Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  Effie grabbed her goblet of wine and drank swiftly, pushing the vegetable down her throat. Was there a way to escape this nightmare? There had to be a way out, she thought.

  The clanking sound of silver cups brought the room to silence as Tavish stood. “As ye all know by now, Sir Herbert Maxwell, my father has entered through Heaven’s gates. May his soul rest in peace.” As if on cue, every man, woman, and child bowed their heads and repeated, “Rest in peace.” Tavish continued his speech. “As his only son, I have inherited the seat of chief of clan Maxwell. Once the charter has been recorded and signed, I will be your chief.” The great hall stood silent. Not the warm welcome Tavish had wanted. Clearing his throat as he looked at Effie he announced, “On a lighter note I’m proud to announce that me sister, Effie, will marry Sir Henry of Lancaster bringing our two houses together and under English rule.”

  From the back of the great hall a man stood and called out, “What will be done to the men who attacked our tower and murdered our chief? I believe I speak on behalf of all clansmen. Justice should be served.”

  “No one wants justice as much as I do,” Tavish lied. “The man who murdered me father lies in the dungeon and awaits his punishment.”

  The man spoke up again. “But why wait? Let the bastart pay.” The room erupted with their approval.

  Tavish glanced at Sir Henry and Henry nodded his support. Wanting to be in the clan’s good favor, Tavish seized the moment. “So the clan has spoken, aye?” A symphony of ayes echoed throughout the hall. “A public flogging, aye?”

  The man turned behind him as if asking the clan mockingly. “Flogging?” The crowd grumbled. “Nay.” The man stood firm and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Trial by combat!” Tavish yelled out as he held his goblet high and the room exploded with cheers and the Maxwell war cry. There was nothing more worthy of approval to the Highlanders as announcing there was going to be a bloody brawl. They breathed to fight; it was in their blood.

  Sir Henry stood and cleared his throat and the room fell silent once more. “It shall be my honor to champion and fight against the accused. I will avenge my soon to be wife’s father.” He looked down at Effie and smiled.

  Effie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Torn between seeking justice for her father and believing that the man she loved had killed him, she didn’t know what to do. If in fact Conall had killed her father, he still deserved a fair trial and to plead his case. This was not justice, this was a lynching.

  As the crowd cheered over drams of whiskey and danced to the tin whistle, Effie excused herself and made her way to Tavish. She had to talk some sense into him. “Tavish, may I have a word with ye?”

  “Oh, aye, what be on yer mind?” The smugness of his smirk was enough to make Effie’s stomach turn.

  “I do no’ believe ’tis fair to not have a trial for the accused.”

  Tavish’s smirk turned grim as he glared at her. “Dinnae ye want the man who killed father to pay for what he has done to our family?”

  Effie glanced down at the floor, afraid to speak her mind. “If in fact the man is found guilty by a fair trial, aye.”

  Tavish grabbed her arm and pulled her into him. “I be the chief and what I say will be obeyed. Now, excuse me.” Tavish walked away to bask in the approval of his fellow clansmen.

  Being that she was a fighter at heart it sickened her how quickly her brother could weaken her. Growing more irritated with herself, more so being here watching these people celebrate over injustice, she needed fresh air. Quickly, she exited the great hall, leaving Sir Henry with the excuse of a headache for her early departure.

  Once outside, Effie walked and walked and walked some more. She walked through the courtyard to the gatehouse and kept on moving over the bridge until she found herself at her father’s and mother’s gravesites right below the old rowan tree. The tree was full of power, its trunk black and twisted. It protected the dead.

  Effie fell to her knees and began to cry. She grabbed a handful of freshly disturbed dirt, for it had been only a few hours since she had laid her father to rest. In fact the earth was still warm.

  Both of her parents lay before her underground. Never had she felt so alone and hollow inside. Everyone she loved, she had lost.

  She smiled as she remembered a time when she was a wee child. Often when scared she would sneak into her parents’ bedchamber as they slept at night. She would climb into their bed and snuggle between them, flanked by love and safe from the things that go bump in the night. Oh how she wished she could do that now.

