“Ye drive me mad. I’ve had enough of waiting.”
When she opened her eyes, she could barely see him in the fading light. His face was completely dark; his hat jutted out like the maw of a wild beast. He held her against the wall with his forearm pressed against her throat while he pinned her right arm with his body. He controlled her movement by twisting her right arm in his left. They were as close as mating dogs as he began to rub himself against her. Under his clothes, she felt him grow hard.
“A taste of what’s to come.”
She tried to scream, but he lifted his arm and snapped her jaw shut. She uttered a squawk. Her back pained her as he pushed her up and down against the wall and the hilt of his sword scraped her side. Footsteps thudded across the hall.
“Ye do as I say or I start murderin’ yer folk.”
The floor seem to fall out from under her.
“Stand still, ye silly woman.”
A voice from below asked, “Dé tha dol? What’s going on?”
“Answer him, ye—!”
“I won’t.”
“Ye’ll no refuse me.” Connington let go of Shona’s hand. He descended a few steps stamping his feet and groaning like a drunk. Then stopped as if he had tripped. “Goddamn.”
The man below spoke no Inglishe, but he recognised the curse and laughed.
Connington tried to catch up to her again, but suddenly she had the speed of a deer in her legs. She sprinted up the steps.
But the stair seemed to darken and shrink in size. She looked up, took a deep breath and fought the narrowing space. Terror rushed like a river from the skin of her head and back and chest. A taste of metal filled her mouth. She must use the power of the banshee.
But her mind filled with bog cotton. Dizzy. She must stand. Must not fall. She told herself that the stones in the wall and under foot, the air and the sky above were hers to command. She repeated the words again and again.
She’d face him—calmly and quietly. She pressed herself against the wall and took strength from their roughness. The smooth stone of the stair calmed her. She willed the terror which filled every particle of her body to rise up far above her into the sky. Her arms warmed and her hands tingled. She lifted them into the air.
Connington roared as he thundered up the steps, his face dark with the blood of anger, his naked sword in his hand. Fear was his ally, filling the space all round him, pushing upward to surround her, threatening to smother her once again. She had to repel him before his iron sword was too close.
As he appeared on the stair, she pushed, and lights—small flames of fire—lit the stair. Around her came a light sound of singing. As if a wall of earth and stone had struck him, he tumbled backwards down the stairs. He expelled breath as he hit the stair or the wall and he cursed. The falling went on forever. Finally she heard him tearing great breaths from the air. Her heart flipped in its cage. Still alive. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Ye'll sorely regret the trouble ye caused me. Ye won’t get clear of me.”
She was safe for the moment.
“Yer folk won’t either!”
She was shaking again.What could she do about his menace? Sort that later.
“Catriona!” she shouted.
The door of Priscilla’s chamber opened and her stepmother appeared. She stepped back into her chamber and said nothing.
Shona ran past her up the stair. Connington cursed loudly below as she ran into her own chamber.
Catriona slammed the door shut behind her while concern for her nurseling filled her eyes. She barred the door. Shaking, Shona told her what had happened.
Catriona gasped. “I can’t believe it. I never thought badly of him till now.”
“I was lucky to escape him.”
“If that Connington man woos every woman like that, small wonder no one will have him,” said Catriona. “He’ll not get you while I live. You’re safe now.”
Catriona could do little if he tried.
Catriona fetched a plaid from a chest and wrapped it about her, yet she felt faint and couldn’t stop shivering. “I’ll get you something hot to drink.”
“Please, don’t leave yet. Not yet. He is still dangerous.” She held onto Catriona’s hand. She wanted Campbells around her all the time. Next time he caught her alone, he might rape her. If she and Connington were betrothed, people would give them privacy to let them discover more about each other—which was the last thing she wanted. She could do nothing to prevent it … unless she trained and became stronger in wielding her banshee powers. She groaned at the thought.
