by John Ryan
“Do you see this scar?” he hissed. “‘Twas courtesy of your beloved father. Yet fear not, I shall repay him the favor anon.”
Elspeth, unwilling to be goaded into a reply, stared at him impassively.
Inching closer, Lord Devlin licked his lips as he stood to admire Elspeth’s form. Salaciously sweeping his gaze over her every curve, he sneered, “Lass, the renown of your beauty pales in comparison to the reality of my eyes feasting on it in person.”
As he towered over her, Elspeth shuttered her eyes in disgust. She winced as his hot breath wafted across her crown.
Removing the gauntlet from his left hand, he grabbed a shimmering crimson tress and twirled it around his bony index finger. Slowly and deliberately, he brought the brilliant plait close to his crooked nose. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes.
With a sardonic grin, he salaciously remarked, “Yes, this sweet smelling flower will soon be mine to deplume.”
Clutching a pleat of Elspeth’s skirt, he tugged it upwards to afford himself a better view of her legs. He chuckled as Elspeth’s body shuddered with rage. She recoiled as his cool, clammy skin of his hand brushed her thigh.
Rolling his eyes, Lord Devlin took a step back and sniped smugly, “So, by your willingness to come to me I see that you have finally come to your senses, eh, lass?”
Eying him hotly, Elspeth lifted her chin in defiance.
“I shan’t discuss anything till I see me father, brother, and Sir Faolin!” she hissed. “I ken they are being held in the tower. I insist I be taken to them now. Ye have pledged your word, remember?”
“Ever the fiery lass, eh, m’dear?” he retorted coldly. “And, may I inquire, what makes you think I will honor my word?”
Holding his gaze fast, Elspeth spat, “Because I will not wed ye if ye dinna respect your word and release them.” She added defiantly, “And, I’m certainly not your dear.”
An arrogant smile twisted Lord Devlin’s lips, revealing a mouthful of great, crooked teeth. Offering his arm to escort Elspeth, he replied abruptly, “Very well then, lass. I’ll take you to your father and brother. And soon enough, you’ll be mine.”
Elspeth scoffed at the gesture, pushing aside his arm and stalking out of the room.
Lord Devlin shook his head and muttered, “The little lass thinks she can’t be broken. Little does she know, I have already broken her father’s will. He has sent word to Sir William to deliver the Stone of Destiny. Soon, I will have the Stone as well the most comely lass in all of Scotland. I will make her Lady of Dirleton, and then we shall see who is beholden to whom.”
***
In the woodlands of Dirleton, Thayer, Colin, and Brice were busy divesting the two fallen Englishmen of their armor. Sir Edward’s suit fit Thayer a bit snugly around the chest and the mail sleeves of the second soldier’s suit were a bit long for Colin, but they would suffice.
Though Thayer and his uncle detested their enemies, they mutually acknowledged that the men had fought bravely and with honor. With a mutually acknowledging nod, they agreed they would be afforded a place to rest. A small clearing was chosen under a majestic Sitka spruce. The earth was hard, but Brice was young and so full of vigor that he was more than able to compensate for Colin’s lack of strength in his right arm. The men dug in earnest, completing the two shallow graves in short time.
Wiping the grime from his hands, Thayer bowed his head. Colin and Brice followed suit. After uttering a few lines of a traditional Scottish farewell to the dead, the three made the sign of the cross and strode back to their steeds. Ethelion and Zeus were directed back to the burgh, liberated with a hearty slap upon their rumps. Thayer and Colin were confident they would return, but rued the concern they would cause when they returned riderless. But there was no time to worry about that now; there were more pressing matters at hand. With determination in their hearts and dread for their loved ones’ safety gnawing at their guts, the trio mounted the Englishmen’s steeds and set out for Dirleton.
“So, Brice, tell us of this secret passage,” Thayer asked as the three slowly made their way through the thick underbrush and bracken of the forest. “My plan was to enter the castle through the gate, posing as an English patrol with a wounded soldier.” Flicking a wink at Colin, he bantered, “My uncle, here, could play that part particularly well.”
