by Jackie Ivie
She slapped both hands to the top of her head, the move slicing through the few remaining strands keeping her in place. Her new expression was ludicrous, filled with shock, horror, and then mortification. He had a good guess at the cause. She was accustomed to being a much-vaunted and eye-catching beauty. She’d used it not just to manipulate and control, but also to scorn, deride, and mock. Now she was getting a notion of what it felt like to be on the receiving end. The room erupted with laughter, derision-filled hoots, and a massive thumping noise that came from fists on tabletops and stomping boots on the floor.
Aileen jerked at the scarf trailing from the headdress, held it tightly against her head, and looked down, cowering from a public humiliation. Unattached locks of hair sifted onto the floor at her actions. The crowd reaction was uproarious. Rhoenne gestured to get them quiet enough he’d be heard. Lachlan had his nose wrinkled. He looked indecisive.
“Now, wait a bit there, Lachlan MacDuff!” Rhoenne yelled. “Hair grows back, and I will sweeten the pot. How about I give you twenty-five silver pieces?”
“Will you add in a saddle?” the man queried.
“Aye.”
“And whiskey?”
Rhoenne tipped his head to one side as if considering. “As much as you can heft.”
“And a new sword?”
“You are pushing my good humor, MacDuff,” Rhoenne replied.
The fellow grinned, showing he still had some teeth, but they were discolored. No matter who did the appraisal, Lachlan was a seedy, unkempt specimen.
“I was just checkin’ on how badly you wished to be rid of her,” the man responded.
“If that be the case, I can burn her at a stake without costing much at all,” Rhoenne responded.
Surprisingly Lachlan showed he was a handy negotiator. He didn’t alter his stance. He didn’t counter-offer. He simply waited. He wasn’t the only one. The entire crowd seemed to be holding its collective breath. Rhoenne finally took a heavy sigh.
“Oh, verra well. Lachlan MacDuff. I agree to the terms. I will add a sword. I will even toss in a scabbard. But that is my final offer.”
“In that event, I accept.”
Rhoenne shoved his head back and shouted. “You hear that, clan? We have an offer!”
Crowd noise rose again, radiating about the great hall in waves of sound. Rhoenne waved his arms once more. It didn’t take long for quiet this time, as if they sensed blood being drawn...and nobody wanted to miss it.
Rhoenne turned to face Aileen again. “I assume you have been listening, Aileen? In a moment I shall give you a chance to speak. Do na’ waste time with excuses. You are being removed from my fief. The only choice you have is how that takes place. Your actions directly resulted in the deaths of my father, my uncle, my brother...and you plotted mine as well.”
He didn’t bother controlling the disgust and repugnance.
“And now we ken you attempted to poison everyone in the castle!”
He stopped for a moment. Sent a growling noise from deep in this throat.
“You may think this harsh, but I am amazed at my leniency. I only cut your hair when I should have slit your throat. It must be because...at one point, my father - and then my brother - loved you enough to wed with you. They are na’ the lone ones to offer you their hearts. And what did you do? You trod on them. All of them.”
There was complete silence throughout the room.
“So. What is it to be? Your choice. You may wed with Lachlan MacDuff and leave; you can accept a life of service to the church at Jedburgh; or you will be burned at a stake come sunrise. Do na’ make me wait overlong. I will na’ hesitate to decide for you. Or...perhaps I should just let the clan choose!”
The crowd reacted. Voices hollered countless slurs. Yelled options. Descriptions. The thumping started up again, too.
Rhoenne regarded her with complete indifference, waiting and watching.
Aileen wasn’t contrite. She speared him with a look of pure malice. Her shorn hair was ruinous to her attractiveness. Or perhaps it was just insight into the real ugliness she carried inside. Long moments passed. She finally turned her head away dismissively. Rhoenne turned back to wave at the crowd again. They stilled as if they’d been waiting for him.
“Calum Montvale!” Rhoenne called.
The man straightened.
“I need Lachlan MacDuff unshackled and—!”
“No!”
