“I need some privacy please.”
“I was instructed no’ to let ye leave, my lady.”
The guard was a Scot? Her eyebrows came together. Annella couldn’t believe that her own countrymen would act so treacherous. Why was he here helping them?
“Surely ye can no’ deny a lass some privacy. Please, I only need a moment.”
“Fine but any tricks or the Earl will cut us both down.”
The guard entered the tent and helped Annella to her feet. She was not able to stand without assistance as her muscles were starting to become too weak. The color plaid he wore looked familiar but Annella couldn’t place where she had seen it before. It was different than the ones she had seen the men wearing who attacked the castle. The guard checked her bindings and once satisfied, he walked her outside over to the nearest bush he could find.
It was dark outside and she noticed most of the men sleeping around the fire. She was surprised to see so few. She had expected an army. She knew that some of them would be in the woods on watch but with only a few behind to protect the Earl, they would be more vulnerable.
“I’ll no’ be releasing yer ropes, my lady, so do what ye need and be done wit it quickly.”
“Ye are Scottish, why are in alliance wit the English?”
“That is no’ yer concern. Now get on wit it.”
With her hands bound together, trying to lift up her skirt to relieve herself was nearly impossible, not to mention knowing that she had an audience. She did not want to complain or to struggle. Now was not the time. She looked through the trees towards freedom. If only her hands were not bound, she could have a chance but with the guard holding onto the rope with a firm hand, it was hopeless.
“I’m finished,” she said. The guard pulled onto the rope with force, pulling her to her feet which caused the ropes to dig more into her flesh. They walked in silence back towards the entrance of the tent.
“What are ye doing?” A man shouted to the guard. His voice sounded familiar to her.
“She said she needed some privacy. I took her out by the bushes,” the guard responded.
“Good. I want to talk wit the lass. I dinna want anyone to disturb me. Do ye understand?”
“Aye, my laird.”
Annella turned around and looked directly into the dark eyes of Laird Stewart. He forcefully grabbed onto her upper right arm and helped her back into the tent.
“It was ye.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Ye are the one behind all of this? It was ye who brought the English and attacked my castle and killed my father?” she cried out and tried to pull away.
“Hush now, my bonny lass. Ye dinna want me to get angry,” Stewart said while pulling her tightly against him. Once he fastened the flap of the tent closed, he tossed her onto the cot.
“I dinna understand. Why?”
“Unlike yer foolish father, I gave my oath to Longshanks. In return, I got to keep my head and other benefits I might add. The only reason ye are no’ dead is because I convinced the Earl to no’ kill ye. The only way to protect yerself is by marrying me.”
“Nay, I will ne’er marry ye. I would rather die.”
“Well, yer wish may be granted soon enough. But ye will marry me. Whether ye are dead or no’ makes nay a difference to me. I will still claim yer holding as yer widow.”
Unlike the calm, but ill-mannered man she had met before, Laird Stewart showed his true self as being brash, aggressive and downright sinister. She was thankful for not accepting his proposal when he first made an offer to her father. Fearful of what he may do, Annella yelled out for help but no one came to her aid. Laird Stewart quickly covered her mouth with his hand and with primal instinct, Annella bit down hard.
“Ye bitch,” he yelled and pulled his hand back. Once the pain went away, he raised it above his head and smacked her across her face causing her lip to bleed. He climbed on top of her, pinning her down with his weight. He forcefully held her head between his bony hands and pressed his lips to hers forcing her mouth to open. He reached down over her breast and began to painfully squeeze it and caress the rest of her body.
She cried out and struggled underneath him to get away but the weight of his body prevented her from moving. She sent up a silent prayer to the heavens asking God to make him stop.
“What is the meaning of this?” The Earl roared as he entered the tent.
Stewart quickly jumped off Annella and waited for the wrath of the Earl to come down upon him. He knew that his leverage would be cut short.
