The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  The men looked at each other. Shook their heads.

  “We’ve na’ seen the mon in years,” the first fellow announced.

  “I heard rumor that he’d come back, recent-like,” another man spoke up. “I discounted it.”

  “Trust me,” Cassandra answered. “He is back. He may already be at the castle. Is it near?”

  “How do we ken you speak truth?” the leader asked.

  Cassandra reached up beneath the blankets, peeled the sides of the blanket apart in front of her face, and lifted it from her head. She looked down at him with the haughty expression she’d gleaned not only from the harem but her grandmother. She discounted snowflakes that dotted her cheeks and melted on her lashes. His eyes widened, and then his jaw dropped. The others had similar expressions.

  “Verra few question me,” she finally said.

  “Oh. My lady.”

  The first man went to a knee. The others followed suit. Cassandra put her blanket back over her head.

  “Rise. Please. The elements are nae place for this. We are near the castle?”

  “My croft is nearer,” an older fellow spoke up. “’Tis just over that drum. Come. We’ll take you there. My wife will have a fire. And sup.”

  Emin took up the reins and walked at her side, behind the others. She knew why. He kept his other hand on his sword hilt. Just in case. Such a staunch champion he was. So protective. So dependable.

  What they called a drum was a long sloping hill. It led down into a valley with a stream at the bottom of it. They crossed that, and went behind an outcrop of rock. A croft turned out to be a rounded structure built into the hill, using one side of the rock outcropping for a wall. It was protected from the elements, covered over with grass, and nearly invisible. And the inside was a dark moist haven of warmth.

  “Angus! You home so soon?”

  A large robust woman engulfed the older man in a hug. She wore an off-white cap on her head, and the braid peeking out the bottom was red-streaked gray. There were at least two other women inside the home. Cassandra couldn’t see much else, because men filled the space and Emin was at the back, with her in his arms. Their clothing started steaming up the interior, making it even more difficult to breathe and see.

  “We have a healthy stew on the fire, Meggie?” he asked.

  “Of course. Do na’ I always?”

  “Good. Serve it up. We’ve got the laird’s new wife to feed.”

  “What?!”

  The woman squealed, fell backward, and dropped. She was lucky there was a stool behind her, stopping her fall. Her husband slapped his thigh and chuckled.

  “I could get fond of this,” he announced.

  “Go away with you, Angus! Who do you have with you, really?” The woman was back on her feet. She gave him a healthy smack in his chest. It didn’t do much. He still had a grin within his gray beard.

  “I told you. The laird’s back. He’s gone and wed. This here is his wife.”

  Emin set Cassandra on her feet. This was probably her prompt to unwind the mass of blanket about her and show them. She did so.

  “What’s this you say?”

  An old stooped woman came from the shadow or a back corner, her eyes narrowed to see, hands gnarled with age. Everyone turned toward her.

  “Now, Mother. Do na’ pay us a mind. Go back to your daydreams.”

  “You say this is the laird’s wife? Caillen’s lad? Our Rhoenne?”

  Everyone stepped back except Emin. He hovered behind her like a worried mother hen with a chick. The old woman came close. Walked around Cassandra. Came back into view.

  “How far along are you, lass?” she asked.

  “Mother!” Angus said.

  “Get the woman a chair, son. She’s increasing. Any fool can see that. I would na’ wish to have any harm come to the lass. Or her wee bairns.”

  Cassandra gasped. She wasn’t the only one.

  The old woman cackled. “Do none of you ken your history? Our last laird, Caillen was a twin. ’Tis the meaning behind the name of his brother, Tevin, God rest his soul. You think it rare? Ramhursts have sired twins off-and-on since the first earl wed his Pict bride. ’Tis also helpful with the birth...if you ken what I’m saying.”

  Twins?

  Cassandra swayed an instant before Emin caught her.

  “Now, that there is a right bonny lass. Trust that Rhoenne to outdo his sire...even in that.”

  “Mother.”

  “Do na’ tell me you did na’ note it, Angus. You’ve got eyes that work, same as everyone else. Oh, good. She’s waking.”

