Highland beast, p.29
Highland Beast, page 29
James’s eyes widened. “She did?”
“Aye.” Erskine, the lying bastard, shook his head in disgust. “I would not have her bespell ye, Your Majesty, with her filthy words.”
James crossed his arms. “A woman who speaks the devil’s words is a witch and must have the demon cleansed from her before she can enter Heaven.”
“I think she should be cleansed with fire,” Erskine said.
Before another lie or threat could be uttered, Shana drew her hand out of her petticoats. She held the letter that Merida Sinclair had handed her through the window, waving it in the air.
“What is that?” James asked.
Erskine whipped his hand toward her, and the guard grabbed at the letter. Shana twisted, trying to yell against the bit, but it came out as an impotent mumble.
“’Tis a letter, I think. I see a seal on it,” James said.
“More spells,” Erskine said. “She will try to bewitch ye if ye read it.”
Shana had fallen to the stone floor, her face upward and her teeth aching from being pulled and jerked by the chain attached to the bit. The guard grabbed the letter from her hand. Erskine strode directly to it, snatching it away. “I will burn it before it—”
“Stop,” King James said. “Bring it here first.”
“But Your Majesty—”
“Bring it here, Chief Oliphant,” James repeated.
From her position on the floor, Shana saw four royal guards move forward to flank the king. With a nod from James, one took the letter from Erskine’s fingers.
Shana closed her eyes and exhaled in relief, letting herself sink into a heap.
“’Tis addressed to me,” James said, and she opened her eyes to see him stare first at Erskine and then her.
“It has the crest of the Sinclairs upon it,” James said, and Shana pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Did they give this to you to give to me?” he asked her.
Shana nodded, and James looked back at the front. He chuckled slightly. “King of England. With God’s help, one day.”
With the Sinclairs’ help. Hopefully James considered that true even if he didn’t say it.
He broke through the seal and unfolded it, reading. Did it say the same as what Erskine had burned below? That the Sinclair armies waited outdoors for him on the field to the west?
King James read it through, his frown increasing. He looked at the front of the letter again, reading how he was named King of England as well as Scotland.
“And this letter came by way of a woman locked in a dungeon?” James asked.
“Someone must have given it to her through the barred window,” Erskine said, obviously displeased.
“Gideon Sinclair would have sent the letter directly to me through you, Chief Oliphant.” James narrowed his eyes at Erskine, letting the man shift uncomfortably under his royal stare.
“I don’t know the mind of Gideon Sinclair, Your Majesty,” Erskine murmured, cutting a glance to Shana where she sat without moving.
If the king looked at her, she would nod, but instead he strode toward the door. “Do not harm the woman, Oliphant. I will get to the bottom of this on the field to the west.” He paused and glanced toward Shana. “How long ago did this letter come?”
She nodded, but he was no longer asking about a second letter.
James frowned as if her lack of appropriate answer was somehow her fault. He looked back at Erskine. “And take that contraption off her by the time I return. I will question her myself.” James strode out through the door, leaving Shana on the floor in a room with a furious chief who knew that he’d be judged guilty when James came back to question her.
The two daggers might be her only chance to survive the king’s absence, her only chance to speak to Bàs again. What would she say to him?
…
“’Tis been too long,” Bàs said. “If the king had received one of the letters, we’d have seen some movement.” Was Shana still in the dungeon? He hoped she was somewhere behind iron bars keeping Erskine and his men away from her.
“The letter through the gate probably stopped at Erskine,” Cain said. “He knows we are out here and that we won’t approach dressed for war or King James will react with fear and fury to mark us as traitors.”
Hannah kept her gaze on the tree line at the far end of the field. “And the second letter could still be in the dungeon with Shana.”
“’Tis why I kept the third,” Gideon said, his lips tight. “But it would be more powerful to show James our armies that will fight for his cause on Orkney and possibly against any other contenders for the throne in England.”
“Then I will ride in alone,” Bàs said.