  Sobbing, Effie lay down between their long rectangular gravestones that had been laid on top of the ground. She rested her cheek on the cold slab marking her father’s grave. Pulling her cloak tighter against her body, she said, “Da, please forgive me for leaving the way I did. I wish I could have stayed.”

  “Och, lass, yer da was verra proud of ye.”

  Effie looked up and shot up from the ground. “Oh Neil!” Effie cried and raced toward the Highlander with her arms wide open. Finally a familiar face she could find comfort in. Wrapping her arms around Neil, she let go of everything tormenting her. “Thank God that ye’re here.”

  “Sweet lass, I’m sorry about yer father. I should have told ye sooner.” Neil folded his arms around her. She broke into a million pieces as her world came crashing down and spun her out of control.

  “Neil, ’tis no’ fair.”

  “I know. Yer father was a good man. He left us too early.” Neil looked down at the graves.

  “Aye.”

  For a moment Effie allowed herself to let go of the pain of losing her father, the pain of being back home, and the pain of knowing there was nothing she could do to help Conall. Even if he was guilty he deserved a fair trial.

  “Tavish is out of control. He’s going to kill that man in the dungeon for murdering me father. He deserves a fair trial, no?” She began to sob, for saying the words out loud made it all too real.

  “Effie, that man did no’ kill yer father.”

  Sniffling, Effie took a step back, confused as to what she had just heard. “What do ye mean?”

  “The English garrison led by Sir Henry attacked the north tower. Tavish convinced everyone that clan Douglas was behind the attack and those of us who asked questions...well.” Neil looked away and Effie understood what he was saying. No commander as loyal as Neil was to her father would surrender to a tyrant, unless the consequences were deadly to his men-at-arms.

  “So, he’s innocent?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh dear God!” Effie covered her mouth and began to pace.

  Neil looked suspiciously at Effie. “Do ye know that man?”

  Effie stopped mid-step and turned to face Neil. “Aye.”

  “Lass, he was here to discuss some unsavory business dealings with yer father. But when he arrived, yer da had already passed on.”

  “This is some kind of trickery, but for what? What does he gain?”

  “It was the only way to bring ye home. I think we both know why?”

  “Aye, to be chief.” The puzzle pieces were finally beginning to make sense. The attack was a diversion, so someone else could get away with murder then accuse Conall of it. Tavish was a greedy bastard. He was capable of committing murder, that she knew for sure, but could he have killed father?

  Knowing she would come back home, Tavish could use Conall to make her do his bidding. But marry Sir Henry, why? There were several wealthy houses he could ally with, why Henry? Why England?

  “Neil, do ye think Tavish murdered father?”

  Neil looked around for wandering eyes and ears. “Aye, I do,” he whispered.

  “We have to do something aboot it. An innocent man can no’ be accused of a crime he didnae commit.”

  Furthermore she would not stand by and allow Conall to suffer because of her brother’s evil ways. Effie began to pace again, conjuring a plan to help Conall escape. “Neil, I need to see the prisoner. Can ye h
elp me?”

  A wariness came about Neil as he nodded his head. “Aye.”

  “Good.” Effie began to make her way back to the castle. “I want to see him now.”

  “Wait, not now.” Neil stopped her. “His chamber is well guarded. I’ll come for ye tonight. But first I must give you this.” Neil reached into his jerkin and handed her a rolled missive. “Yer father wanted ye to have it.”

  Effie looked at the scroll and back to Neil as if she was afraid to touch it. Father’s last words. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, her chest tightened. Taking the letter gently, she realized she was too upset to read it.

  “Lass, I’ll come for ye tonight. Until then stay in your bedchamber,” Neil ordered, leaving Effie to absorb this new-found information.

  Trepidation crashed through her like waves and threatened to drag her down deep into hysteria. Emotions that she had thought were long buried, bubbled to the surface. The sorrow she felt for the loss of her father made her heart ache, and the thought of losing Conall shattered her soul.