  Cassandra stirred back to consciousness, opened her eyes, and blinked the latticework of beams above her into focus. She was on her back on a cot along one wall of their house. She turned her head. The old woman was on a stool near her head, Angus’s wife behind one shoulder, wringing her hands. The old woman had just lifted a damp cloth from Cassandra’s forehead. Emin sat on the floor before her. A strange sound filtered into existence, emanating from outside. Cassandra wrinkled her forehead.

  “You all right, lass?”

  She nodded.

  “Here. Let me help you. Margaret. Get the countess a drink.”

  Angus’s wife disappeared from view. Cassandra turned onto her side and struggled to sit up. Another woman came close. Younger than Margaret. She maneuvered a mass of blankets behind Cassandra’s back, propping her up.

  “Thank you,” she said. The woman smiled and tipped her head.

  “That is my grand-daughter, Nessa. She’s wed to the man who first accosted you. Brodie, by name.”

  “Ah. The handsome one,” Cassandra answered and watched Nessa blush. She accepted the tankard with a smile. Swallowed cool refreshing water that had been splashed with ale.

  “Thank you,” she answered.

  “What is your name, lass?”

  “Cassandra Alexandria. Ramhurst.”

  “They tell me you are a princess?”

  “My father...was a Bulgar prince. It was...a long time ago.”

  “You are a verra bonny lass, Cassandra. But that Rhoenne is a verra handsome fellow. Manly. Little surprises me anymore. A union between you two...well. The moment you two set eyes on each other, it should have been a fore-drawn conclusion.”

  Cassandra looked down for a moment. If they only knew...

  “The men told me you spoke of the laird’s return. And that he had a band of men with him.”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “Many?”

  “Only five.”

  “Five!” Angus stepped into sight.

  “Now do na’ upset her, son. I’m warning you.”

  “Please tell me Clyde Blair is one of them.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “The only men with him are Henry and Euan FitzHugh—.”

  “Euan? The lad?” he interrupted.

  “Yes. The others are Iain and Graham Montvale....and his cousin, Grant Ramhurst.”

  “But nae Clyde?”

  “No. I am sorry.”

  The man went to the door. Ran a hand across his eyes. Opened the door and left. A wailing of musical notes filled the room before the door closed.

  “What is that sound?” Cassandra asked.

  “Bagpipes,” the old woman answered. “They are calling the clan.”

  “Bagpipes?”

  “’Tis a Scot instrument. Verra difficult to learn and play. That Brodie is one of the best. He’s full of hot air. Makes for a good piper.”

  “Grandmother,” Nessa smiled as she said it.

  “How long will they play it?” Cassandra asked.

  “Until we get the clan here.”

  “But it’s snowing.”

  “We are Ramhurst clan, my lady. Loyalty to the laird is supreme. There is trouble at the castle. You will need clan backing.”

  “Aileen?” Cassandra guessed.

  “He told you of her, did he?”

  “Na’ much.”

  She nodded sagely. “I see. Smart man. Are you
hungry?” she asked.

  “Yes. But, please? Could my man have some, as well?”

  “Of course. Margaret?”

  ”Thank you,” Cassandra replied.

  “Oh, nae. Thank you. I am an auld crone with little value. But look here. Ever since your arrival, I can order my daughter-in-law about with impunity.”

  “Mother.”

  Angus’s wife was smiling as she came near, toting two bread bowls filled with a hearty stew of mutton and barley along with some thinly sliced carrots. She handed one to Cassandra. The other to Emin. He accepted it with a nod.

  The old woman cleared her throat. “About this...man with you. Well. I do have a bit of a question about that.”

  “Emin? He is not my man. He is...a most loyal champion and friend. He is the reason I am alive and well and here right now.”

  “But you’ve been in contact with him...for some time. Alone?”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “Will na’ the laird have an issue with that?”

  “Emin is my personal guard. He would never harm me. Ever. He would give his life for me.”

  “Do all princesses have...personal guards?”

  “I do na’ know about other princesses. I only know that I have been blessed to have him.”