“Ye represent the Sinclair Horsemen,” Gideon said, shaking his head.
Bàs yanked his skull mask off, dropping it among the grasses. “I am merely a man making sure an innocent lass is unharmed.”
Joshua snorted. “Merely a man, built of muscle and bones of granite, carrying an ax and a sword, ready to slice Erskine Oliphant to ribbons if he gets in his way.”
Bàs couldn’t promise otherwise if that was what was needed to liberate Shana. Even with horror in her eyes, he needed to get her to safety. Cait needed Shana to tend her during her upcoming birth. Kára needed her to help keep her twins healthy. Ivy needed her to be her champion and protector to heal from this trauma.
And I need her. The thought was powerful, hitting Bàs hard. I need her. She made him feel human, more like a man than a beast whose only purpose was to kill. When he’d helped Hamish pass with dignity, she’d made him see how he’d been helping others even as Death. And she’d insisted that his touch wouldn’t harm a bairn. He’d believed her enough that he’d tried and succeeded in saving wee Alice when she wasn’t breathing.
Bàs looked at Cain. “I need to get her out of there. I can feel it. Shana is running out of time.”
“Erskine’s not going to let you in his gates,” Ella said. “Even Merida was questioned by the guards.”
“Richard Mackay is living among the Oliphants,” Gideon said. He scratched the short beard on his chin. “I sent word to him to leave a way in over the wall on the east side facing the sea. Either an unlocked door in the base of a tower or a rope over the wall. Something to help us get inside indirectly.”
Bàs pointed. “I’ll go to the east side. Don’t follow. I’ll act alone.”
“Ballocks,” Joshua swore. “Ye aren’t going alone.”
Bàs looked at his brother who had changed from war-loving to war-avoiding during his time on Orkney. Bàs shook his head. “Ye have three bairns now. I’ll act alone in case the king sees it as treason.”
“I have three bairns because ye saved one,” Joshua said. “And the king thinks I’m dead, so I can’t be a traitor.” He raised his eyebrow in stubborn obstinance and crossed his arms. “In fact, it would be better if I wasn’t here if he comes to meet us. Gideon and Cain can wait here for him.”
Gideon glanced up at the sun that had begun its descent. “It’s been too long. The king may not even know we’re here.” He huffed in frustration. “I’ll go, too. We need to get to Shana.”
Cain handed his gold crown, the one proclaiming him the Horseman of Conquest, to Ella. He hated the thing as much as Bàs hated his skull mask. “I’m a brother first,” he said. “I ride with the three of ye.”
“Keenan,” Cain called, and his second in command, under his brothers, rode up. “Spread word to the commanders to wait a bit longer. I won’t have civil war started without cause because we’re impatient. We will try to liberate Shana and her nephew without anyone knowing we are inside the castle.” Keenan nodded and rode off.
Cain whistled long and grabbed a piece of red and green cloth, tying a large knot in it to indicate that the armies were to wait. He put his arm out; Eun, his falcon, dove down to land, taking the fabric in his talons to fly over the men.
“’Tis time,” Bàs said. The others nodded, their support more than Bàs had anticipated. They’d always said he was valued, but he’d been the one to cause their mother’s death, to cause their father to decide they were the Horsemen. Not only had his brothers agreed to come to Wick, but now they were riding toward it with him as brothers. Their complete support behind him.
Bàs leaned over Dòchas, and his sleek horse leaped forward, feeling the need to do something, anything required to save the woman Bàs had realized he couldn’t live without.
…
Hannah Sinclair watched her four brothers race off toward Old Wick Castle, leaving their armies of four colors, nearly five thousand horses, waiting behind with orders not to advance. They would show King James their allegiance if he ever came out.
Aunt Merida had ridden toward the back of the black horses to wait by Kenneth Macleod, the regent for Clan Sutherland and Ella’s father. Kenneth and Aunt Merida had been spending time together, and he’d wanted her safely back by him when she’d completed her mission to get the food and letter to Shana.
