Maxwell’s eyes veiled over with dark apathy, or was it denial?
“She looks so much like you.” Kat pushed a little harder, unable to keep the condemnation from her eyes.
“Take them upstairs now,” Maxwell said, his eyes never leaving Kat’s. “Do with them what you like. When you’ve taught this one a lesson”—he looked at Kat—“send for me. I want an obedient wife.”
“Anything I like?” Fergus said.
“Take the whole bloody troop with you if you want,” Maxwell said, his fury so infusing his face, Kat wondered if he’d have a stroke. Several men at the table stood up, ready to be called. Kat swallowed hard, fear working its way up her throat. Perhaps the stew would make a second appearance.
She should have paid more attention in the self defense classes Lisa dragged her to. Kat had always just assumed she’d turn invisible or hideous if she was ever attacked.
“Take them upstairs,” Maxwell said to Fergus though his eyes remained on Kat. “Make sure they’re too tired to speak their lies when I join them.”
Dear God, she’d pushed too hard, Kat thought as Fergus yanked her arm while another burly Campbell dragged Brianag after them. It was one thing to endanger herself by confronting Maxwell, but had she just sealed Brianag’s fate?
The barely controlled fury in Maxwell’s eyes told Kat that her questions had hit home. If Maxwell thought they would talk, he’d never let them leave.
Drakkina! Kat screamed in her head. Toren! God, help us!
They reached a cold room with a small sagging bed against one wall. The man called Thomas pulled his shirt off over his head.
Fergus snorted. “Ready are ye?”
“Since I saw them walk in.” Thomas laughed, while adjusting himself beneath the kilt. He all but pummeled his chest in anticipation. Kat’s stomach gurgled. Maybe if she puked, it would deter them.
“Start a fire first.” Fergus pointed to the cold hearth. “I do not like to freeze my bollocks.”
Brianag’s grip started to make Kat’s arm go numb. Think! Kat’s stomach gurgled again around the thick chunks of stew she’d forced herself to eat. She grabbed her stomach.
“I don’t feel good,” Kat said and doubled over.
“Ye’ll feel good soon enough,” Thomas growled.
“Ye take Brianag first,” Fergus said, walking closer to Kat. “I have a need to taste Toren’s woman.”
“Ye want me to take the MacCallum’s sister?” Thomas asked, his words almost a stutter. “That’s asking to die,” he said, and threw some dried peat in the hearth under split oak. “Ye’re going to wed so he can’t kill ye.”
“Oh but he will,” Brianag said, low. “He will kill ye both.” Brianag looked up and met Thomas’s stare. “He’ll slice ye from your bollocks to yer skull until yer insides fall out for ye to look at while ye die.”
Now that was a picture.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Kat said, not entirely lying.
Fergus had been staring at Brianag also, but turned to Kat when she stood up holding her stomach. “No time to bathe. If ye survive the night, perhaps ye can have one on the morrow.”
“No I mean I need to use the…the chamber pot. I need some privacy.” Kat tried again.
Fergus pointed at a clay pot in the corner. “Piss in that. Ye do not need privacy for that.”
Kat looked him in the face. “I have to poop,” she said and her stomach gurgled for emphasis. “A lot, probably diarrhea from that food you served us. Do you wish to watch?” It was totally a bluff. She’d never lift her skirts in front of the men. It amazed Kat that she’d even said poop in front of them.
Thomas’s eyes grew round. “I’ll wait out in the corridor.”
“Bloody hell,” Fergus growled and pointed to the window on the far wall. “Open that when ye’re done. Damn lass will stink up the room.” He headed for the door.
“I’ll need some”—Kat paused to groan—“time.”
“We’ll give ye some, but be naked when we return,” Fergus grumbled and walked out. A key turned in the outside lock. Footsteps clipped down the stone corridor.
“Are ye ill, Kat?” Brianag asked.
Kat shook her head, but groaned loudly. “Help me shove something against that door,” Kat whispered and they lifted a chest.
“Ye were very convincing,” Brianag said, as they wedged a broom across the doorway in two wooden slats meant for a bar of some sort.
“We need weapons.” Kat’s gaze darted around the small room. She looked up at the window. “Way too small.” She jumped up and opened it anyway.
