TWO LAIRDS ONE LADY

by John Ryan

  “That is perfectly acceptable, nephew. Now, just tell me what ye have in mind.”

  Colin listened in rapt attention as Thayer divulged his plan.

  “I’ve learned that Lord Devlin has a vulnerability we can exploit. Whilst Elspeth and I journeyed to see her mother, we were nearly discovered by an English patrol in the Lothian woodlands. Concealed in the shadows of an overgrown thicket, we were able to hear the men complaining that Lord Devlin was in the habit of dispatching small, sporadic patrols. If we lay low and watch the gate, we will surely discover an opening.”

  “Aye, that should work to our advantage,” Colin concurred, a devilish grin splitting his beard in twain.

  Thayer laughed, adding, “Aye, those poor bastards thought they were being overburdened. Now we shall give them something to complain about!”

  As the echo of Thayer’s laughter dissipated into the chill of the night, his smile faded. Once again, his thoughts had been overwhelmed with the vision of Elspeth at Lord Devlin’s mercy. Seeking a diversion, he bid his uncle to relate the tales he was wont to tell him as young lad. Though the dreadful vision remained, his uncle’s infectious laughter momentarily eased his distrait worries and lightened his burden.The miles slid by slowly as visibility whittled to a mere few horse-lengths. Suddenly, as if commanded by the Almighty, the clouds withered, feathering the pale moon as it shone brightly over the moors.

  “Behold, Uncle! God lights our way!” Thayer exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Aye, lad!” Colin replied with elation. “Ye ken, when I wished ye Godspeed, Thayer, I didn’t mean it literally. I think ye surely are blessed!”

  “I shall be blessed the moment Elspeth is safely back in my arms, Uncle,” Thayer murmured. A wry grin toying at the corners of his mouth, he added, “Yet, that bonny lass has another thing coming to her if she thinks she can ever run away from me again!”

  Their path illuminated by the wan lunar glow, Thayer and Colin opted to traverse their way toward Dirleton amid the shielding shadows of the forest. While their journey would surely take a while longer, the woodlands would afford them the greatest opportunity to ambush any unwary English patrol they might encounter.

  At last, the great stone path signaled that they neared the castle.

  Without warning, Thayer yanked hard on Ethelion’s reins. Inhaling deeply, he grimaced as he detected the distinct odor of death drifting from the site of the battle.

  Halting his steed, Colin shook his fist in fury.

  “Lad, those rotten bastards are going to pay for this!” Colin raged as he nearly choked on the offensive odor.

  “Uncle, hush!” Thayer whispered, holding a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

  Muffled voices drew near. Recognizing the distinct tone of an English tongue, the two men froze. The Englishman’s voice was booming.

  “Lad,” the largest of the Englishmen chortled, “Lord Devlin may even knight you now that we have delivered that bonny lass to him.”

  Thayer heart sank. In his soul, he knew the Englishmen surely spoke of Elspeth!

  “Sir Edward,” the boy resisted, defiantly thrusting back his shoulders, “I cannot be proud of that! She is a Scot, like me. Forsooth, I’m ashamed to be riding with ye.”

  By the wavering pubescent tone, Thayer quickly surmised taht the voice belonged to Elspeth’s cousin, Brice. Thayer gazed with empathy upon the boy, looking haggard atop his steed, and lagging behind the two English knights. Every muscle in Thayer’s and Colin’s bodies tensed as they spied Sir Edward lift his gauntlet to strike Brice. Putting their heels to their steeds, both men burst from the cover of the thicket.

  “Why dinna ye pick on someone your own size, ye blasted English oaf!” Thayer shouted as he glowered menacingly at Sir Edward.

  “Ah, the mighty coward shows his face at last!” Sir Edward sniped caustically. “Behold, the famed Sir Thayer MacCourt, the mighty warrior felled so easily by a little comely vixen.”

  Fondling the hilt of his sword, Thayer growled threateningly, “If ye worship any god, I suggest ye pray to him now. That will be the last slight that shall ever come from your accursed lips.”