Aileen’s screech stopped him. It snagged Calum Montvale’s attention as well. He gave her a look of complete loathing. Aileen saw it before looking away again. Rhoenne held back his smirk.
“You have something to say, Aileen?” Rhoenne asked.
“I will take...the convent,” she whispered.
“Oh. Verra well. Montvale? I have new orders for you. I want this woman incarcerated in the east tower. Under nae circumstances is she to have any communication. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” the man replied.
“Take as many men as you need.”
“Now, wait just a moment here! Wait! My laird, wait! We had a deal!” Lachlan gestured as he yelled, adding the clinking of iron to his shouts.
“Oh. I hope you forgive me, Lachlan. Perhaps when you are freed, you’ll consider it proper recompense?”
“We had a bargain! I said I will marry the wench! And get the fortune!”
“Apologies, MacDuff. She does na’ want you.”
“She wanted me well enough afore!”
“She did?”
Rhoenne looked from Lachlan to Aileen and back, doing his best to act surprised and slightly offended. Despite forcing the recollection away, long nights ago he’d wondered how he’d handle just this event when he returned to his fief. Of all the scenarios, nothing came near the enlightenment and enjoyment he was experiencing. He pointed at Aileen.
“You can na’ possibly be referring to the widow!”
“Aye! That be the wench I speak of.”
“Lachlan. Please. I’ve rarely known you to leave the stables. Or bathe, for that matter. And the widow does na’ ride. Whatever would she have wanted you for?”
“Service a-tween her legs, mon! And she kens it!”
“No!”
Aileen’s screech of anger held something close to embarrassment. Grant sounded like he gagged. Montvale shared his revulsion. Guardsmen throughout the ranks exhibited a like reaction. The crowd found it uproariously funny. Hoots and laughter rang out. Rhoenne was hard-put not to respond in kind. He had to look up to stifle it. He let the merriment continue unabated for several moments before waving his hands for quiet.
“Well. This is...surprising,” he spoke, when it calmed enough he could again be heard. “I find your claim fairly...unbelievable. If ‘twere any other woman, I’d be challenging you to the list over such a slur! But...I’d best ask her first.”
“Why do that? She’ll just lie!”
“This is a lot to...consider. We should at least allow a response afore we continue.” Rhoenne turned physically to look at Aileen. “Well? You heard the man, Aileen. I am allowing you to speak again. Clansman MacDuff has accused you of - what is it, Lachlan – the sin of fornication? Or do you speak of adultery?” Rhoenne tipped his head toward Lachlan again.
“Both!” the man answered.
Aileen’s wail was swallowed by crowd reaction. It wasn’t an amused sound this time. There was an undercurrent of anger that permeated the outburst. Rhoenne added the tone to his next question.
“Well, Aileen? Do you have a defense? Is any of this untrue?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t look up. She didn’t act as if she’d even heard. More of her hair fell off her shoulders to the floor.
“Calum Montvale?” Rhoenne addressed the captain again.
“My laird?”
“Is it still snowing?”
“Snowing?” he repeated.
Rhoenne sighed heavily before looking across to the opposite end of the great hall. “Anyone near the door! Is i
t still snowing?” he shouted.
Several throats hollered back an affirmative ‘aye’.
“My thanks!” Rhoenne yelled back before looking down at Calum again. The fellow was flushed with emotion. His hands balled into fists. Rhoenne regarded him for long moments before explaining. “Snowfall and darkness make journey dangerous. I would na’ send any man or beast out in it. That being the case...I seem to have a bit of time afore I make a decision. So. Calum Montvale.”
“My laird?”
“Your orders stand. Incarcerate this woman in the east tower. Do na’ allow any visitors nor answer any of her requests. Use as many of your men as you need.”
The man started pointing to guardsman on either side of him, and those on the dais.
A flurry of activity happened at the entrance again. Rhoenne looked up. Large platters of roasted meats and steaming vegetables were being trundled in, along with a assortment of enormous black kettles, and several carts containing what looked like bread loaves. And then he saw the KilCreggar laird at the doorway, an almost unrecognizable woman at his side. Rhoenne looked over at Henry.
The man grinned, then nodded.