Flashing a bemused grin, Colin answered Thayer’s chaff with a bow. Redirecting his attention to Brice, his smile quickly faded and his brow furrowed.
“Aye, lad, tell us of this passage that I do not ken. Forsooth, my mate, Briar, was captain of the guard at the castle for more winters than ye have been living, and never once did he confide in me a single weakness in its walls. But, I’m certainly willing to learn something new today.”
Clearing his throat, Brice responded, “Well, m’lords, after Lord Devlin took control of Dirleton, he meant to guard the castle by maintaining the majority of the English soldiers there. But he didn’t have many forces to spare, so he only sent out small sporadic patrols like the one I was constrained to join. We would come and go unnoticed through a small overgrown goat path that winds around the back of the loch. There is small drainage culvert, nary more than a yard across. We enlarged the opening in the stone and set a small contingent of soldiers to guard it. After each use, we would conceal it with a facade of stone.”
Colin shot a disbelieving look at Brice and remarked, “Ye mean to tell me that all this time we were vulnerable through that wee pipe?”
“Aye, ‘tis the heel wherein the arrow struck Achilles,” Brice pronounced, proudly relishing his display of his knowledge of ancient Greek mythology.
“Well, I’ll be damned to Hades!” Colin bellowed, puffing out his cheeks.
Thayer cast a reassuring glance at Colin. “Verily, ‘tis no cause to be vexed, Uncle. Indeed, we will employ it to our advantage. That heel is where we shall strike as well.”
Colin nodded in mute assent and, with a quick nudge to the ribs of their stallions, the trio quickened their pace. The threat of rain fled as the day wore on. Yet, though most of the clouds had dispersed, the wind began to whip about them, rattling the nerves of the horses. As the gusts increased, pale brown and deep crimson leaves flew blusterously through the air, deflecting off the faces of the trio. As the tempests howled, they emitted a sound that made all three men crane their necks. It was as if the specters of the fallen Scots were amongst them.
Brice directed them through the woodlands and onto the meandering path which abutted the great loch of Dirleton. They paused briefly at its shores; a final respite before the quest which could very well claim their lives. The men stared upon the shimmery black surface of the loch, glints from the rays of the pale moon dancing atop the rippling waves. No words were spoken. The plan was clear. After dispatching the guards at the facade, they would quietly slip into the castle, find Elspeth, her family, and Faolin, and whisk them out of the tower. As they were vastly outnumbered, stealth was their only option.
“Are ye ready, lads?” Thayer said with a devilish smile.
“Aye! What are we waiting for? Colin responded, as patting his sword reassuringly.
“Aye. I’m ready as well!” Brice replied with conviction.
Breathlessly, the three approached the secret passage.
“Let me do the talking, Thayer,” Brice implored in earnest. “They may not be able to see your face, but your Scot’s tongue will betray ye. Remember, they ken me voice already.”
“Aye, lad, ye do the speech making. I’ll do me talking with this,” Thayer responded as he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade.
They approached the secret gate and scanned the surrounding area. It seemed quiet--too quiet. They only sound which remained was the resonance of their ragged breaths.
A large yellow-eyed owl hooted nearby, prompting the three to whirl around and instinctively grasp the hilt of their swords.
“Who goes there?” a disembodied voice demanded from the secret gate.
“�
�Tis Brice, the archer. Our patrol is complete. There is no sign of any Scots about.”
Brice’s response was initially met by silence.
“Sir Edward, ye lead this patrol. Is this your report?” demanded the shadowy figure now gradually emerging into view.
“Sir Edward voice is hoarse,” Brice nervously interjected. “I’m afraid he suffered it got by squalling at the likes of me.”
The guard cautiously approached and unsheathed his sword. The trio was instantly struck by his immense size. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled back, revealing mammoth arms which bulged as he gripped his sword.
“Sir Edward, I’m afraid I must insist. Please remove your helmet,” he ordered with marked trepidation. Although the guard clearly desired to do his duty, it was just as obvious he feared Sir Edward’s infamous wrath. It was widely known that Sir Edward didn’t take very kindly to demands.