“My laird, I was just convincing the lass that she should pledge her allegiance to ye and King Edward or face the consequences.”
“Until her trial no one is to speak to her, is that understood?”
“Aye, my laird. However consider the matter of our betrothal. I had an agreement wit her father that we would be married in the spring. I was already offered her dowry,” Stewart explained as he pulled out a piece of paper from his inside pocket.
“Nay. He is lying. We are no’ betrothed,” Annella yelled and violently shook her head. The Earl ignored her pleas and looked at the document Stewart held out in his hands. Staring at the flap of the document, her stomach turned at the sight of her father’s seal. Nay, it can nay be. He wouldnae have.
He replied to Stewart, “I see what you say is true. Then I shall grant your marriage to the lass. At Dumfries, she must stand before the court and pledge her allegiance to the King and afterwards the priest will give you your vows. She will be your responsibility. But know this, no traitor not even your little bride will be able to save herself from the noose if there is any sign of treachery.”
“Aye, my laird, I understand. She will take her place by my side. Thank ye, my laird.”
Stewart shook his hand and together they left the tent leaving Annella alone.
Annella laid on the cot curled up into a ball crying. She thought about the letter Stewart presented to the Earl. What was on it? Her father could not have possibly made arrangements for her marry to him, could he? She had never felt more abused, humiliated and alone in all her life. She didn’t care whether she lived or died but she would not marry Laird Stewart and she would not pledge to Longshanks.
She had slept a few hours before she was woken up by the guard. “Time to leave, my lady,” he said with compassion in his eyes.
He must have heard everything that had happened in the tent, she assumed. She sat up and allowed the guard to grab her ropes and assist her to the horses. It was daylight outside and the light stung her eyes. The left side of her face felt puffy from the bruise Stewart left upon her cheek. She was escorted onto Stewart’s horse and the group of them headed south. Throughout the ride, Stewart held her waist and pressed her into his groin. Every time she tried to struggle, he held on tighter around her waist.
Chapter 6
Rain fell with intensity for the first few days of Rory’s travel, making it difficult for both the men and the horses. He was fortunate that each night they were able to find shelter either in a cave or underneath the thick canopy of the dense forest. During the day the fog was thick and hard to navigate through, and the heavy wind caused the raindrops to sting his face.
“My Laird, they were here. I can see signs that they must have set up camp here for a night. The ashes in the pit are cold but still fresh. They must have left a day or two ago,” Colin called over to Rory.
Damnation. He missed them but knew he was on the right track. He worried for Annella’s safety. He had no idea, no sign if she still lived. Only that his heart told him that she was. He couldn’t explain it but knew she needed him and he was not about to let her down.
Rory had noticed that several footprints appeared in the dirt. At least two dozen were in the traveling party that held Annella. Rory had ridden with about a dozen men so the odds would be two to one. An easy victory for his warriors, he thought. Each Highlander himself could take on three at a time and not break a sweat.
“We should break to set up cam
p here. It’s secure and away from the high road,” Ewan suggested.
Rory looked at him with resentment in his eyes. Ewan knew that Rory wanted to press forward but he knew the status of the men and the horses. Rory needed to make the decision of a warrior and not with his heart. Ewan saw it in his eyes that he cared for Annella, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was not just guilt or duty that led him, it was love and he was going to make damn sure that he opened up Rory’s eyes and marry the lass.
“The men are tired and the horses need rest, my laird,” Ewan reminded him.
“Aye, ye are right, cousin. We shall have a short rest and then be on our way.”
Rory walked away both annoyed and displeased. He would have ridden nonstop if he could, but he knew it would not be wise to make this journey on his own. He walked over to Torran to bring him down to the river himself. He needed to be alone to think and devise a plan. His insides felt twisted. He felt helpless. Each passing moment was each moment Annella was in danger.