“Ah! It appears the feast has finally arrived!” Rhoenne announced. “Just in time. And look! Sir Henry FitzHugh’s new lady is also here. Henry?”
Henry FitzHugh rushed past Emin and his protégé to reach the floor. Rhoenne had been avoiding looking that direction for some time. With good reason. He was acting the part of ‘The Dark One’. Looking at Cassandra might be his undoing. Her eyes lit up as she recognized Ida and then she turned to meet Rhoenne’s gaze.
Rhoenne made a fist and put it atop his heart. The smile she gave him made her eyes glow. She truly was a beauty, inside as well as out.
“My laird?”
Calum was still below him, in front of the dais. Rhoenne dragged his attention from his wife with reluctance. The man gestured to where several guards hovered about Aileen’s chair. She had her head turned aside and her hands gripped to the chair arms like claws. Rhoenne pulled in a breath before he approached. The guardsmen parted for him.
Aileen was no longer beautiful. She looked demeaned, and completely diminished. His gut wrenched slightly. He’d wondered sometimes at the level of satisfaction he’d experience when Aileen was finally punished. Oddly, any pleasure was missing. He didn’t feel anything.
Vengeance was hollow.
That was profound.
He lowered his voice so only the closest could hear. It still throbbed with menace. “Aileen. If you do na’ get to your feet and walk with these men, I will have you dragged off. I will na’ care if you are kicking and screaming o’er it. In fact – I believe the clan will find it verra enjoyable.”
She stood. Guards surrounded her, their height making it difficult to spot her shaved head as they moved off the dais. Calum joined them at the main floor, finally assuming the lead. If Rhoenne placed a wager on the first bout of the upcoming games, it wouldn’t be on Calum. He waited until they disappeared from the hall before speaking again.
“Euan? Iain? Graham?” The men were at his side almost instantly.
“My laird?”
“I do na’ ken if you noted things, but my wife—,” Rhoenne stopped on the title. His voice warmed. He glanced in her direction, smiled, and then cleared his throat. “She...uh. Carries my bairns.”
Eyes widened and their jaws dropped. The three of them looked over to Cassandra and then back. Rhoenne met their return glances with a wide grin. He didn’t bother hiding it.
“That being the case, she probably hungers. And thirsts.”
“Oh. Aye. We will see to a sup,” Iain said.
“We’d best fetch a table first,” Euan added.
Rhoenne nodded, and turned back to the chair Aileen had occupied. He placed his hands to his hips. The chieftain sword pinned Aileen’s headdress and strands of hair to the chair back. The dais was almost empty.
“That is going to take some work to get out,” Grant remarked at his side.
“True.”
He slanted a glance to his cousin. “I appear to have lost a commander to my Honor Guard. Henry mentioned retirement some time ago. He yearned for a wife. Bairns. His own place. Well. He must have meant it since he’s gone and got himself a wife.”
“Aye. ’Twas quite a surprise, too. He said naught of it three days past.”
“Well...a lone man traveling about the Highlands with an unwed woman has few choices if he wishes her accepted. ’Tis obvious they wed by proclamation. Exactly as I did.”
“But she does na’ even speak!”
“A nod would have sufficed.”
Grant nodded. “Fair enough, but...Ida?”
“The woman’s changed. As have we all. You have na’ looked at her recent-like or you’d ken it.”
Grant grunted something noncommittal.
“So. Viscount Ramhurst. What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Assuming command of my Honor Guard. Until such time as the games are enacted and you earn it on the list.”
Grant straightened enough he was almost Rhoenne’s height. “My laird. Cousin. You do me yet another great honor. I will na’ fail you. I swear.”
“I ken. ’Tis why I spoke.”
Grant cleared his throat and gestured back to where the chieftain ceremony sword was stuck. “We should get that out while we’re alone. If I hold the chair, mayhap you can pull the blade?”
“Nae. I shall just leave it like that...for the time being.”
“Trophy?”
“More of a gut feeling,” Rhoenne said reflectively.
“Cousin?”