“Even if we get past them, how will we get out?” Brianag asked as she tried to twist off a leg from a chair.
“Through the kitchens. Maybe we can find…” Kat’s words faltered with the sound of stone brushing stone. “Britta!”
The small kitchen maid peeked out of a tunnel in the stone wall next to the fireplace. Her wide eyes pleaded and she waved them to her.
“Wait!” Kat ran back to the door and shoved everything away. Then she ran back.
“What are ye doing?” Brianag asked as they slid through the crack in the wall to follow Britta’s torch down a sharp flight of steps.
“We want them to think we escaped through the door or they’ll look for a tunnel,” Kat answered.
The tunnel was more like a hole. It smelled of mildew and rot. Kat’s fingers slipped along the wet, moss-covered walls as they descended into darkness. Her heavy skirts caught, her thin shoes slipping on the moist steps. For a moment, Kat couldn’t catch her breath, as if the walls were closing in until they scratched against her shoulders.
“Oh Holy Mother,” Kat whispered.
“Follow,” Britta whispered.
“Breathe slower, Kat,” Brianag whispered, in front of Kat. “Else ye will fall, and I’m not that strong to hold ye,” Brianag quipped, trying to lighten the mood. She was amazing, Kat thought, not for the first time.
Above them, a roar slammed against Kat’s ears. She froze. Fergus had apparently found the room empty. Would he think they had somehow jimmied open the lock? Did he know about this passage?
“Hurry!” Britta called.
Kat’s hands braced against both sides of the wall as she flew down the dark steps toward Britta’s only light.
Apparently Brianag flew, too, because Kat didn’t run her over.
How much farther could it be? Would they come out underground?
Britta’s light disappeared.
“Britta!” Kat yelled in a whisper.
The torch appeared once more. She’d only rounded a turn.
As Kat slipped and slid toward the light, she realized the turn was a door, a door leading out into the night. Kat jumped out of the darkness and into a light drizzle on the outside of the wall surrounding the Campbell bailey and keep.
“Good heavens! You did it, Britta! We’re really out of there,” Kat gasped, and rested hands on knees through the heavy dress. She pulled in gulps of air and considered sitting, but Brianag dragged her upright.
“We have a long way to run before they discover we’re not in the keep,” Brianag urged.
Kat nodded and began to follow Brianag onto the dismal moor stretching before them. “A horse would be helpful about now,” she mumbled, and on cue a horse rode out of the darkness.
In unison all three women sank down so they would be less noticeable in the darkness.
“It’s a woman,” Brianag breathed softer than a whisper.
Chapter 10
Kat watched the horse halt near the gate. She gasped and tried to rise, but Brianag still held her hand. “That’s Margaret! What is she doing here?”
Brianag craned her neck next to Kat. Only Britta stayed hunched as if the ground would swallow her. “And that’s one of our stable boys with her,” Brianag said. They watched, stunned, as Margaret dismounted and the boy wheeled the horse around.
“Holy Mother of God,” Kat breathed. “He’s leaving her there. Does she t
hink to trade herself for us?”
“Does she even ken that we were in there?” Brianag asked breathlessly, and called out to the stable boy as he rode straight toward them. The boy spotted them and brought the horse to a stop.
“Lady Brianag!” he said. “Lady Kat! They’ve been searching for ye both!” His eyes flicked to Britta, but he didn’t ask.
“Henry, what is Lady Margaret doing here?” Brianag asked.
Aside from standing solitary in the increasing rain, Kat thought. The woman stood still, shoulders slumped as the rain pelted down, weighing down her clothes, her hair.
“She paid me to bring her here. Said her da was here and this is where she belonged,” Henry said. “Who’s the little lass?”
“Britta, Henry. Henry, Britta,” Kat said still looking at Margaret’s lone figure. “What is she going to—”
“Campbells!” Margaret yelled out, her voice small against the void of night weighing in on her slight form.
“Bloody hell!” Brianag cursed. “She’ll give us away.”
Kat noticed Britta hopping up and down. “The three of you go.” Kat didn’t need to repeat it for the mistreated maid. Britta all but jumped on the horse behind Henry. Kat pushed her up behind him. She weighed about the same as a child. “Brianag, go, get Toren,” Kat insisted. “Tell him…tell him I need him.”