  “I see. Well. You eat your fill, my lady. Rest. You are safe. Among clan. We will have you at the castle on the morrow. And then. Well. I only wish my bones were up to the trip. I will just have to wait to hear how that witch takes to your arrival.”

  “Mother!”

  This time Margaret sounded shocked. The old woman cackled delightedly. “I’m auld. It’s a gift. I can say what I think. The rest of you...? You just have to think it. Rest up, my lady. Please. If we can get you anything, you just say it. As for your man? Emin. Does he sleep...near you?”

  “Emin?”

  “I will na’ leave her side,” he replied.

  “Well. We’d best get the man a pallet, then. And a blanket or two. Ladies?”

  The fire was kept stoked all night. Figures flitting across the light occasionally. Cassandra snuggled into her blankets, lost in thought. She listened to the continual sound of bagpipes playing. Held the mound of her babe as it moved often. Pondered the idea of twins. Rhoenne hadn’t felt so close in weeks.

  Nor so far away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Highness? You must awaken soon.”

  Emin’s whisper at her ear was soft, but still Cassandra jerked awake. She grabbed for his arm and stared at him wide-eyed while the babe added a flurry of movements.

  “You are safe, Highness. I am here.”

  She collapsed back, waiting for her heartbeat to calm. She’d been dreaming of horrifying, frightening things. Swords. Blood. Decapitated heads. And been startled into wakefulness in a strange place. Save for Emin, nothing was familiar. It took long moments to puzzle it through. She recalled meeting up with Ramhurst clan. They’d been taken in. Fed. She was abed now in a croft.

  Cassandra darted a glance around. There weren’t any windows. The lone light source was the fire. It sent shadows across a latticed span of boards above her. Smoke from the fire tickled her nose, mixing with a combination of unfamiliar smells. The woolen blanket atop her scratched and itched against her cheeks. It was heavy. And had an odor she couldn’t place...something floral, and yet with an undertone of musk. She’d spent eight years imprisoned, dreaming of life outside the luxurious walls of a harem. Wondering how it would feel to wake up to a different view than a span of curtains, incense-wafted decadence, drapery-bedecked walls. Pillow-strewn chambers. The idea of freedom had been intoxicating. Thrilling. Exciting.

  She’d been so naïve.

  Just then her babe gave a series of hearty kicks. And everything felt right.

  “My lady?”

  The middle aged woman approached. Put a hand on Emin’s shoulder. Aside from the slight flinch he made, he didn’t move from it.

  “It’s...Margaret? Yes?” Cassandra greeted her.

  “Ah. You remembered my name.” The woman’s face was wreathed in a smile that included her eyes. “Will you be wanting...a repast? And for your man as well?”

  “Breakfast?”

  “We’ve fried up kidneys, cooked a big kettle of porridge, and toasted some black bread that was fresh-made just yesterday. My other daughter, Maysie – over at the fire? She just brought it.”

  The woman at the fire turned and bobbed a curtsey, before taking up stirring again. That explained the myriad of smells.

  “Is there...a privy I can use?”

  Cassandra sat up. Emin helped her arrange the wad of blankets she’d used for a pillow into a backrest. The old woman sat in a rocking chair back in a far corner.

  “Oh. Heavens. Of course. We use the stream outside...but you can na’ do that. Na’ this morn. I’ll have a bucket fetched. Nessa?”

  The grand-daughter went to the door, and opened it. A loud rumbling sound filled the croft and was muffled the moment the door shut again. Cassandra frowned. Considered. Margaret correctly guessed her expression.

  “Brodie was verra successful with his piping. The clan has gathered for you. All morn they’ve been arriving. And soon, we’ll be escorting you to the castle. All of us.”

  “All...of you?”

  “Except for Mother, of course.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Oh my, nae. The castle is a league...mayhap a league and a half. Na’ much of a walk, really. Especially when the sun comes out, and the snow melts.”

  “The castle is...that close?”

  “Angus could ha’ taken you there last eve, but he’s got a bit of smarts to him. And I do na’ say that simply because I’m proud to be his wife. He used to be one of the castle stewards, afore that—.” She pinched her lips together at the last second, stopping herself.