Her bruised arms and neck pained her. Shona was the child of a gentleman. A chief. No one was allowed to lift a hand to her. She had never been mistreated in her life except by this man. She couldn’t depend on anyone else for protection. They depended on her. She’d not weep, she’d not weep at all. She’d think and make a plan to deal with Connington.
“There must be a way I can escape Connington.”
Catriona’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Even your stepmother can’t deny he’s done a terrible thing. But she’d do little to help you, so blinded by his charms is she.”
Someone tapped at the door. Shona and Catriona looked at each other.
“Surely it won’t be Connington. He’d ram the door to splinters.” Shona stood to meet the threat.
Shona heard a plaintive female voice. Priscilla’s. She went to the door, but Catriona rushed to her back and put her hands on her shoulders to hold her back. “Don’t open the door. No, it’s a trick.”
Shona heard sadness and regret in the voice. Not betrayal. She unbarred the door, and found Priscilla there alone. Even her dark Lowland dress seemed less starchy and full.
“Come in quickly!” When Priscilla was inside, Shona looked up and down the stair. No one. No cursing. Only quiet.
“Where are her maids, is my question,” said Catriona.
“Your maids?” said Shona in Inglishe.
Priscilla stood in the middle of the floor. “I cannae trust them. I cannae stay long, but I ha’e something tae say tae ye.”
“Please sit, Priscilla. Stay as long as you like.”
Catriona brought each a chair and set it close to the hearth. As she passed by Shona, she looked up and shook her head. Her pursed lips told Shona that she distrusted Priscilla. But Shona felt sadness in the older woman—a profound well existed inside her without joy, without love.
“I ken what Thomas is. He’ll charm ye an ye dae what he says. If ye dinnae, he insult ye and even batter ye. Like he did in the stair. I know a’ that. I kent it many a year ago. I just coudna admit it.”
Catriona looked at Shona, alarm in her wide eyes. “What’s she saying?”
“She knows Connington is evil.” Shona understood her stepmother so much better. She was a stranger in exile, without friends or allies.
Shona made the decision that had been in her mind for days. She had to refuse Thomas to her father’s face, and she had to tell him about the plot against the king. “I must leave.”
Catriona drew a quick breath. “You can’t tell your plans. She’ll betray you—she’s a blood relative of that vile beast.”
Priscilla considered Catriona. “She disnae trust me, your woman. Aye, I know. But I willnae betray ye. I’ll help ye. I’ll dae anything.”
Shona studied Priscilla and placed a calming hand on Catriona’s shoulder. “I believe her.”
Catriona wept. “Her people mean us no good.”
“You may be right about most of them. But not about Priscilla.”
“I’m leaving as soon as I can, Priscilla.”
Priscilla worried a cambric handkerchief. “I can mislead Thomas. Tell him ye’ve gone where ye havenae.”
“If he finds out, he may harm you.”
“I deserve a beating.”
“You don’t. No woman does.”
“I’ll tak’ what comes tae me.”
Shona asked her stepmother, “
Will you come with me? Do you want to return to Edinburgh?”
“I wadna be sure of ma welcome,” Priscilla said. “Yer faither willnae listen tae me. I have no say in Edinburgh.”
“Are you sure? We’ll travel as lightly as possible. No more than what our horses can carry. Four plaids, four changes of linen, silver plate and a bag of coins. I’ll bring my uncle’s gift of silk lèine and earasaid.”
“I’ll stay. I dinnae ken how long I’ll be here, but I’ll keep yer secret.”
To Catriona’s unspoken question, Shona answered, “I invited her to go to Edinburgh with us.”
“The better to betray us. This woman is up to no good.” Catriona shook her head. “And that Connington man has so many soldiers here. They’d catch us up and drag us back.”
“I’ll say I’m leaving to visit my uncle’s widow.”
“Maybe that’d work.”
Priscilla quietly studied the tiles on the floor, then spoke to Shona. “I’ll try tae make him blyth and merry again. Then ye can come down and get what ye need.”
“If you won’t go to Edinburgh, I’ll tell Morag and she’ll help you if you need anything. If—if you’re in any danger.”