“I will not leave ye,” Brianag insisted, her eyes going to Margaret. Kat’s followed.
“Something’s happened to make her come here,” Kat said and shook her head. “I can’t let her go back to that man, those men.”
Brianag stared at her. “Do ye think he—”
“Even if Hughe Maxwell isn’t the father of his own granddaughter, I’m sure he will kill Margaret if she goes back to him. Have you seen Toren’s back?” Kat pushed at Brianag to mount. “There isn’t even room for me up there. Go. Find Toren. I’ll get to Margaret.”
“Campbells!” Margaret hollered again, her voice squeaking at the end. “Tell Hughe Maxwell that his daughter is here.”
Brianag nodded at Kat. “Go with God.” She mounted and tapped the horse into a run. Their form was swallowed in the mist and Kat ran to Margaret as the gate began to open. Shoot! If they found Kat before the others had put enough distance between them, Fergus would send men after them. Kat stepped up directly behind Margaret, hiding behind her form.
Margaret jumped and screeched, but Kat held her by the shoulders. “Don’t move, they’ll see me,” Kat whispered in her ear. “Margaret, come away from here.”
Margaret kept her body forward. “Kat, they’ve been looking for you.”
“Long story, but Brianag just rode home on your horse.”
“You should have gone with her,” Margaret said.
“Hail, daughter,” Maxwell called from the wall above the gate, his eyes scanning the mist enshrouded night. “All alone? Where’s your husband?”
“I have no husband, Father,” she called back.
“Margaret,” Kat whispered in her ear. “I know.” Kat felt Margaret stiffen.
“What do you know?”
Kat hesitated. “Hughe Maxwell is Sara’s father, isn’t he?”
Margaret’s head sagged, and Kat felt a breath rattle up through her body. “Possibly,” she said on a sob. “Either he…or Edward…my brother.”
“The night of the fire?”
Margaret drew in a rattling breath. “I…ran from the barn after…Edward passed out. I was naked.” Her words were full of shame and fear as she relived the horror. “I accidentally kicked over the lantern into the hay. I didn’t know what to do. I just ran…I was naked.” Her last words trailed off.
Maxwell held up a torch, its light casting a glow down. It nearly reached them. “Lady Brianag said you were handfasted to Eadan MacCallum,” Maxwell said.
“Nay, Father!” Margaret said, her words tearing out of her.
“Did you tell him?” Kat whispered. Margaret’s head flopped forward in a nod. “He does not hold you responsible,” Kat said, hoping her words were true.
“So even the second son rejected you, too,” Maxwell called, his words crushing down upon Margaret. Kat felt her sway and held her steady.
“The MacCallums will take you in,” Kat insisted.
“You didn’t see the look in his eyes,” Margaret said softly and almost turned, but checked herself. “The pain on his face, the…”
Maxwell interrupted her trailing words. “What makes you think that I will take you back in after you helped them?”
“Brianag knows,” Kat continued in her ear.
“Oh God,” Margaret wailed, and looked down in shame.
“She knows and she wants you to come home to the MacCallums. She doesn’t hold your family’s crime against you.”
“But…she left anyway,” Margaret said.
“To get help!” Kat hissed desperately. “You are not at fault! Come away from here!”
Maxwell yelled something down at the guards in the bailey and male laughter echoed inside the walls. Fury and frustration meshed inside Kat. If she only had a rifle right now. A semi-automatic would take out the lot of evil, laughing, sexist pigs!
Maxwell looked back down. “Nothing to say? I should make you march your worthless arse back across that moor and marry one of the MacCallums,” Maxwell said and raised the torch higher. He squinted. “Who is that behind you?”
“Shoot!” Kat said and tried to make herself as small as possible.
“No one, Father. I came alone.”
He paused. “The gate is open for you.”
Margaret stood rooted to the mud under their slippers. Kat’s fingers dug into her shoulders. “Don’t go,” Kat pleaded.
“Father,” Margaret called but didn’t move. “I lied when you asked me if I saw Toren set the fire that killed Edward.” She talked to Maxwell, but Kat knew the words were for her, also.
Maxwell stared down at her, judge, jury, and probably executioner.