  “Witch,” the old woman inserted, making the rocking chair creak as she stood. She hobbled over to them and settled onto the same stool she’d used the night prior. “Tell it true, Margaret.”

  “Well. That is a-tween her and the Lord. ’Tis na’ my place. All I ken is that once the laird left...well. That woman does as she wishes. She up and dismissed my Angus. And my girls. With na’ a word of warning! She does it to all she takes a dislike to.”

  “And she takes a dislike to many,” the older woman added.

  Cassandra exchanged glances with Emin. They both nodded. This Aileen sounded as if she wielded power like the Great Wife had. That woman was vicious and cutthroat. Rumor had it she’d poisoned every male child born until she’d had her own son, and even then a male babe was in jeopardy. Cassandra had only crossed her path once. She didn’t doubt any of the rumors.

  “Angus sent a mon last night to the castle.”

  “He did?”

  “We...needed the lay of the land, so to speak.”

  “And Rhoenne?” Cassandra’s voice betrayed her excitement. Margaret shook her head.

  “I am so sorry, my lady. The laird has na’ arrived as of yet.”

  “Oh.” The instant deflation colored the word.

  “Worry not, my lady. He is on his way. They just recent-like received word to expect him.”

  “But...where could he be?” Worry filled her words. She was close to wringing her hands.

  “I wish I had an answer for you, my lady. But, we should soon. Angus sent a man to Leith. And our youngest is on his way to Edinburgh.”

  The croft door opened to admit Nessa, bearing a bucket. Her entrance brought even more noise before the door shut.

  “We’ve got an army gathering, Mother.”

  “That’s well and good. We’ll be a-needin’ them. Now, my lady. We’ll just get you a bit of victuals on a platter, and then allow you a bit of privacy. Is there anything else we can get for you?”

  “Could I get my trunk?”

  “I’ll see it fetched. And...dare I ask if you’d like some clean water for washing? And we’ve a bit of heather soap.”

  Cassan
dra couldn’t contain the joy.

  “I thought as much. And I’d like to offer Nessa’s assist? As I told you, she used to work at the castle. She’s done many a maids duties. She’s got an artist touch with hair, as well. Come Maysie. We’ve a breakfast to provide, and chores to see to. Mother? You’ll na’ be in the way?”

  “Go away with you, Margaret. I’ll assist. And do a bit of checking on the wee bairns.”

  “You truly think...I carry more than one babe?” Cassandra asked.

  “How far along are you, lass?”

  “A little over four months.”

  “You certain-sure?”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “When were you two wed?”

  “That same night.” Cassandra couldn’t stop the blush.

  The old woman cackled delightedly. “That Rhoenne is clearly a Ramhurst! And that means you most definitely carry twins, my dear.”

  “Mother!” Margaret expostulated.

  “Oh, go on with ye. You’d think I didn’t birth seven of you, myself.”

  “Emin?” Cassandra asked.

  “I will be just outside, Highness.”

  “My. What a manly fellow. You ken...my Maysie has been widowed many a year now. And she is an excellent cook.”

  Margaret was still speaking as she followed him out. And for the first time, Cassandra watched Emin flush bright red.

  It took an hour to prepare. The ladies helped. The men were banned. All save Emin. He stood just inside the door with his back to the proceedings. Arms folded. Feet apart. Watching the closed portal.

  After her washing, Cassandra donned a white linen shift with a dark blue kirtle. Atop that, she wore one of her two formal silk gowns. Sewn from sky blue satin, it was the perfect color. It had been fitted to her shape from months earlier however, when she’d been lithe and slender. Margaret and Maysie worked miracles, cutting and basting and working so that the dress flowed loosely just beneath the bodice, looking not only beautiful and elegant, but refined.

  Nessa really did have an expert touch with arranging hair, too. Cassandra’s mass of hair had been twisted on either side of her head into ropes that were looped and pinned atop the crown of her head. The remainder of her tresses flowed loosely down her back. It was Emin who brought out the finishing touches, however. He pulled the harem headdress piece and breast collar from the bag at his hip, to loud gasps and murmurs of awe. The jeweled pieces were settled atop her last, the gems sparkling every time she moved.