  Thayer spurred Ethelion toward Sir Edward as Colin charged the second soldier. With a mighty crash, the four men collided, swords slashing and shields parrying in defense. Colin overtook his quarry first. Striking the soldier’s shield, he clove it in two. The force of the impact sent the soldier reeling from his horse. Wounded, the Englishman staggered to his feet and raised his sword defiantly. An honorable warrior, Colin dismounted to oppose him upon the ground. Bowing, both men charged. Deflecting the younger soldier’s blows with his shield, Colin’s sword quickly found home. The English soldier gasped in horror, his hands gripping Colin’s sword, which now grotesquely protruded from his chest.

  Instinctively ducking as an arrow whizzed past his head, Colin stood in amazement as he watched the bolt strike his mortally wounded foe. The Englishman slid to the ground--dead without a quiver. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Colin’s face split into a winning grin. Brice stood triumphantly nearby, his young face glowing as he raised his bow in victory. Bowing his head, Colin lifted his sword in gratitude before returning his regard to Thayer and Sir Edward already engaged in mortal combat. With a grunt, he raced toward the pair but halted shy of the men when he noted Thayer wave him away.

  This was to be Thayer’s fight and no others.

  Colin chastised himself for not expecting his nephew to behave this way. He knew well of his nephew’s prowess in battle. Unfortunately, he also knew Thayer had a worthy adversary this day. Sir Edward was no easy foe, nor was he a novice in battle. He had earned the rank of knight by leading the charge against the Scots during the battle of Sterling Bridge. And, though his men were ultimately defeated, he single-handedly defended his commander against four Scottish warriors. But there was one significant disparity separating the men. While Sir Edward fought to serve his King, and ultimately his own interests, Thayer fought for the woman he loved. For Thayer, there was much more at stake than his own life. Elspeth’s fate, and her family’s, hung in the balance.

  At first, every clout of Thayer’s sword was answered by a parry and counterattack from Sir Edward. But as Thayer drew on his intense love for Elspeth, his strikes became faster and more powerful. Sir Edward retreated, barely able to lift his shield in time to deflect the ever faster raining blows. Summoning every ounce of strength he retained, Thayer swung his sword in a wild overhand arc, striking Sir Edward’s shield and dislodging it from his hand. Tumbling backward onto to the cold earth, Sir Edward reached for the dagger he had trussed to his waist. Thayer made one final thrust into the chest of the Englishman.

  It was over.

  Colin sprinted to Thayer’s side and threw his arm around his husky neck, kissing him sloppily.

  “I hope ye didn’t show your affection to my aunt that way, Uncle,” Thayer chuckled between heavy breaths as he wiped the spittle from his cheek.

  Smiling broadly, Colin slid his arm from Thayer’s back and strode toward Brice. Throwing his arm around the young man’s shoulder, Colin quipped, “Lad, you’re a very handy one to have around. Very handy indeed!”

  Brice flashed a youthful smile.

  Clearing his throat, he chortled, “Aye, and ye just wait till I show ye a secret passage into the castle!”

  Thayer and Colin exchanged glances of astonishment.

  “Uncle, I am beginning to believe ye when ye say we have been blessed!” Thayer exclaimed mirthfully. “Lad, by all means, please show us the way.”

  “If ye will follow me, Sirs, I will do just that,” Brice exclaimed proudly as he flashed a beaming grin and spurred his mount forward.

  Thayer and Colin hurriedly mounted their steeds and, with a look of disbelief, followed Brice into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hastily delivered to the castle by Sir Edward and his soldiers at arms, Elspeth was curtly escorted to the tower by a surly, hulking, raven-haired Eng
lish guard.

  “C’ mon, lass, put a move on it! I haven’t got all day!” he snarled as he nudged her forward through the narrow hallway. “And don’t be expecting any special treatment while you’re here. This castle doesn’t belong to your family anymore.”

  Harnessing her renowned Mourney composure, Elspeth fluttered her eyes demurely while dipping her honeyed words in poison. “Nae, I shan’t require any special treatment with ye as me escort. ‘Tis surely an honor to be escorted about this great castle by such a tall and distinguished gentleman as yerself. Forgive me, but what did ye say your name was again?”

  “I didn’t, but if ye must know its Niall,” he replied curtly.

  “Niall? What a fitting name. ’Tis said to mean champion. And ye verily have the look of a champion, Sir.”

  Niall cast a puzzled, indignant look upon Elspeth, his brows knitting and a wary smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Shrugging off her attempt to soften his mien, Niall hastily ushered her into the tiny, dimly lit chambers to await Lord Devlin. He took no leave of her, slamming the door heavily behind him with a grunt.