Thayer grasped his helmet and began to slowly pull it skyward. In an instant, Colin hurled his dirk with deadly aim. The guard fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. The blade had pierced his heart, but not before he had the chance to cry out for assistance.
Hearing the din, several guards rushed to their fallen comrade’s aid. As they charged, their blood-curdling battle cries echoed over the grounds. Thayer and Colin fought with the fierceness of their conviction. While they engaged the guards, Brice’s gifted aim felled many of the soldiers with arrows to their chests.
In minutes, it was over.
Thayer and Colin dragged the bodies of the dead behind the guard post as Brice busied himself donning a fallen soldier’s armor. Thayer gestured toward the tower and Colin and Brice nodded their understanding. As they crept ever closer with their swords drawn, they detected a faint murmuring. As they neared, they could discern a pocket of soldiers huddled around a small fire. Listening to the men’s mundane rumblings, Thayer smiled inwardly. Atop their list of complaints were the poor quality of the food and the sparseness of men to relieve their posts. None had the faintest idea that the castle grounds had been breached! Listening intently, Thayer’s face darkened as their discourse took a wicked turn.
“Aye, I hear that Lord Devlin has plans for that bonny lass in the tower. She’ll be no untried maiden after this night!” one gangly soldier commented crudely. His remark was followed by a chorus of raucous laughter.
Thayer blazed with rage; his body stiffened.
Standing directly behind him, Colin gripped Thayer’s shoulder tightly.
“Dinna pay them any mind, lad,” he implored in a whisper. “We can deal with them later.”
Thayer nodded, mindful that his fury would be better reserved for Lord Devlin.
Clearing his throat, Brice motioned to Thayer and Colin. The entrance to the tower was unguarded! Thayer’s heart hammered in his chest. He was so close to Elspeth, he could sense her. Tracing a wide arc around the soldiers, the trio approached the gate from the east.
Gritting his teeth, Thayer gently pushed the door open with the tip of his sword. It creaked slowly open, persuading the faint moonlight to illuminate the foyer. Soundlessly, the three gave each other a thumbs up before slipping into the dim, gelid base of the tower. Detecting several voices emanating from the top of the stairs, Thayer silently motioned for Colin and Brice to find a place to conceal themselves until he beckoned them. This was his fight. A hundred men or the devil himself couldn’t keep him from Elspeth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Atop the stairs, a locked door and the wretched man who held the key were the only impediments which still stood between Elspeth and her family.
With wide, determined strides, Elspeth reached the door to the gaol in advance of Lord Devlin. Her face twisted as she wriggled the door knob. It was locked, and, with an angry sigh escaping her, she turned to face her despicable host.
Lord Devlin had sidled up behind her. He stood agonizingly close. So close, Elspeth cringed as she felt his hot breath upon her nape.
“I don’t think that you will be opening that door without this,” he quipped menacingly as he dangled a large iron ring of rusty brass keys just inches from her face.
Eying him furiously, Elspeth snarled, “Ye may possess something that I want, but I have something that ye desire as well.”
“You are a saucy wench, I dare say,” he replied smugly as his eyes lecherously swept her curves. “Yet your hand will be well worth the price of your kin’s freedom. In my bed, I’ll make you forget your whole blasted race.”
A cold chill ran up Elspeth’s spine at his proclamation.
She refused to show him any sign of weakness. She was as stubborn and strong willed as her father, and damn proud of it!
“Och! Ye shan’t make me forget anything but me appetite!” she crackled caustically in response.
Lord Devlin’s gaze lingered on Elspeth’s bosom, which rose and fell with each rancorous breath.
“Do not deceive yourself, lass. In time, you will bend to my will. I will break you and you will be as compliant as a meek little lamb.”
Verily, that blasted cur does not ken me very well. When I finish with him, he’ll surely beg me to leave!
“Enough of this blather!” Lord Devlin spat. “Let’s see your kin and be done with it!”
Watching as Lord Devlin stooped his gangly frame to unlock the door, Elspeth thought she would surely die from the anticipation of being reunited with her family.