Sitting in the long grass Rory plucked one blade of grass at a time out of the ground and tossed it to the side, angered, and feeling that they were wasting time. He kept his attention fixed on his mission and duty. He began to think about the lessons his father had taught him about being a warrior. His father Duncan MacKinnon often spoke to him about honor, duty and the importance of not underestimating your opponent.
“Soon my son, ye will be laird of this clan; and ye will face many challenges. Ones that I have faith ye will overcome. Ye have grown into a strong warrior, one who will lead this clan into greatness and I have pride in me to call ye my son.”
Sitting on his father’s bed he had taken Rory’s hand, he placed it onto the jeweled hilt of his sword as he spoke his final words.
Remembering the days that followed his father’s death still made his chest feel tight with anguish. Rory looked down at his father’s sword strapped to his belt.
“Am I interrupting?” Ewan asked as he sat in the grass besides Rory.
“Nay,” Rory shook his head.
“Do ye remember when we were young lads and we would play in the woods pretending we were rescuing damsels in distress?” He smiled.
“Aye. I also remember ye always wanting to be the hero and made me yer servant,” Rory softly laughed.
“Aye. I almost forgot about that part. But I always was the better looking mon and the lasses always enjoy a mon with looks as fair as mine,” Ewan said in return being cocky.
“The lasses just swoon at the sight of ye. Must be yer plucky lips,” Rory teased.
“Ye are such an arse.”
“Is that how ye speak to yer laird now?” Rory raised one eyebrow.
“On the contrary, only in the company of others do I insult ye,” Ewan laughed out loud.
In front of the men, he would never dare call Rory by his Christian name other than address him as laird, but when they were alone he never forgot that Rory was still his cousin and the same lad he used to play with, taking sticks and using them as swords to fight off invisible bandits.
Giving him a more serious look he continued, “Ye love her.”
“What?”
“Lady Annella. Believe what ye will but the lass is real flesh and blood I tell ye and as bonny as they come. I’d take her meself if she was no’ already spoken for.”
Rory looked at him with a hint of jealousy. He did not want to think about Annella being with another man, especially not with his own cousin. “I do care for her, but love?”
“Aye, dinna be so foolish.”
Rory didn’t respond. Instead he thought about what his cousin had said. Is that what made him sweat every time he was near her? What made him purposely seek her out just to see her beautiful smile? Perhaps Ewan’s assumption was right. Rory was starting to fall for her. He yearned to hold her again in his arms, to kiss her and claim her as his because…he loved her.
Ewan continued to look at him but said nothing. He could see the internal struggle Rory was having with himself. It made him happy to see that the thoughts inside his head were turning and hoped that he had somehow helped Rory realize that he did indeed love the lass.
“Let’s go see how the men are doing wit the tents and food.”
“Aye,” Rory sat up from the grass and walked over to Torran to tie him up for the night.
With only enough food to barely sustain life, Annella’s stomach growled with intensity. Her denial to marry Laird Stewart and her refusal to give the Earl her oath to Edward had cost her a good beating and a cold cell in the dungeon. She had no idea where she was and knew that no one was coming for her. Annella’s hope was lost as she knew that her life would soon be cut short. Either she would be hung in the gallows tomorrow or the dirt packed ground of her cell would become her deathbed.
The bruises on her face caused her pain when she would try to open her eyes and her throat was so parched that it burned when she would try to speak. Sears of pain below her chest ached from where Stewart had aggressively kicked her after she refused him.
The dungeon had no light coming in and was cold and wet. The rain water had seeped into the walls and dampened the floor. She could hear the faint sound of mice scurrying about and droplets of water lightly thumping on the ground.
Her gown had been stripped off her body and only her ripped chemise remained. The thin fabric did not provide much warmth and she felt the coldness in her chest creeping in. She accepted her fate.
