloth against the torchlight, he gave a smile of satisfaction.

  Kate numbly looked away, and it was then that her eye caught on the blood-splattered stones.

  Suddenly, she remembered her father and Sir Arval.

  They were dead.

  This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be true. Her father and Sir Arval couldn’t really be dead!

  But she did not weep. She could not even react. The numbness rose, taking a firm hold upon her, and she watched impassively as Maura entered the room and held up several of the pure, white wax candles from the hall.

  Giving the candles to Thomas, Maura dipped in a quick curtsey. “Wax, as ye requested, my lord.”

  Pleased, Thomas dangling the candles over Kate and laughed. “Do ye not recognize your own witchery, Kate? Do ye not see the waxen form of the king that ye gave to Mar to perform his unholy deeds? Aye, ye’ll both burn at the stake afore I’m through with ye!”

  Kate eyed the candles apathetically.

  The man was mad, but she strangely didn’t care.

  “But first we must be off to my house in the Canongate.” Thomas shoved the candles back into Maura’s hands. “I’ll not risk Cameron’s arrival here. If I know the earl, he is already well on his way, knowing that we found his precious Kate.” At that, he tossed his head back to laugh, a loud, long, jarring sound. “Aye, the hand of fate guided me on the most blessed of paths this day, even delivering the Earl of Lennox into my hand! Ach, Kate, but ye were a splendid find!”

  And then men arrived, pulling Mar and Kate to their feet, pushing them down the stairs, and through Craigmillar’s hall.

  Kate moved as if in a dream, not even tempted to glance at the fire where her father had spent his days drowsing in the chair.

  She no longer cared to think.

  Saddled horses awaited them in the courtyard as the sun rose in the east, bathing Craigmillar with a pale, pink light. And as Thomas’ men hefted Mar over one of the horses, tying him to the saddle, she found herself plucked up and placed in the lap of a grim, muscled man with lank and greasy hair.

  She didn’t struggle as they sprang away, galloping towards the town of Edinburgh. She merely watched with detached interest as the dark and mighty Edinburgh Castle grew closer, rising high upon the rocky cliffs above the surrounding town and Forth Valley.

  It was not long before the horses’ hooves clattered on the cobblestoned streets of Edinburgh and up the widening road that led to the dark, walled castle. But before they reached it, Thomas veered suddenly, guiding his horse onto the narrow wynd that snaked through the tall houses of the Canongate.

  At length, he reined before one of the dwellings, and raising his hand, signaled them to dismount. Lifting Kate down from the horse himself, he pushed her through a creaking, red door, up a narrow stair, and into a small chamber with high windows on the second floor.

  Moments later, another man appeared, prodding Mar forward with the blade of a dirk. Ducking his head, the prince entered the chamber slowly, his hands still bound behind his back.

  Fishing within the folds of his cloak, Thomas withdrew Kate’s bloodstained bodice and tossed it to the man with the dirk. “Send this to Cameron, with my message.” His long face creased into a beaming smile. He turned back to Kate, rubbing his hands together briskly.

  She merely stared at him.

  “I would think ye a half-wit, Kate, if I hadn’t seen the fire in ye afore.” Thomas frowned, looking a little disappointed.

  “Leave the lass be, knave,” Mar ordered from his position near the door. “She has no place in this matter. Set her free at once!”

  “Ah, ‘tis ye who are the half-wit,” Thomas ridiculed the prince, shaking his head in wonder. “Ye canna even understand your own dire circumstance!”

  As the men traded insults, Kate dully watched as Maura, carrying the wax candles, entered the chamber and knelt before the hearth. Blowing over the bits of peat and twigs, she coaxed the fire back to life and set about arranging the candles in the small iron pot suspended over it.

  Leaving Mar, Thomas joined Maura, tossing a small cloth bundle at her feet.

  “In there ye’ll find the king’s cherished ring and a cutting from his favorite robe. Use them both,” he said. “And take some of Mar’s hair, ‘tis the same shade as James. Be quick! I must return to Stirling right quickly. I’ve yet to declare both Mar and Kate witches, and there is still much to be done.”

  Witches? Kate shook her head and frowned.

  “Take heart, Kate,” Mar called from behind her. “The king will stop this mad man. At last, Thomas has gone too far. No one will ever believe that we are witches, seeking to harm the king!”

  Kate merely blinked.

  “Ach, she’s gone mad.” Maura cast Kate a side-length glance as she expelled her breath, and then a momentary expression of sorrow crossed the woman’s face as she muttered, “Mayhap, ‘tis better this way.”