“Blasted lock!” he grumbled as he fiddled with the keys.
“Allow me,” Elspeth volunteered sardonically.
With a deft wriggle of her fingers, she slid the key into the lock and turned it.
The lock opened easily.
Under Lord Devlin’s glower, Elspeth gave the door a gentle nudge with her shoulder.
The door creaked open alowing Elspeth to peer into the dimness.
“Father? Graham? Faolin?” she called out into the darkness as her eyes darted about the room.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost! Is that ye, Elspeth?” a faint voice rang out from the inky confines of the room.
Elspeth’s heart leapt for joy as she recognized the deep husky sound of her beloved father’s voice.
“Dear sister, forsooth, is that really ye?” beckoned another voice from the corner of the room.
“Graham, Father! Oh, how wonderful it is to hear your voices! Is Faolin amongst ye?” Elspeth gushed.
“Aye, I’m here, m’lady,” Faolin murmured. “The question is: why the devil are ye?”
Lord Devlin emerged from the shadows.
“How very touching! A Mourney family reunion! I must say, I am quite beside myself with joy.”
“Pay no mind to that bloody oaf, my child. ‘Tis easiest to be brave when one is far removed from the danger. He’s quite the threat when his adversary is under lock and key,” the earl sniped sarcastically.
Elspeth approached her father, gasping in horror as she spied his pasty pallor. His strong, handsome, face appeared drawn and haggard. Dark shadows upon his cheeks accented the pale blue of his tired eyes. A bloody, threadbare strip of emerald tartan was wound loosely around his head, gray dust dulling the deep magenta of his hair. His beard was overgrown and matted, his arms and hands begrimed.
“So, this is how ye treat your prisoners, Lord Devlin? Do they not at least deserve more respect as worthy adversaries,” Elspeth demanded tersely.
“Lass, mind your tongue or perhaps I will cut it out!!” Lord Devlin warned as he inched closer to her. “’It would behoove you to remain mindful of where you are. And, you would do well to remember who gave me this!” he growled, pointing the wicked scar across his brow.
“That wound was suffered in a fair battle between us, Devlin! ‘Tis not me fault that ye lack skills in the joust!” Sir Rhoenne bellowed in protest. ”Had I not shown ye mercy, ye wouldn’t be here today.”
“Aye, and I would relish the opportunity to finish the job,” Faolin added sarcastically.
Turning her at
tention to her dear brother, Elspeth could see he had fared far worse than her father. Graham’s face was wan and gaunt. His flaxen tresses were lifeless and matted with dried blood. Though he was weakened by his wounds, color rushed to his face at the sight of his beloved sister.
Leaning her head against the cold iron of Graham’s cell, she whispered, “Fear not, dear brother. Ye will not see the inside of this cage on the morrow.”
Graham’s brows knit as his eyes narrowed on Elspeth for any intimation of her intending.
“Just what did ye have to promise this knave to free us, Elspeth?” Graham demanded in hushed tones.
Elspeth deflected her gaze and squeezed his hand in reassurance. Regaining her aplomb, she pivoted on her heels to face Lord Devlin.
“Well, Lord Devlin. I have honored my part of the arrangement. When will ye be releasing me family?” Elspeth demanded.
“You Scots are surely a fleeceable lot!” Devlin snapped with amusement. “Do you really think I would permit my sworn enemy to go free? Or his son, who will surely swear vengeance upon me?”
“Surely, ye would not break your word!” Elspeth raged in disgust.
Lord Devlin merely responded with a robust, baneful laugh which echoed through the cramped stone dungeon.
Elspeth shut her eyes tightly, willing Thayer to appear with every ounce of her strength. She knew it was childish. She knew it was impossible. She did it just the same.
***
Thayer crept ever closer to the room at the top of the stairs, the mist from his breath lingering in the still of the tower. As instructed, Colin and Brice remained hidden among the shadows, ready to spring into action at Thayer’s command. As he mounted the last riser, Thayer could hear several voices, but only one that made the breath catch in his throat.
The angelic, ethereal voice belonged to Elspeth!