  Lingering in the uneasy silence of the gelid and dreary chambers, Elspeth nevertheless retained some modicum of solace. The knowledge that the tower also held her father and brother gave cause to the thin smile which curved her lips. For the time being, it kept the gloomy pall of the room at bay.

  “Elspeth?” softly bid a disembodied voice.

  “What the devil? Who said that? Thayer?” Elspeth cried out in panic. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as her eyes darted about the room. Holding her breath, she listened for a reply. There was only silence.

  “Me blasted mind is playing tricks upon me,” Elspeth murmured as her heart gradually returned its normal rhythm. A profound sense of sadness soon settled over her, engulfing her heart like a shroud.

  “Oh, what ever have I done to ye, Thayer?” she bewailed into the empty room. “I am so sorry to have wounded ye. Will ye ever forgive me?”

  Her grief all but robbed her of any warmth she might have retained. Coiling her woolen cloak more tightly about her body, Elspeth took a brief turn around its cramped confines in an effort to warm her muscles. A single candle cast a weak glow about the room, illuminating chambers that were spartanly furnished. There was an unmade bed, a tiny desk cluttered with piles of unused parchments, a dry inkwell, and a few dusty books scattered about. The room looked as though it had remained unused for some time. Though Elspeth had dwelled in the castle her entire life, her parents had forbidden her and Graham to enter the tower. Her father had deemed it too dangerous, as it had descended into a significant state of disrepair.

  In truth, during her family’s tenure at Dirleton, the tower had housed only two prisoners. Both men had been captured after they were discovered raiding the family’s livestock, a common occurrence in the Highlands. After being treated so evenhandedly and justly by the Earl, both men decided to denounce their plundering ways and remain in Lothian as resident farmers.

  That was the effect her father had on most men.

  A tireless warrior with a lion’s heart, Sir Rhoenne was as respected by those he ruled as he was feared by those who opposed him. Never quick to judge, he held peace and order in the highest esteem. Though justice was his passion, he was also renowned for his mercy and his ability to amicably settle disputes among his tenants.

  Elspeth froze. Detecting the faint sound of a man’s voice nearby, her brows knit. Was she imagining it again? She bent her ear, setting it firmly against the cold stone wall. Instinctively, she recoiled at its icy feel, but her ear soon warmed as she pressed it ever firmly against the stone.

  The voice grew louder. It was joined by a second.

  Elspeth gasped aloud as her breath caught in her throat.

  Those voices belong to Father and Graham!

  Straining to listen to the dialogue, her heart leapt for joy. Both of the men sounded to be in strong voice. And, although she couldn’t distinguish their words, the tones of their voices seemed to indicate that they were in relatively good spirits.

  How I wish I could tell them I am here!

  She fought back tears. She knew there would be time for that. First, she must deal with Lord Devlin.

  ***

  “Graham, has that blasted oaf of a guard left?” Sir Rhoenne murmured angrily as he shook the bars of his cell in frustration.

  Peeling his ear from the cold stone wall, Graham replied, “Aye, Father, and I thought I heard another’s voice with him. Mayhap there is another imprisoned here.”

  “A voice, ye say? Ye heard another man’s voice?” Sir Rhoenne murmured in disbelief. “I heard naught. Graham. Are ye quite sure that ye heard another?”

  “Aye, Father. But ‘twas a very faint voice. To be truthful, it dinna sound like a man.”

  Sir Rhoenne’s blood froze in his veins. “Och! Nae! I will not believe it!” he exclaimed shaking his fists in fury.

  “What the devil are ye talking about, Father?”

  “Graham, ye heard that swine, Devlin. He means to bring your sister here to make her his own. I fear that he may have already succeeded.”

  “Nae, that cannot be Elspeth’s voice I heard, Father. Surely, she cannot be so lost to reason as to allow herself to be brought here!” Graham protested.

  “Isn’t she?’ Sir Rhoenne countered.

  “Och! Father, if she has allowed herself to be taken, I vow I will throttle her the moment I see her!” Graham raged, gritting his teeth.

  “Well, if ‘tis your sister as I fear, she’ll raise the very devil when Lord Devlin breaks his word to her. He’ll surely see us hang, no matter what your dear sister promises him.”

  “I ken that,” Graham conceded sadly.