Margaret shook her head, her words once again soft. “It’s why my father hates him so much. I’ve brought ruin on the MacCallums.”
Maxwell cursed. Even in the distance, Kat could see the man’s fury changing his stance, his face, as if he hardened to rock. “We will discuss this matter when you come in here.”
“Don’t abandon Sara,” Kat said.
Margaret shook on a sob. “I’m leaving her with you, with people who will care for her.”
“She needs her mother.” Kat stopped, thinking of all those children she’d taken in who had horrible mothers. “Believe me, Margaret, I’ve seen children who were better off without their mothers. Sara is not one of them.”
Maxwell squinted at Margaret and raised his torch higher. “Who are you talking to? There is someone behind you. Lady Brianag, Lady Kat? We’ve been looking for you.” Maxwell turned. “Fergus, our brides are outside the walls!”
Kat pulled hard on Margaret’s shoulders. “Come now with me. If you don’t they’ll catch both of us.” Margaret’s feet began to move in the direction Kat pulled. “Run Margaret, for the hills on the right.” Kat refused to let go of Margaret’s hand as they raced through the rain. “Don’t let go of my hand,” Kat said. Kat heard the horses ride out of the gate. She’d have to use some glamour. It was the only way they could escape. Drakkina needed her alive, Kat justified. And she’d only use a touch of magic, hardly any was needed in the dense fog that filled the darkness.
They ran together, tripping and lunging over the spongy moor. Their gowns, sopping wet from the rain and mud, tangled around their legs. Toren, where are you? Kat’s heart and mind prayed for him. If anyone needed a knight in shining armor to come riding up over the moors of Scotland now, it was Kat.
“There,” Margaret called and they ducked behind a boulder. Kat grabbed Margaret’s dark wool cloak and threw it over them as they hunkered down to hide.
Horse’s hooves thudded against the earth, bridles jingled.
“Find them!” Maxwell’s voice called c
loser. He’d ridden out as well. “They went to the right. There should be three of them.” Too close, almost upon them.
Dear Holy Mother, please don’t let this be too much magic, Kat thought and pulled her power from the mist around them. She opened her own magic and reflected their outward appearance as mist.
Hard thudding pounded, closing in as a horse leapt over the boulder. Margaret gasped under the cloak and pressed in closer to Kat and the rock. The horse circled on the other side, but then took off into the night. Apparently her magic, even just a little magic, still worked. Kat shut the crack and de-cloaked them, one ear trained on the surrounding hunt. She’d make them invisible again if anymore came near. Next to her, Margaret started to pray in whispers. Kat joined in her mind. Toren, find me!
Toren stood in the bailey at Craignish. Kat’s need for help was a physical boulder in his chest. “We ride now!” He yelled as Eadan ran out of the keep. They’d followed the trail into the forest where it was apparent from tracks that a small army had taken Kat and Brianag.
“Tor, Margaret’s gone, too!” Eadan yelled and leapt onto his horse.
“Fool woman,” Toren swore and looked hard at his brother. “What did ye say to her?”
Eadan’s eyes closed, then opened. “I asked her about the fire. She admitted when she was questioned as to yer involvement, she didn’t deny it.”
“I ken that,” Toren replied impatiently, and motioned to a group of men who harnessed themselves, ready for battle.
“‘Tis why Maxwell hates ye.” Toren nodded. “Tor,” Eadan continued. “She told me…her brother had attacked her that night. That her father had also…” Eadan let his words trail off. Toren’s eyes met the pain in Eadan’s. “That Sara…” Eadan lowered his voice. “Edward or Hughe Maxwell could be Sara’s father.”
“Damn them,” Toren murmured, regret heavy in his exhale. Why hadn’t he seen it when he’d been there as a lad? “What did ye say to her?” Toren asked as they rode through the gates.
Eadan cursed low, a mournful curse that sounded like it was against himself. “Nothing.” He looked across at Toren. “Tor, I bloody hell said nothing.”
Toren didn’t need to tell his little brother how wrong that had been. Eadan looked like guilt, death, and revenge mixed up into a single form of anguish. “We ride!” Toren yelled and they, with a band of MacCallums, took off across the moor into pitch darkness.
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 21