The Highlander's Heart (24 page)

Andrew held up his shackled wrist. “This is my fault. I might wish for a second chance to make things right, but I deserve none.”

“But why tell David ye were the one to abduct me?”

“To prevent him going back to destroy my clan. ’Tis too late for me now. I will pay for my crime, but my clan, ye ken how little they have. If Campbell marches against them, how many would die, the guilty and the innocent alike? If I am to die, at least I wish to be the only McNab to suffer for this crime.”

The prison was silent. Andrew regarded Cait with sad eyes.

Cait clasped her hands in front of her. “I need to know one thing, Andrew. I want an honest answer. I deserve that much, ye ken?”

“Ask anything and I will tell ye true.”

“When ye said… when ye said what ye said on the hill. The part about how ye felt.” Cait shifted from one foot to the other. “The part about love. Was that a description o’ how you truly felt, or were ye simply after my dowry?”

Andrew looked her in the eye. “Everything I told ye that day was the truth, Lady Cait. Everything.”

“Then I need to provide ye wi’ an answer to yer question.” Cait stepped closer to Andrew, her eyes wide and black in the dim light. “Yes, Andrew. I will marry ye.”

“Lady Cait!” yelled down the guard. “Are ye well?”

“Aye,” said Cait, and flounced up the stairs.

Archie McNab slunk into Glasgow with a dark purpose. He left his horse tied in a secluded glen. It had taken him days of riding and slogging through rivers and hiding in caves before he had convinced himself Campbell was no longer a threat. At least for today.

His last attempt at freeing his brother without resorting to the abbot’s heinous request had failed. He had hoped to trade Lady Tynsdale for Andrew, but his brother was not there. No one was there, just the bastard Campbell. The last person he wanted to confront.

McNab crept around an inn, keeping to the shadows. The cold, hard truth of his life was that everything he did was wrong. He could not get ahead for anything. Every instinct he had was wrong. Every natural inclination was wrong. He was born a horrible mistake, ought to have been drowned at birth. Considering all the harm he had caused, he wished he had been stillborn.

If there was any justice in the world it would have been a dark and stormy night. The previous night, he waded through a bog with rain pouring down on him so thick he thought he’d drown simply by taking a breath. But now, when he could have used the dark night and the inhospitable weather, it was a warm night with a moon so bright you could see your shadow. He tried to be inconspicuous as he neared the bishop’s castle, but he was quite sure he had been spotted by several people along the way. Mostly couples gazing longingly in each other’s eyes. Truly, there was no justice at all.

McNab reached the bishop’s residence, and slipped through the open gate and in the front door. It should have been barred. Why didn’t God warn his own bishop to keep thugs like him from entering their homes? He muttered curses and grasped his knife. He must do this. He had to follow the abbot’s demand to have any chance of saving his brother. He had to save Andrew. Nothing else, not his life, not the bishop’s mattered anymore, if they ever did.

McNab crept down the hall and up a steep set of stairs. He guessed the bishop’s rooms would be at the top. At the top of the stairs another hallway filled with closed doors greeted him. McNab sighed. Would nothing be easy tonight? There was only one way to do this.

He drew his blade.

He put his hand on the latch of the first door when suddenly it swung into him smacking him hard on the nose.

“Arrgh!” he said. It was the involuntary sound a person makes when their nose has been broken.

“Dear me, I beg your pardon, I did not see ye there. Please come in, sit down. Let me see how I can help.”

McNab allowed himself to be ushered into the room and sat down by a small fire. Through the tears that filled his eyes he could see the white-haired bishop hover over him, the picture of concern.

“Here now, take my handkerchief for yer nose. Gracious, but ye are bleeding like a fountain.”

McNab took the handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. This was all going wrong. He needed to complete his errand and be away. He reached for his knife but realized he had dropped it on the floor when he was hit. It was somewhere on the hallway floor. He leaned back in his chair and groaned.

“Whiskey?” asked the bishop.

“Aye,” mumbled McNab. “By the barrelful.”