  Somehow she had to find a way to get Conall out of this mess and not be caught in the process, for she blamed herself. She should have known that she could never escape Tavish. He was always lurking, planning his next scheme. Not only did she suffer from his evilness, now her father had been a victim, and if she didn’t do something about it Conall would end up the same way.

  Wiping a fallen tear from her cheek, she squared her shoulders and made her way to her bedchamber. She’d be damned if she lost both men she loved by the hands of her brother.

  Effie quickly opened her bedchamber door and stepped inside. “Maggie” she called out, with no reply. Hmmm, where is Maggie? Mayhap she’s stayed at her ma’s house for the night, she thought. Strange, she thought Maggie would have said something. Brushing off the worry, Effie walked over to a table that sat next to the hearth and splashed her face with some water from the wash basin.

  As she was patting her face dry, she noticed her harp that sat neatly in the corner of the room. Instantly her long, elegant fingers itched to strum its strings. Effie walked over and took the harp in her hands, sitting down in the chair that it had rested on. As if it were second nature, she closed her eyes and began to play a tune and hummed along with it.

  Nothing could compare, nor soothe her soul like playing the harp. The world ceased to exist when she was behind the stringed piece of heaven. With feather-light touches she stroked through the chords with the grace of a saint. If she played loud enough, perhaps Conall would hear it and it would quiet his soul as well, she hoped.

  HIGHLAND STORM

  CHAPTER TEN

  Time would always be the bane of his existence. There was no starting point for Conall, at least not one he remembered, nor was there an ending. Time didn’t exist in his world. His soul was eternal as if he were some divine deity. But one promise that always held true to Dragonkine was that a warrior without his mate to calm him was an untamed beast.

  As Conall sat reflecting, he could feel his dragon rattling in its cage, foaming at the mouth, ready for bloodshed. He desperately needed to get out of here and fast.

  The meal, more like slop, was sticky porridge and stale bread that was harder than rocks. Conall broke off a piece of the day-old bread and popped it in his mouth. He chewed his frustrations out on it, for there seemed to be no way out of this hell.

  The iron bars stood firm and if his suspicions were right they were laced with magic. In fact the entire holding cell had been spelled with magic; he could feel it. His wounds had not healed, he was weak, and his dragon was locked up tighter than a virgin before her wedding night. No doubt in his mind, someone had gone to great lengths and measures to ensure he’d stay captive and vulnerable.

  In his peripheral vision he saw a movement as a small creature scurried across the dusty dirt floor and over to Conall’s porridge bowl. Acting on instincts because that was all he had left, he grabbed a small rock and threw it at the creature, hitting it. It let out a high-pitched squeal and scampered off. “Bloody rats,” Conall hissed.

  “Looks to me ye found yerself a friend,” Caden jested.

  “Bugger off ye lout. I’m in no mood for yer jesting.” Conall popped another piece of bread in his mouth.

  “Och, lout? That’s the pot calling the cauldron black.” Caden obviously had no boundaries when it came to his mouth. Just like a young lad, he was full of himself. Brawn with no good sense about him. At least that’s what Conall saw.

  Conall brushed the lad off as if he could care less about his bantering.

  The rat came back for another try at his porridge. This time Conall let the damn mangy rodent get a little closer, kicking at it when the time was right. Still the rat resisted his efforts.

  “That thing sure has some bollocks,” Caden added.

  Conall laid his head back to rest it on the wall behind him. He no longer had the fight within him to even ward off the furry creature, so he let the rat have his bowl of cold mess.

  “Ye dinnae look good.” Caden squatted in front of Conall, observing how pale his cellmate had gotten. “Dinnae tell me yer giving up on that lass.”

  “’Tis no concern of yers,” Conall croaked, swallowing hard. “Let me be.”

  Caden shook his head at the stubborn man. “I’ll see if I can fetch ye some water.” He stood and walked over to the bars without touching them. “Guard!” he called out with no reply. “We need water!”

  As if he had fallen into some kind of state between consciousness and a dream, he swore he heard the faintest hum of a harp being played. He had to be delusional, yet his impeccable sense of hearing did not deceive him. There it was again, the softly stroked tunes soothing his body. Aye, Effie was behind those notes, for she could play the harp like an angel.