“I may have need of it in the morn. Oh. Here.” Rhoenne pulled Grant’s sword from his scabbard and held it to his cousin. “You can have this back now.”
Grant took the hilt. Looked across to his cousin. “You are a verra lucky man, Rhoenne.”
“Oh. Trust me, Cousin. I ken it. Fully.” Rhoenne nodded, and moved to take the most desirable spot in the world.
Right beside his wife.
He’d raised emotions within her since she’d met him, but they were nothing compared to the aura of pure light that filled her breast. Stung her eyes. Made her quiver. Cassandra dabbed at her eyes as he settled into the chair beside hers. Caught a sniff.
“You ail, sweet?” he whispered.
She shook her head. Lifted her gaze to his. He gave her a smile that sent shivers. Her breath caught. Her knees knocked together. He held out his hand to her, palm-up. She blinked rapidly. Sniffed. The sight blurred momentarily as she put her fingers atop his. He raised her hand to his lips, touched a kiss to the tops of her knuckles, and sent a flood of warmth through her entire being. He moved their entwined hands to his chest and held them there. That’s when she realized she wasn’t the lone one trembling.
“I can na’ believe...my life. How blest—.” He and cleared his throat. “I do na’ ken what to say. Or how to speak fully of it. My tongue searches for the right words...and fails.”
“I love you,” she replied.
He sucked in a quick breath and lifted his chin. Jaw muscles tightened. Everything about him went taut. Veins pulsed throughout his neck. Several heart-throbbing moments passed before he looked back down at her. The film of moisture that glazed his eyes made them resemble gemstones. Cassandra’s heart pulsed. The world rocked sideways, then re-righted. She was amazed that she wasn’t swooning.
“Oh sweet. I can na’ comprehend the scope of this. ’Tis...too vast.” His voice wavered. “I have spent so many years striving to kill off emotion. Harden my heart. I cared little what I did or whom it hurt. There are nae amends I can make. Too many to appease. That alone is worrisome. But. There is more. I have found something akin to heaven. Right now. Here with you.” The words stopped. He swallowed audibly. “Na’ only am I unworthy of such a thing....I am also frightened.”
“Frightened? You?”
He tightened his fingers about her as he
interrupted. “Oh, love. I am supposed to be ‘The Dark One’, but I must admit. ’Twas a façade. I have received a love so precious. So...perfect. I can barely absorb how it feels. Especially after the months just past...when I thought you lost to me. And now? Now that you carry my bairns? Oh. Lord above.”
He stopped again. Pulled in a large breath that shuddered. His chest expanded outward, moving their entwined hands. He exhaled. Words came with it. “Oh, my love. If anything were to happen to you or to our bairns? I truly do na’ ken if I could handle it.”
Cassandra tightened her fingers within his. Received a slight pressure in return. “Surely, that is in God’s hands. And thus far He has been very gracious.”
“Beyond my ability to comprehend,” he replied. “I believe I spoke earlier of my trouble with words this eve. Did you na’ hear?”
“Trouble? Surely you jest.”
He shook his head. Cassandra smiled.
“How old are you, Rhoenne?” she asked.
He snorted with surprise and possible amusement. “Auld enough.”
“In years, please.”
“A bit over a score and five.”
“Twenty five? That’s all?”
One eyebrow lifted before he answered. “I certainly hope you are na’ calling me youthful, or inept, or some other slur. If so, I need warn you. I’ve taken umbrage for less. And your punishment...may last through the night.”
She tipped her glance away from his for a moment and felt the blush sending warmth everywhere. It took an act of will to look back at him. “I merely ponder over your words tonight. And the wisdom you exhibited. Especially with regard to that woman.”
“Aileen is na’ a woman, love. She is a witch.”
“Either way...how could you know?”
“Know what?”
“What she’d do?”
He stiffened. She felt it. “I do na’ follow your thinking,” he finally replied.
“Whenever a sultan passes on, everything in the harem changes. Those who had power – his lesser wives, his favorites, even the lowest of concubines – they are given a choice. It’s unspoken, but known. Those who didn’t take it bore the punishment. They were treated as offal. Their value equal to a slave...if not less.”