“Morag will have trouble enough protecting the rest of us.” Catriona’s voice was still unfriendly.
“I’d best go downstairs noo.” Priscilla went out her Lowland dress trailing behind her.
“Let’s pack up. Come on, I need to do this and I need your advice.”
Catriona slowly went to Shona’s chests and opened them.
Shona bundled up a sheepskin mantle to keep her warm at night. Essential. She’d get some herbs and ointments from Morag for insect bites and abrasions. She chose some linen shifts and two plaids with which she could make an earasaid. She’d have her linens washed somewhere on the way.
“Will you ask the cooks to set aside some cheese and oatmeal? And some whisky. I’ll barter it for milk and apples.”
Catriona wept.
Shona stopped and embraced her serving woman.
“I see what I can bring back.” Catriona wiped her cheek and went to arrange what she could.
Shona barred the door behind her and pushed a chest against it. Her shoulders fell with the weight of dread on them. She would have to confront him again. Not quite by herself. She had a new ally in Priscilla.
When Catriona returned, she chewed her lip. “You won’t get by him, my dear. He has ears like a wild cat. He is very suspicious of me. How wrong I was not to trust you.”
Shona knew she was right about Connington when everyone thought he was handsome and charming. But she couldn’t say why. Banshee power? And she knew that Priscilla would not betray them. “I have to see Alasdair. I have an idea that will keep us safe ... safer.”
Catriona grasped her two hands and looked in her eyes. “Whatever you decide, you can count on my help.”
Shona descended the spiral stair behind Priscilla. Connington sprawled in her father’s chair in front of the hearth, chatting with his soldiers, his words followed by their comments. They filled the hall, two at the windows, two by the entrance and the rest seated at a trestle table round Connington. Try not to look right or left. Head high. Look unapproachable and perhaps none of them will.
Connington looked far too comfortable in her father’s chair. She lifted her head to the portrait of her father, painted after he’d become a knight. At the time he said everyone would know he was powerful. No one would dare offend the Campbells of Gleann Muirn.
Heart fluttering like a caged bird, she crossed the room. Morag’s cottage, her refuge, was a few minutes away.
“Our lovely lass favours us with her presence.” Connington flashed his best smile.
As though he had never touched her in the stair. Her shoulders rose with anger. She drew herself up straight as a queen.
“Come here, ma dearie.” He curled his finger at her.
She’d rather gut rotten fish.
“Noo wha’ must I dae tae make ye mind?” He sat in the best chair with arms and a cushion while twirling one of the finest goblets in the house. It almost spun out of his hand. Shona spread her arms as if to catch it. He watched her, not the precious glass, and sneered. He looked significantly at his soldiers and said, “Your faither’s bed is verra comfortable. Aye, a fine bed in a fine hoose. Meant for a fine purpose.” He smiled with pressed lips and then licked them. The soldiers laughed in harsh tones all round him.
His words seemed harmless to them. Part of a normal courtship where they came from?
“The minister’s agreed tae stay and marry us. No need for any heathenish ceremony.” His gaze freely roamed her body. The tip of his tongue stuck out from his mouth. Such a small thing—it disgusted her.
“My father will return for the wedding?” If her father returned, she could beg him to turn out Connington. Her father wouldn’t force her to marry such a man if he knew about his evil ways.
“Too dangerous. If yer father leaves Edinburgh, the Tables will believe he’s a Royalist spy.”
“Tables?”
“The name of the new government. Different classes of folk sit at different tables in the assembly. Yer faither knows about ma courting ye. He’s not against it. Ye doubt me? Ye’ve no choice. Ye may as well accept what will be.”
She said nothing, But she would fight him in whatever way she could. She would feign compliance. She curtseyed as Priscilla had taught her and walked away.
“Come back, Mistress Campbell.”
She stood still with her back to him. Her breathing quickened. He could do nothing to her in front of the household.
In an instant, he strode to her and crushed her arm in his fist, still smiling. “Sit, if ye please. Where I may see ye.”