  Conall closed his eyes and took in the enchanting music note by note, calming the whirlwind storm brewing inside to a peaceful standstill. Even his dragon purred in serene bliss.

  Just when he thought he would give up, there was an overwhelming demand at the center of his gut pulling him to Effie as if she was the center of his universe, telling him to hold on. She was his everything, life would not be worth living if she wasn’t there to live it with him. A slight smile crept across his face as he listened to the music, just like that bloody rat that never gave up until it got what it wanted, Conall vowed he’d fight until his last breath for his Effie.

  He must have dozed off, for the grinding moan of the dungeon’s doors startled him. He was waiting to hear the heavy footfalls of the guards as their weapons clanged together, but it was silent, as though whoever had entered didn’t want to be heard.

  And then there it was, sweeping over his body like a cool breeze scented with the smell of sweet honey, awakening every hardwired alpha male sense he had. Her smell was intoxicating.

  Effie came into sight and Conall stood slowly, brushing the dust off his kilt. He must have looked like death, he thought, as he ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair, taming the curls. He now sported at least a fortnight of facial hair that itched him.

  As he got closer to her, he didn’t know what was swirling around in that head of hers. Did she believe the rumors that Tavish had planted in her head? Furthermore, could she believe that he was capable of such a thing as murder? Aye, of course she knows I’m capable, I am a dragon. He reached the bars but treaded softly, unsure of how Effie would react to him.

  Effie nervously approached the cell and sheepishly looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, I should have told ye about me past.”

  “Why didnae ye tell me ye were a Maxwell?”

  “I was ashamed, no’ of me name but of me past. Conall, Tavish did awful things to me. He blackmailed me.” She looked down at her hands. “There were times I wanted to tell ye, but I...I just couldn’t.”

  “Effie, ’tis no’ yer fault. I love ye no matter what.” Conall came closer to the bars, slipped his arm through one of the slats and brushed away her hair from her face.
>
  “Even if I was forced to be a whore?” Her voice shook as she fought back the tears.

  Conall paused, his jaw tightened. He kept his composure in front of Effie, yet he raged inside and begged to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck. “Effie, look at me.”

  She did exactly what he said to do. She held his storm-gray eyes.

  “’Tis no’ yer fault. Yer brother will pay heavily for what he has done to ye. Ye are not the same lass as ye were back then.”

  Shaking her head, she agreed with him. She knew she was not at fault but still she felt ashamed.

  “Ye’re hurt.” Effie pointed at the bloodstain on his tunic.

  Conall looked down at it. “Aye, ye should see the other man.” He cocked a brow and grinned.

  “I’m sorry I should have come to ye sooner. Ye’re wounded, are ye hurting?”

  “Nay, I’m fine. What aboot ye? Are ye well?”

  Effie shook her head no, for the words were lodged in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at Conall.

  “Och, lass, dinnae cry. I’ll find a way to get us oot of here.” Conall wiped her tears away.

  “’Tis no’ possible, Conall. My brother has accused ye of murder and isnae going to give ye a fair trial. A trial by combat has been issued as punishment.”

  Sternly Conall stared into Effie’s green depths. “I do no’ care about a trial. I need to know, Effie, do ye believe I killed yer father?”

  “Nay, I know ye’re innocent. ’Tis all Tavish’s doing to bring me back home. I’m so sorry.”

  Conall’s jaw ticked again when he heard the bastard’s name.

  Effie observed Conall’s wounds. “Conall, yer wound is still bleeding and it looks deep.”

  Alas he couldn’t hide the fact that he had been stabbed. His tunic had been sliced and was now stained with blood.

  “And ye dinnae look good.”

  “Och, lass, I am in a dungeon.”

  “Stop jesting. I’m serious.” Effie looked down the corridor. Neil had taken care of the guards for at least the night. No man, even a Sassenach, could turn down a few drams of fine Scottish whiskey. The guards would be piss drunk long into the next morn.