With her arms tightly wrapped around her body she said a prayer that the angels would come for her this night. She spoke of all of the things she was thankful for and for the kindness and love she was given. In her mind, she was instantly brought back to the moment on the hillside when Rory had kissed her. Kissing Rory had been the greatest things she had ever experienced. With her eyes closed, she recalled how she felt in his arms. Her body tingled as a slight warm tingle shivered down her spine. What she would give now to see him again, to tell him how she felt. To tell him that she did love him, wholeheartedly. She felt like such a fool.
“Pick her up. And this time dinna ruin her face,” Stewart roared at the two guards outside the gates.
The two men entered through the cell door and lifted Annella into the air. Thrusting open the door to the outside, Annella’s eyes were forced closed from the sting of the bright light. She had spent two days in the darkness. They carried her inside the large castle and up the stairs to the tower room. Stewart watched as she was tossed onto the bed.
“The priest will be here within the hour. A maid is here to help ye wash. If ye defy me again, lass, ye will get more than a good whipping,” Stewart snarled and walked away barring the door behind him.
Annella laid on the bed, too sore to move. A young shy blond girl about sixteen years of age entered with an empty basin and a pitcher of water.
Quietly she held the water to her lips and Annella greedily accepted. She poured some water into the basin and dipped a cloth into the water. The maid gently dabbed the cloth onto Annella’s face to wash off the dirt and blood.
“Thank ye,” Annella whispered in a hoarse voice.
“Ye are welcome. My name is Caitlin. Ye really should no’ anger Laird Stewart, my lady. He is a nasty mon.”
“Where am I?”
“Ye are at Caerlaverock Castle near Dumfries,” she answered.
Annella examined the girl and saw bruises along her arms. “Did he do that to ye?”
The young girl looked at her arms and pulled down the sleeves of her dress to cover them. Annella saw the shame in her eyes as she looked away. The two women remained quiet while Caitlin continued to wipe her down.
“My Laird, we should be past Campbell lands and be in Buchannan’s territory now, we are no’ too far from the lowlands. Should we be looking to set up camp?”
“Nay, we will ride a wee longer. I know of a monastery on Buchannan land we can stop at and replenish our supplies and rest the horses.”
Rory was familiar with the mo
nastery at Buchannan. Father Gregory used to minister at Dunakin Castle when his father was alive. After his passing, he left to minister to another nearby clan before making his way to Buchannan. Father Gregory was like a second father to Rory and his brother Bram. Often than not, Rory was with him in the church serving out one of his many penance due to his wild and disobedient nature as a young lad.
By the time they reached the monastery, the sun had already begun to set and the rain had finally ceased. He scaled down off Torran’s saddle and gave the reins to Angus to bring him to the creek with the rest of the horses.
Rory grabbed his bag and headed inside to greet Father Gregory. Buchannan Abbey was a small monastery. The thin slits for windows offered little light and did not provide much draft to freshen the stale smell of the rooms. The floors were covered with old rushes and small particles of dust floated around inside the chapel.
Father Gregory and the rest of the monks who inhabited the monastery lived off simple means. Eating only meager meals themselves, they offered whatever they could to fellow Scots in need. With the English burning villages and battles breaking out across the lowlands, many Scots were left helpless and homeless.
“Laird MacKinnon, it is good to see ye again, my young friend,” Father Gregory said with an extended hand. It had been some time since Rory had last seen him. The man now standing before him looked shorter. His hair had turned from grey to white and his beard was now a foot long. His garb robes were brown and matted and his hands were showing signs of aging as well. No longer steady but shaky and bony.
“Father, it is good to see ye as well.” Rory firmly shook his hand and offered him a brief embrace.
“Why have ye traveled so far? Last I heard ye were on yer way to join Wallace.”
“Aye, we stopped at Dunstan castle for a few nights to gather more men. However there was an attack upon their lands and their laird Hamish MacCallum has been killed. They took his daughter Lady Annella and we are going after them. It is my fault that this had happened, Father, so it is only right for me to be the one to rescue her. Have ye heard any word on the English passing through?”
April Holthaus - The MacKinnon Clan 01 Page 5