  “What say ye?” Thomas lift
ed his head and marched to where Maura sat on her heels before the hearth. Raising a threatening hand, his eyes narrowed. “Do not think to betray me, Maura! Do ye recall the last time ye failed me?”

  Maura clenched her teeth but replied in a sure voice, “I’ll not fail ye, my lord. Have no fear.”

  Thomas remained there for a time, staring down at her, but she kept her gaze focused on the wax she was forming with her hands, and at length he moved away, calling for his men.

  “We’ve the other witches to finish off now,” Thomas told them. “Now that we have them confessing their crimes of witchery, ‘tis time to begin the burnings. The king canna help but be convinced now and—”

  “Ach, ye fool!” Mar tossed his head. “James will never—”

  In two strides, Thomas stood before Mar. He struck him across the face with such force that the man’s head struck the wall.

  “How does that feel?” Thomas asked in a voice riddled with pleasure.

  With blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Mar swore, “Ye are a dead man!”

  “Bind his mouth!” Thomas snapped, returning to stand above Kate.

  Kate did not move.

  After a moment, he heaved a breath of disappointment. “Ach, perhaps she has gone mad.” Losing interest, he joined his men, saying, “Then, let us be gone, to see to the conspirators of the devil!”

  As they filed out of the small chamber, Kate wearily leaned back against the wall, faintly aware for the first time that her head and nose ached.

  Across the chamber, Mar sat with his mouth now bound and four men with dirks flanking him, but the eyes upon which he looked at Kate were kind and full of compassion.

  Time passed.

  Occasionally, Kate heard the church bells tolling in the distance.

  Once, Maura pressed bread and water into her hands, but she had little appetite and no interest in rousing herself from her stupor.

  Finally, Maura rose proudly to her feet, holding a small wax doll aloft, and Thomas Cochrane returned to the chamber, bearing a wide smile of satisfaction.

  “Well done.” He snatched the doll from her hands and wagged it at Mar still sitting in the corner. “When the king sees this witchery, your fate is sealed, Mar.”

  Mar did not respond. He remained as he was, slumped against the wall.

  Turning to Kate, Thomas prodded her with his toe. “Up with ye, Kate! ‘Tis time ye joined your fellow witches at the Tolbooth Prison.”

  Clasping her hand, he pulled her up and threw his cloak over her head.

  “Maura, ye’ll come with us to bear witness of Kate’s crimes against the king,” he ordered the woman as he tucked the wax figure into a leather pouch.

  “But willna the earl find her there?” Maura protested, pulling Kate down the stairs after Thomas.

  “I’ve paid the guards well. They’ll hide her until the burning. The earl will never find her there, not in time,” Thomas replied, and then suddenly turned accusingly upon the woman. “Not unless ye think to tell him for some ill-gotten gain of your own!”

  Maura hissed, drawing back. “I’ve never betrayed ye, my lord.”

  He didn’t appear entirely convinced as he readjusted his cloak to mask more of Kate’s face. And then with an intimidating scowl, he planted his face inches from hers and warned, “Do not even think to run, lass. There’s naught ye can do to escape your fate now. ‘Tis to prison with ye, and then to burn for your crimes against the king.”

  Kate took a deep breath. For a moment, a voice of panic struggled to rise past the waves of confusion and the constant pain in her head, but the effort proved to be too much. Losing interest, she only wondered when she could lie down and sleep.

  “Ach, she’s been struck dumb as well as mad.” Maura sniffed disdainfully. “She’s not responded to me the entire day.”

  “’Tis no matter for I’ll take my joy in Cameron’s suffering.” Thomas shrugged callously and then set off up Canongate Road, pulling Kate after him. “Come, we must hasten!”

  He led them towards the center of the town, past the High Kirk of Edinburgh, and to the Mercat Cross in the center of the market square where a crowd of merchants and bystanders milled about. Long sheets of parchment had been posted on the Mercat Cross and on several of the buildings nearby.

  “Ach, ‘tis a proclamation of witchery!” a man’s voice filtered through the fog in Kate’s mind. “It states they practiced the black arts against the king!”

  “Who’s that? ‘Tis another one?” a voice shrilled from nearby.

  “Aye, ‘tis a witch!” Thomas raised his voice, gripping Kate by the forearm and yanking her forward. “Stand back, I must take her to the Tolbooth straightway!”

  A gasp swept over the crowd. Some ignored Thomas to press closer and began to pelt them with small stones.

  “God’s Wounds!” Thomas thundered, raising his arm to protect his face. “’Twas not I who committed this crime! Stand back, ye ruffians!”