A mug was offered and he used his right hand to drink and the left to press the bishop’s cloth to his nose. Neither spoke for a while, until the whiskey warmed his insides and dulled the pain. McNab took the linen cloth from his nose. It had been a fine piece, embroidered with lace around the edges. Now it was a bright red rag.

“Sorry for ruining this.”

“’Tis I who should be sorry for injuring ye, my friend. Usually I’d be asleep in my bed at this hour, but ’twas such a fine night I thought to have a little walk in the moonlight.”

Archie nodded. God was protecting the bishop after all. And in a way that caused Archie pain. Aye, his luck was holding as well as ever. Which meant, of course, he had none.

“I fear I may have broken your nose,” said the bishop.

“Would’na be the first time,” McNab mumbled.

“What brings ye here at this hour, my friend?”

McNab figured it would come to that. He needed to come up with some plausible reason, and quick.

“I was sent to kill ye.” McNab’s shoulders slumped and he put his head in his hands, which caused the blood to start flowing again. That was the
truth
; he was supposed to
lie
. He was an idiot. Maybe he had been injured worse than he realized. He had heard if you hit a man’s nose hard enough, a piece of skull could get lodged in the brain, causing death. He could only hope.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think I have a piece o’ skull lodged in my brain.”

“What’s that?”

“But I canna die right now ’cause I must save Andrew or they will hang him for sure.”

“Who?”

“My brother. Which is why I have to kill you. I am terrible sorry about it. Ye seem nice and all.”

“Perhaps I could convince ye to lean yer head back, ye’re pooling blood on my floor.”

“Sorry.” McNab tilted his head back up. “Can I speak wi’ ye?” He desperately wanted to talk, the words spilling from his mouth. And since he was going to kill the bishop anyway it seemed he might as well speak the truth.

“Aye, my son. Tell me what is troubling ye.”

McNab told the bishop of the poverty of his clan, his failed attempts at improving his fortune, and his dealings with the abbot. He talked about trying to give Andrew a better life by sending him to university, of failing to protect his sister, of wishing he was never born. He spoke of abducting Lady Cait and her maid, and being tricked into thinking the maid was Cait. He told the bishop of how Andrew had been taken by Campbell and would most likely be killed. Last of all, he spoke of how killing the bishop was the only way he had left to try to save Andrew and how it didn’t matter anyway because he was already damned.

If the bishop was surprised or concerned by any of McNab’s words, it did not show on his face. A man accustomed to hearing the confessions of many, the bishop hid his feelings well.

When he was done, McNab laid his head on the table. He was so tired. He wished to sleep and never wake.

“Abbot Barrick, ye ken he be a man o’ God?” asked the bishop.

“He be the devil incarnate,” groaned McNab.

“Strange then, ye would go to him for spiritual advice. How can ye account for it?”

“I ne’er went to him for no spiritual advice.”

“Get yer story straight, lad. Ye just told me it made no difference whether ye committed murder because the abbot said ye are damned.”

“Aye… am I no’ then? Speak yer mind clear for me. ’Tis too late and I’ve drunk too much whiskey for riddles.”

“Yer abbot has been a boil on my backside for the past score years. Truth is he lied to ye. Ye are no more damned than the rest o’ us. That is why God sent a savior. All sinners, even grievous sinners, can be forgiven if they come before God with a repentant and contrite heart.”

McNab tried to make sense of what the bishop said, his wits dull with whiskey and pain. “Ye’re saying I can be forgiven.”

“Aye, lad.”

“That’s good. But ’tis no’ me I wish to save, but my brother.”

“What if I went to talk to Campbell for ye?”

McNab’s eyes opened wide. “Would ye do that? I would gladly trade myself and take my brother’s place. ’Tis me who is to blame.”

“I will speak to him, but I will no’ trade ye. There is something I need from ye. I need ye to bear witness against the abbot. I am going to appeal to the archbishop or to Rome itself to have him defrocked. I need yer testimony.”

McNab rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to help ye, but who would believe me against the word o’ the abbot? And I am no’ partial to displeasing him. He has more than me working for him and he woud’na care if my crops were burnt or my clan was killed.”

“I canna protect ye from him. I can only say that wi’ him gone, fewer people will be hurt. Yer clan included.”