After forcing her down, he said to Priscilla, “Dear aunt, I wull have speech with ma future bride.”
“But surely I must—” Priscilla’s face showed her concern. She and her maids shuffled away to the far end of the hall, gawking at Shona, and then discussing the quality of a tapestry.
And yet, she knew what he had tried to do in the spiral stair. She too fears her nephew. Still, the truce with Priscilla might help her deal with Connington.
“We’ll journey tae the borders, tae my own country. Ye’ll bide there safe while I’m awa’ in England. Ye bring any trouble tae me and ye never see yer folk again. D’ye understand?” He increased the pressure on her wrist.
She nodded, caught like a canary in a golden cage, the door open for the cat. She stepped toward him, the smell of unclean flesh assailing her nostrils. Think. “England? You’ll leave me for England?”
He released her and she rubbed her arm.
“Aye, we go tae war against the king, an ungodly ruler in God’s eyes.”
“Against the king.” He hadn’t always been a good king, according to her father, because he ignored Scotland. But God’s anointed king wasn’t evil. Surely not. “You’ll be hanged for sure.”
Wrong thing to say.
“Though that wad please ye, it’s King Charles may come tae an untimely end.” One hand chopped through the air onto the other.
She flinched. Treason. What he said was unthinkable. Like killing a saint or an angel. Perhaps he was mad. The rebellion couldn’t be widespread. Though maybe it was … the chapman had spoken of riots in Edinburgh. Perhaps her father and brothers were in great danger among such men. She had to learn more of the great world beyond Gleann Muirn.
Priscilla completed another round of the hall, chatting with her maids, then halted in front of Connington.
“Aye, ye can sit. Ma bride and I understand each other. “
“She’ll need my company in yer hoose.” Priscilla stood behind him and gently put her hands on his shoulders.
He turned around rapidly and shook them off. “What are ye doin’, woman?”
Her face was a mask without expression, her eyes without life.
God only knew how Connington would use the MacPharlans. They had no intere
st in the king or his battles. More likely, they’d welcome a chance to lift someone’s cattle. Alasdair’s. But they had little idea of Connington's ruthlessness. Shona had to get more information. She ate the evening meal beside her intended husband and Priscilla.
“And I shall never go home to Edinburgh. There will be no end to my exile,” said her stepmother.
“Yer husband may see ye well provided for.” Connington chewed on a massive leg of ham.
Priscilla lowered her head and stuck out her lower lip.
Connington cleared his throat and smiled at Shona. “Dear lady, a light labour and a pleasure for ye tae preserve yer husband’s patrimony.”
Priscilla did not looked pleased. And so the evening passed. Shona heard no more about the conspiracy.
Before she left for her chamber, Connington said, “We marry at Martinmas. As I told ye, ye’ve two weeks to arrange yer affairs.”
At Samhainn she’d be among strangers unless she acted soon. She couldn’t live in his house. She couldn’t live with this brutish man.
She swore she would not.
Shona opened the chests in her room to decide what to take with her. Her recent conversations with Priscilla explained a great deal. She wouldn’t leave with them. If Priscilla stayed, she’d surely be safe with Connington.
“Would you like to go out walking with Catriona and me?”
“I don’t fancy walking out on thae moors.”
“You attended the assembly.”
“I found it difficult … I hated it, truth tae tell. Nae hooses, nae streets. I don’t want ever tae go oot again.”
Priscilla was afraid of being outside.
Astonishing. To Shona, the fields and hills of Gleann Muirn were as much a part of her as the flesh and bones of her body. The smell of the pines and the scent of wild flowers filled her with joy and renewed her. Without them she would be an empty husk without purpose or meaning.
“Will you come with me to the parapet walk, then? We’ll be on top of the world. Good fresh air up there.” She covered one of Priscilla’s hands with her own, but did not presume to touch her too long.
Priscilla hesitated. Then she nodded indicating the maids. “They need fresh air as weel.”
The Banshee of Castle Muirn Page 18