Lord, protect Shana and little Edward. Old Wick’s dungeon was horrible. Were there rats in the darkness with her? Hannah shuddered to think of it. At least Shana now knew that they were coming to save her.
Up ahead, at the tree line, a group of riders appeared on the field. Hannah’s brothers continued to ride toward them. Were they Oliphant warriors? Her heart sped up, although a quick glance over her shoulder at the thousands of loyal warriors behind her reminded her that she and Ella weren’t alone. The men were virtually silent. Only the slight stepping or shifting of their horses could be heard over the breeze.
Hannah watched the riders. What should she and Ella do if they came upon them? Ella was lady of Girnigoe, and Hannah was the only daughter of George Sinclair. They could retreat behind the endless lines of horses and men. Or I could lead the armies myself.
Having been raised not to utter a word didn’t mean Hannah’s mind was quiet. She’d watched and learned everything she could growing up as the daughter of the most feared warlord of northern Scotland. She’d sat silently in her brothers’ Latin and French lessons and had Bàs teach her how to shoot a bow with enough power to knock over a stag. Calm and meek on the outside, she raged sometimes as hot as Joshua on the inside. She read all the books in the Girnigoe library, and she used to hide in a dark corner of the library listening to Cain and their father discuss how the Sinclairs could take over Scotland. And now they might be forced to do so.
She sat up straighter on her mare, Loinneil, who shifted slightly as if she were as impatient as Hannah to do something. Hannah’s head snapped around when two horses walked up between Ella and her. Kára and Cait. Kára sat on her bay horse and Cait sat on the gentle mare she’d won after helping to save King James’s life last winter.
Before Hannah could ask, Cait spoke up. “No, Gideon and Joshua don’t know we came.” She glanced at her before looking forward. “We’re riding slowly and will stay out of any fray, but we wanted to represent the women of Girnigoe and Varrich along with you and Ella.”
“And we waited until they left,” Kára said. “Or they’d worry.” She flipped her hand as if the reactions of their husbands, which were bound to be thunderous, were not concerning.
Ella moved her horse over so that the four of them sat their mounts at uniform intervals like Hannah’s brothers did when they stood as the Horsemen. “Who are they?” Ella said, squinting out at the riders. The four Sinclair brothers split to ride on either side of the oncoming group of about twenty mounted men, Bàs and Joshua on one side and Cain and Gideon on the other. Gideon slowed, falling behind, as did Cain, but Bàs and Joshua continued their gallop toward Old Wick.
“What is he doing?” Hannah murmured. She had excellent vision, but the group was far away.
“It looks like Gideon is passing something to the lead rider,” Cait said.
And then Cain and Gideon charged forward again, following Bàs and Joshua, who were already riding on the path to the castle.
The man in front turned his horse in a circle, stopping to watch her brothers race away. He threw his hands up in the air as if he were an unbreeched lad demanding attention.
“Daingead,” Cait murmured. “That’s King James.”
Hannah picked out the pointy beard and feather waving from his cap. “Bloody hell,” she whispered.
“And the Horsemen raced past him like he was no one,” Ella said, a grim smile turning up her lips. “He’s bound to be angrier than a swatted hornet.”
For a full minute, they watched the king turn in circles as if not knowing which way to go.
“What do you think he’s saying?” Kára asked.
“Nothing good,” Cait said.
“And probably in a whiny voice,” Ella said. Hannah snorted softly.
Finally deciding, King James rode toward the women. “Well, fok,” Kára murmured. “I expected him to go the other way.”
“What do we do?” Cait asked, alarm in her voice.
Hannah glanced at the ground where Bàs had dropped his skull mask. She swung her leg over Loinneil and leaped to the waving grasses, her petticoats billowing out. She strode over, grabbed the mask, and held it up to her sisters-by-marriage. “We represent the Horsemen while they’re gone.” She thrust her foot into the stirrup and mounted as she spoke. “Each of you for your husbands.”
“My husband is still supposed to be dead,” Kára said.