“Ye’ll go to Campbell and get Andrew?”

“I will try. That is all I can say.”

McNab slowly nodded his head. “Aye, bishop. I’ll serve ye as I have served him. I ken ye to be a better master.”

“I am and no mistake.”

The bishop stood and motioned to the door. “Let us retire for the night. This is much too much excitement for these old bones.” The bishop led McNab down the hallway to an empty chamber. “I think ye will be comfortable here for the night.”

McNab entered the clean, serviceable room and turned back to offer his hand to the bishop. “Thank ye, yer grace. Ye have given me hope. ’Tis no’ a common thing for me.”

The bishop shook the hand offered, saying, “Sleep well, my son. Tomorrow I will ride for Campbell.”

The bishop closed the door to the bedroom, locked the door, and pocketed the key. He may be a trusting soul, but he was no fool.

Isabelle walked through a sea of mist. Where was she? A dark figure loomed in the distance and she walked toward it. As she drew nearer, she could see he was the figure of a knight, concealed in armor.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Do you not know your own husband?” The knight removed his helm revealing the withered face of her husband. “I am master of Alnsworth now.”

“No!” The mist dissipated and she was in the courtyard of Alnsworth, her people standing in chains around her. “No! You cannot do this!”

“If only you had returned,” said her nurse, her eyes dark and sorrowful. “None of this would have happened. But now it is too late.”

“You cannot do this!” Isabelle shouted to Tynsdale.

“There is none to stop me. I am coming for you, Isabelle.”

Isabelle woke with a small scream.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cait, opening a sleepy eye.

Isabelle sat bolt upright. She was on her pallet on the floor next to Cait’s bed in the room that served as the sleeping quarters for the unwed Campbell sisters.

“I-I had a nightmare. I must go home, now!”

“Now?” Cait stifled a yawn. “’Tis early, no?”

“But I must. Oh, I have been away too long. They must think me dead or that I have abandoned them.”

“Who?”

“My people. At Alnsworth! I must speak to David, uh, Campbell—Laird Campbell,” Isabelle corrected herself. She was so spun around she could not keep her innocent façade in place.

Isabelle had worried herself sick all yesterday about what to say to Campbell when she saw him, but she never did. He never sought her out and sent his apologies to the supper table that he was much too engaged making “arrangements” to join the family for the meal.

Cait closed her red, swollen eyes. “What good is it to ask David anything? He is too busy preparing to kill Andrew.”

Isabelle drew up her knees and rested her chin on them. Cait was right about one thing, Campbell was much too engaged at present to arrange travel for her. Isabelle thought fast, her mind considering, turning around, and discarding many bits of plans. There must be a way. She could not abandon her people. She could not.

“Cait!” Isabelle moved closer to Cait and glanced around the room, but all the ladies continued to sleep. “I have a plan to save Andrew,” Isabelle whispered.

“Oh! Tell me!” Cait sat up, her blue eyes sparkling, her golden hair falling around her.

“Shhhh!” Isabelle admonished and they leaned their heads in closer. “Remember you said your lady-in-waiting was still being held by McNab? What if you asked Campbell to trade Andrew to get her back?”

Cait clutched Isabelle’s hands. “Aye. That’s perfect. We can trade Andrew for Alys. Thank you, Isabelle!” Cait grabbed Isabelle into a quick, tight embrace. “Quick, let us dress, we will speak to David directly.”

“Good,” said Isabelle. When Campbell sent Andrew she meant to be one of the party at least to Glasgow. She must get help for her people. Time may have already run out.

***

Campbell nodded to his elders as they left. He walked back into his solar and eyed the bottle of whiskey. Tempting, but it was yet too early for drink. He had spent the morning arranging a trial for Andrew McNab. It was an unwanted responsibility and one he would gladly give up, as Gavin had been fortunate enough to do. But Andrew must have a fair trial, and Campbell would see it done. It was a grim business, for unless something dramatic happened to sway the evidence, Andrew would most surely be sentenced to death.

It was a difficult time, made worse by his rambling mind that would not stay a steady course. Isabelle. She haunted his thoughts. He had awoken yesterday at midday, well rested but alone. What had she thought when she woke up in his bed? Why had she not even woken him to say good-bye? She must be furious with him.