  Faolin, who had been pacing his cell like a caged lion during the discourse, interjected: “We are all soldiers of Scotland. If we die, we die with honor, in service of our country. But Elspeth is innocent. She does not deserve this dreadful fate.”

  “Dinna lose heart, Faolin,” Sir Rhoenne consoled. “If I ken my daughter, she has a plan.”

  “Aye,” Faolin concurred. “In the short time I have been fortunate to know her, I realize that she is as crafty as she is beautiful.”

  “Graham,” Sir Rhoenne murmured thoughtfully.

  “Aye, Father?”

  “Son, there is something of great consequence that I must reveal to ye in this dire hour. Faolin, this is for your ears as well. Graham, forgive me for not telling ye ‘afore, but I feared its knowledge would expose ye to danger.”

  Lifting an inquisitive brow and straining against the cell bars to afford a glimpse of his father, Graham asked wryly, “Father, we are soon to be hanged. Is there any more danger I could possibly get into?”

  A bittersweet smiled lifted the corners of Sir Rhoenne’s lips. He was so very proud of his only son. Proud of his ability to maintain his calm in this most baleful hour. Proud of his fathomless sense of honor and loyalty to his family. Proud of the man he had become. He mourned for the days he would be afforded to tell him of his pride.

  “Well, what is it, Da?” Graham restated.

  “Son, you’re standing on it.”

  Graham whirled about, his eyes darting about the cramped confines of his cell.

  “Standing on what? Where?” Graham said, beads of sweat glistening across his brow.

  “Do ye see that large stone in the center o’ the floor?”

  “Which one, Father?”

  “Look near the center of the room, son. Ye will note one stone that is slightly larger than the others. On one corner, there is a small J mark. ‘Tis the mark of King John. ‘Twas kind of an inside joke. Anyhoo, beneath that stone lies the Stone of Destiny.”

  “Have ye gone mad, Father?” Graham inquired dryly. “Everyone kens that the Stone of destiny lies in Edinburgh Castle.”

  “Aye, it would surely behoove them to believe that,” Sir Rhoenne replied. “Yet, the true Stone was moved here to protect it. Now, humor you
r ol’ man and look where I indicated.”

  With a quick glance about the room, Graham located the largest stone. Squatting upon the floor, he pored over the stone and spied a tiny mark in its lower corner. Brushing away the generous layer of dust which covered it, he could discern a nearly undetectable J along its edge. A smile of appreciation crept across his lips as he gazed upon the tiny nick.

  The hiding spot was brilliant!

  ***

  Back in Elspeth’s cramped and musty chambers, the uneasy wait for Lord Devlin’s appearance was quickly becoming unbearable. Pacing nervously about the room, Elspeth inadvertently disturbed the thin layer of dust which lay upon the floor. It coursed through her nostrils and throat, choking her and setting her into a fit of sporadic sneezes and coughs. Struggling to clear her throat, she suddenly stiffened, gooseflesh sprouting along her entire body. A groan of disgust escaped her lips as she detected the distinct voice of Lord Devlin. It echoed through the narrow corridor as he barked orders to his men.

  “Ye, secure the prisoners! I will be in to see them presently. Ye two, come here, post haste! I have some pressing business to attend to.”

  An icy chill shuddered down Elspeth’s spine as she heard the door unlock and the hasp noisily thrown aside. The door creaked open. Lord Devlin, clad in full armor, slowly came into view. As he lingered in the doorway, Elspeth could see that he was closely trailed by his two soldiers at arms. Uncommonly tall and gangly, Lord Devlin was compelled to stoop as he entered to avoid striking his helmet upon the top of the door’s frame.

  Pausing just inside the room, he beckoned his men to remove his helmet and hauberk. As the helmet was lifted, a tussle of tawny locks became entangled in it and he cursed the young soldiers as they fumbled to remove it. As he moved closer, the full impact of his want of handsome features became painfully obvious. His prominent brow was wide and deeply etched with a hideous scar. His beak-like nose was crooked and broad. His wicked smile revealed a mouthful of large, over-crowded teeth. With a brusque swipe of his hand, Lord Devlin dismissed his soldiers at arms. Elspeth could see the relief in their faces as they gratefully scampered out of the room. Raising his gauntlet, Lord Devlin gestured to his brow. His face darkened as he wagged his haggard finger.