  He shoved his way through the increasingly rowdy throng, and at last stood before the Tolbooth Prison, a great gray-stoned building with a massive iron door guarded by several men.

  Recognizing Thomas Cochrane, one of the men signaled the others to drive the unruly mob back as he quickly escorted them inside.

  “This is the witch I spoke of,” Thomas announced, yanking the cloak from Kate’s head. “At all costs, she must not be found.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The man bowed. “Upon my life, I will not have her found.”

  And as Thomas began to speak with him, another man came forward to grip Kate’s arm and push her down a narrow corridor. Finally, he paused in front of a dark cell with a straw-covered floor.

  There was a rasp of a key in the lock and the screeching creak of a door, and then Kate found herself shoved inside. She stumbled and fell, and a rank stench rose to greet her as she landed in the sour straw. But she was too tired to do anything other than close her eyes.

  She was caught in a nightmare.

  Chapter Thirteen - The Tolbooth Prison

  In the darkness before dawn, Cameron strode purposefully to the king’s apartments with his cloak billowing out behind him and Julian at his heels. His heart cried out to depart at once for Craigmillar and Kate, but he knew that he must attempt to stop the king’s madness, at least until his men were ready to ride. He knew no one else would even try to open the king’s eyes. Instead, the other nobles would immediately seek to raise arms and plunge the country into civil war.

  As he brushed past the king’s guards without breaking his stride, some of the men lifted their weapons as if to challenge his entry, but only for a brief moment before they stepped back and sent him a nod of respect instead.

  Cameron drew his lips in a thin line of disapproval.

  Even the loyalty of the king’s own personal guard had waned.

  Was no one satisfied with the king?

  It did not bode well for the future.

  The cluster of attendants waiting in the darkened antechamber scattered before him, and guided by the faint flickering light, Cameron kicked back the door to the king’s privy chamber and entered with a dark, forbidding glare.

  King James sat at his table poring over the pages of a large book as the astrologers Andrews and Hathaway hovered attentively but bleary-eyed, behind him. From the melting wax dripping from the tapers to form large pools on the table, it was clear they had not slept all night.

  The king took one look at Cameron’s menacing expression and paled.

  As Julian remained on the threshold, arms bracing each doorpost, Cameron advanced, his eyes filling with icy disdain.

  Dismissing the astrologers, the king licked his lips and clapped his hands to order in a thin, wavering voice, “Have cakes and drinks brought for his lordship at once!”

  Cameron surveyed the king’s table and arched a scathing brow at the silver platters of half-eaten tarts and unfinished goblets of wine littering its surface before speaking in a deadly, cold voice, “I fin
d it appalling that a king can dine on delicacies and study books whilst his own youngest brother is imprisoned and falsely accused of witchcraft.”

  The king froze.

  Expelling his breath in unmasked contempt, Cameron continued in a chilling, even tone, “Aye, I’ve no more time for polished words and courtly speech with ye. Ye’ll stop this madness with Thomas at once! Can ye not see how the people grow dissatisfied with their king? If ye continue walking this path there will not be one left standing with ye!”

  The king swallowed and sputtered, “We are your king! Dare ye think to threaten us?

  “Aye, I dare.” Cameron’s dark eyes smoldered. “And if ye do not free Mar at once, I will see ye undone myself!”

  The king shuddered but insisted feebly, “But Thomas found evidence, Cameron, evidence that Mar is a warlock, dabbling with the dark powers and consulting ceaselessly with necromancers and, mayhap Satan himself, to shorten the life of his own brother, the king!”

  “Ach!” Julian made a disgusted sound from the door.

  With pity swiftly waning for the weak-willed man trembling before him, Cameron replied in a cutting tone, “And, like a fool, ye believe every word that Thomas utters? Can ye not see the man lusts only for power and plays ye for a puppet?”

  King James licked his lips nervously.

  “Look at me!” Cameron ordered in a lethally calm tone. “Look at me, James! Look in my eyes and swear that ye actually believe Mar—our most loyal Mar—is a warlock!”

  The king trembled, resisting for a time, before finally lifting his gaze to Cameron’s.

  A silence so profound fell in the room that the breath of each man could easily be heard.

  And then tears welled in the king’s eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, gasping, “What have I done, Cameron? What have I done to Mar? And what have I done to Albany—”

  “Albany?” Cameron seized upon the name, his dark eyes widening in dismay. “What madness has overtaken ye this foul night? What have ye done to Albany? Speak quickly!”

  “An ambush,” the king confessed in a voice scarce above a whisper. Desperately, he clawed at Cameron’s sleeve. “Save them, Cameron! Save them both! What have I done to my own brothers—my own blood?”