It may be cowardice, but he had avoided her all day yesterday. He was truly busy, so it was not difficult to do. He must see her sometime, but how could he explain? He had no right to take her to his bed. Worst part was, if he had the chance to do it over again, he would do the same thing.

Campbell pushed thoughts of Isabelle aside. He must focus on the situation at hand. He may be marching in war against McNab soon to get Alys back and punish him for his compliance in Cait’s abduction. He would punish the bastards who dared to abduct his sister.

“David!” Cait rushed into the room, flushed from running. “David, I ken what we must do to save Alys. We must arrange a trade wi’ McNab. We will exchange Andrew for Alys. Is it no’ a perfect solution?”

“Nay, Cait. I winna bargain wi’ McNab.” He was about to admonish Cait about bestowing her affections on inappropriate people, but Isabelle glided into the room after Cait. She wore an emerald silk gown and her long hair was pulled back under a modest wimple. She was a queen. Campbell poured himself a whiskey and sat down hard on a bench by the empty, black fireplace.

“But ye canna leave Alys to him. Ye must do this!” Cait ran to him and sat beside him, clutching his sleeve. “Please, David.”

“Ah, Cait.” Campbell shook his bowed head. He could not meet Isabelle’s eyes. “I am sorry for ye, I am.” Campbell stood for a moment and retrieved a missive from the mantel. “This arrived this morning. I already sent word to McNab demanding he return Alys or face war. This is the reply.”

Cait took the missive and opened it, Isabelle stepping by her side to read it too. Scrawled in a poor hand was a message from Alys.

Dear Laird Campbell,

Thank you for caring for my rescue. However, I have wed Laird McNab and choose to stay with him of my own free will. To prove what I say is the truth, I offer this knowledge of Lady Caitrina. If you look between her two middle fingers of her left hand you will find a small scar she received when she tried to rip out a seam with her table knife. I told her not to do it.

Respectfully,

Alys McNab

“Is this message in Alys’s hand?” asked Isabelle.

Cait nodded, staring blankly into the black fireplace.

“Is it true about the scar?” asked Campbell.

Cait held up her left hand and both Campbell and Isabelle bent down to inspect the small, white scar between her fingers.

“I dinna ken ye had a scar there,” said David.

“Few do,” answered Cait.

“So Alys has truly wed McNab? Why?” asked Isabelle.

“She spoke of him favorably, that he needed her. But I ne’er thought she would do something like this.” Cait shook her head, her eyes dull beneath red, swollen lids.

“Do ye think she will be mistreated?” asked Campbell.

“Nay, we were treated wi’ kindness while we were there.” Cait’s shoulders slumped. “So we canna exchange Andrew for her.”

David put his arm around Cait and gave her a brotherly squeeze. “I’m sorry, Cait. I dinna like to see ye so sad.” He was concerned by her frank devotion to Andrew and her distress at having him imprisoned. Unfortunately, it was likely going to get a lot worse for Andrew McNab.

Cait nodded mutely and walked out the door.

“Lady Tynsdale, I would speak to ye,” said Campbell, gathering his courage.

“Yes, I would like to speak with you too,” said Isabelle.

“Ye would? Aye, well, I feel I need to apologize for the other night. I dinna intend to… that is to say I did intend, but I…” Campbell rubbed his forehead with one hand and gestured in the air with the other. “It just happened.”

“It?” Isabelle’s eyes grew wide. “
It?
How could you?”

“I was tired. Ye dinna seem to mind at the time.”

“I was asleep!”

“True…”

“You should at least have woken me up and asked me if I would like to.”

“Ye are verra right.” Campbell’s heart sank. He was right, she was angry at him. He had thought… but no, her feelings did not match his. “I apologize. I thought that since we had before and… forgive me, I mistook yer feelings on the matter.”

“We did
before
too? I remember some things, but I do not recall doing… doing…” Isabelle flushed prettily. “Was I asleep?”

Now it was Campbell’s turn to be confused. “Aye. People do sleep when they are asleep.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabelle tilted her head slightly to the side.