“James wanted us to find another Horseman of War to hold up the legend,” Hannah said. “You’re his wife.”
“I’ll be Penelope then,” Kára said with a small smile. “She was the virtuous wife in the Odyssey.”
Hannah held the skull mask up to her face, peering through the eye sockets, but it was damp inside and smelled musty. The three women watched her as she held it far from her face and set it with both hands gingerly on the pommel of her saddle. “I’ll just set it here,” Hannah said. “I don’t actually have to wear it.”
“Here he comes,” Ella said. “Look fierce.”
“He thinks all women are worthless except as breeders,” Cait murmured.
Kára tsked. “His poor wife.”
“God’s teeth! What is bloody going on?” James yelled as he approached.
The four women kept still, sitting straight with neutral frowns in place. Hannah was proud she didn’t flinch when his horse came to a thunderous stop before them. “I received the letter to come meet the Sinclair Horsemen.” His arm flew out behind him. “And then Gideon Sinclair handed me another, but then they rode past me.”
“Your Majesty,” Ella said. “There is a situation that required—”
“Why are they not here to meet me?” James yelled with all the indignation of a ruffled monarch. A spoiled child. His gaze moved from woman to woman. “I demand an explanation.”
“Well…” Hannah said, drawing his attention. She shrugged, meeting his direct gaze. “You were late.”
…
The iron mask pressing into the skin of her face made it hard for Shana to see anywhere except directly in front of her. Yet the enemy surrounded her. She kept turning her face from side to side to keep Erskine, the callous Witch Pricker, and the Oliphant guards in her view.
With the witch’s bridle on, connected to Erskine’s brute by a leash made of chain, Shana could not escape them. But she must try to stay alive while the king was out meeting with Bàs and his brothers.
I am coming.
Those three little words strengthened her with hope. Even with her horrible condemnation and the pain she’d seen in his eyes, Bàs was still coming to help her save Edward and herself. Where was Edward? How could she get to him before Janet did something to him?
With the damn bridle on, she couldn’t even ask. She turned around while still sitting on the floor to see the stairway, the chain scraping. Shana saw Janet standing there in the archway, her eyes widening as she saw the full extent of the bridle locked on Shana’s face. Janet said nothing, just looked at her with a mix of pity and fear, before stepping back into the shadows.
“Remove the bridle,” Erskine said, and Shana turned back to center him in her view. He sneered at her, his hand scratching at his unruly hair. “And what will ye say, witch? Lies?”
He didn’t fear lies. He feared the truth—the truth that Erskine had planned Ivy’s death from the start. That he’d paid his nephew in gold to seduce Ivy and get her with child along with getting his mistress with child, too. That he’d summoned the king with lies about witchcraft because his presence would protect him from the Sinclair Clan, who’d become involved through an act of God or fate when Bàs saved her and Edward from wolves and then the ax.
Erskine Oliphant did not fear her telling lies. He feared her telling King James all the truths that Erskine wanted buried.
The mad chief’s gaze swept to her, his lips pulling back so that his brown teeth showed. “Perhaps if ye were to lose your tongue.”
“She may be able to write,” the brute behind her said.
“And her fingers,” Erskine said. He looked to the Pricker. “Do ye have instruments to do that?”
“Aye,” the Pricker said, making Shana swallow around her trapped tongue. “But His Majesty said no harm was to come to the woman while he was gone. I will not tangle myself in your schemes, Erskine Oliphant, and find myself hanged for treason.”
Erskine cursed, striding across the room. “Show me the instruments.”
Shana’s breath was coming faster as she watched the worry and anger mix in Erskine’s face. He was afraid now, and fear could change a cruel man into a murderer.
The Witch Pricker opened a leather satchel that held his instruments of torture: long needles used to pierce into every spot on a suspected witch’s body, instruments to pinch and open a woman for inspection as he tried to find a teat for an animal familiar, and apparently blades to cut off a woman’s tongue and fingers.