“Sleeping. Together. In my bed. What do ye speak of?”

“Sleeping? As in actual sleep?”

“Aye.” Campbell drew out the word, speaking slowly. He had strong suspicions he knew what she was thinking, and it was not about sleep. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. “Ye speak of sex.”

“Campbell, please!” Isabelle glanced into the corridor and shut the door. “Someone might hear you.”

“So ye dinna mind speaking o’ it, but ye dinna wish anyone to know.” Campbell’s heart began to beat quite merrily. She did like him. Her blush gave her away.

“We should not.”

“Did ye think I had made love to ye while ye slept?” Now that was plain insulting.

Isabelle looked off at a tapestry hanging from the wall. “But for a moment. Is this not a nice tapestry?”

“Isabelle.” He stepped close and softly brushed her cheek. Her breathing increased, and he shamelessly enjoyed the view of the top of her breasts straining against the fabric of her gown when she breathed. Damn, but he wanted her. “If I should ever take ye to my bed to love instead of sleep, I will promise ye two things. First, ye will wish for it as much as I. And second, I dinna wish to brag, but there is no possible way ye will sleep through my lovemaking.”

Campbell had the satisfaction of watching Isabelle’s blush deepen to the color of a fine wine.

“Campbell.” A page knocked on the door. “Riders approaching.”

“Be there in a moment,” called Campbell.

“I-I need to speak to you,” Isabelle shook her head like she was trying to collect her thoughts.

“Later, I must go see who approaches.”

“Wait!” Isabelle put her hand against his chest. The gentle weight of her single hand held him in place. “I must ask for your help.”

“What can I do for ye, my lady?”

“I must return home to Alnsworth. I cannot tarry any longer. I fear Tynsdale has taken Alnsworth.”

“How do ye know?”

“I had a dream—”

“A dream?” Campbell was skeptical. He needed to go. Who knew who approached his walls, be it friend or foe?

“Yes, a dream.” She placed her other hand against his chest, her warmth seeping through his linen shirt. He could not move now had he wanted to. “I must return to Alnsworth.”

“And what would ye do there?”

Isabelle’s shoulders slumped. “Probably die at the hand of my husband.”

“Die?” Not on his watch.

“Now that he has Alnsworth, he does not need me alive.”

“Nay. Ye will no’ return.”

“But I must do something!” Isabelle dropped her hand from his chest and gestured into the air.

“I will help ye go to the bishop in Glasgow, but not now. I have to settle things with the prisoner first and with Cait.”

“I cannot wait any longer!”

“Forgive me, Isabelle, but I winna allow ye to give yerself back to a man who is going to kill ye! Now try no’ to worrit yerself, ’twas only a dream. I must see who arrives at my door!”

Campbell strode from the room. He needed to see who approached. He almost hoped for a foe; he could use a little swordplay to work off the heat she raised in him.

Campbell shook his head as he walked up the stone staircase to the wall walk. Battles he could fight and win, but when it came to affairs of the heart, he was outside his depth. He stood on the battlements of the outer wall and turned his focus to the party advancing on Innis Chonnel. The banner waved defiantly in the wind. It was the Douglas.

Campbell inwardly groaned and gripped the stone battlements wondering what ploy he could use to avoid his impending nuptials. He considered for a moment having his steward tell Douglas that he was away hunting… on an extended trip. But that was pure cowardice. He counted the men Douglas brought with him and wondered how much he valued his courage. Sometimes being a knight was a pure pain.

Campbell heard light footsteps behind him and assumed the page had followed him up. “Tell Mairi to prepare for our guests and that the lads will have to double-up.”

“We’re already double-upped,” protested Rabbie.

Campbell turned and saw his errant youngest brother. “Should ye no’ be in bed?”

“Nay,” said Rabbie defensively.

“Did Mairi let you out?”

Rabbie’s eyes widened and he paused considering his answer.

“Dinna answer if ye’re going to lie to me,” said Campbell, turning back to his approaching houseguests.

“Who’s coming?” asked Rabbie.

“See for yerself. ’Tis the banner o’ the Douglas.”