A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (31 page)

She met Tormond outside the solar. “Is he within?”

The guard wore a hauberk with a sword strapped to his back and another at his hip, in addition to dirks and daggers lashed to his every extremity. “Aye, m’lady.”

She rubbed the outside of her shoulder. “He is disarmed?”

“Aye, and I shall be beside you the whole time.”

“Very well.”

She reached for the latch, but the guard’s hand grasped it first. “You do not have to meet with him.”

“He said he had a message of dire importance, did he not?”

“Aye.”

“Then I shall hear what he has to say.” She nodded for him to open the door.

She stood in the doorway and gasped.
That same scar
. “You?”

Isaac shoved back his chair and stood. “My lady, forgive my intrusion, but I have grave news.”

She crossed her arms and stepped inside. “It had best be grave indeed, or you’ll see yourself thrown in the dungeon and left to rot.”

He held up his hands. “Understood, but I must speak to you in private.”

Tormond moved forward, hand on the hilt of his claymore. “You shall never have a private audience with her ladyship.”

Isaac looked to Meg, his brows slanted outward. “I beg of you, Lord Campbell is in dire need of assistance from your house.”

“Lord Campbell? Has he recovered from the arrow wound?”

“Arrow wound?” Isaac’s scar stretched with his confounded stare. “Ah . . . I was referring to Lord
Duncan
Campbell.”

Meg gaped at him. “The Black Knight has perished?”

“Sennights ago.”

She stumbled forward, grasping the back of a chair for support.

Duncan is in trouble? His father dead?
Meg nearly swooned.

Tormond advanced and seized Isaac. Her mind raced—this could be a plot to spirit her back to Alnwick. Isaac’s gaze did not waver. Something in his stricken expression made her trust the man. “Release him.”

“M’lady?”

“Do it, I say, and leave us.”

Tormond’s brows drew together. “I cannot.”

“Remain outside the door. If Sir Isaac should raise a finger, I shall call you in.”

“But—”

“Leave us.” She pointed. “Now.”

The guard stepped away from Isaac. “If you do anything improper, anything at all, you will not leave this chamber alive.”

Meg watched Tormond take his leave, and then turned to Isaac. “Sit.”

He obliged, and folded his hands atop the table in a gesture demonstrating his surrender.

Meg chose to remain standing. “Sir Duncan, I mean Lord Campbell is in peril?”

“Yes. Lord Percy has conspired with King James to accuse him of murdering the
Earl of Mar
.” Isaac repeated the late earl’s name, as if the man’s ghost sent a cold shiver across his back.

Meg again clutched the back of the chair. “My God.”

“It gets worse.” Isaac pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes and shook his head. “They’re also accusing Lord Campbell of murdering his father.”

Meg’s stomach turned over with a sickening squelch. “He would never raise a hand against his da. He respected him as much as the king—more so.” Clutching her arms across her stomach, she paced. What could she do . . . and why was Isaac at Tantallon bearing witness against his lord? “Why did you come here, of all places?”

“I thought the Lord of Angus might help, especially considering the fact that Lord Campbell rescued you from the clutches of a tyrant.”

“But you’re loyal to Northumberland. You followed us after Duncan rescued me from Alnwick. I saw you on the pier in Glasgow.” She slammed her hand on the table. “You kidnapped me!” Meg desperately wanted to trust this man, but could she? Was this a ploy to entice her from Tantallon’s fortress?

“I can no longer live under the yoke of lies and tyranny. I’m the one . . .” Isaac swiped a hand across his mouth, as if he’d almost revealed a key confidence.

“You’re the one?”

His face paled, and there was something damning in his eyes she’d not noticed during her stay in England. They expressed something greater than fear. She cocked her head to the side. “Do you know who killed the Earl of Mar?”

Isaac’s jaw dropped, but those eyes remained filled with horror.

Meg suspected he did, but when he looked away, she opted not to push him. At the moment, the more important matter was Duncan. She chose to rephrase. “How do you know Lord Campbell is innocent?”

Isaac’s gaze returned to his folded hands. “Because he was in Glen Orchy when the murder occurred.”

Meg could feign a calm demeanor no longer. Fists clenching, she paced like a caged animal. “Where is he now?”

“In the gaol at Edinburgh Castle.”

Dear Lord, help
. Duncan could succumb to any number of heinous deeds. “How can we spirit him out?”

“I was hoping your brother could petition the king. A strong word from the Earl of Angus would be considered with utmost solemnity.”

Meg could scarcely breathe. “Arthur is in France and is not expected to return for a fortnight.”

Isaac’s shoulders dropped. “By then it will be too late.”

Meg placed both her hands on the table and leaned forward. Isaac had seen the claw, and at this point, she cared not. “I will go in Arthur’s stead. We must leave immediately.”

“But, my lady, the king will not see you, and the queen is at Dunfirmline.”

“Oh?” She stamped her foot. “Then we shall find another way.”

Meg marched to the door and flung it wide. “Tormond, we ride to Edinburgh within the hour. Ready the guard.”

Isaac sprang from the table. “It will draw suspicion if you ride into Edinburgh with an army of men.”

She raised her chin in defiance. “I will not put myself in a position to be kidnapped by Lord Percy again.”

“Very well—tie my hands if you like, but bring only a few good soldiers. Smart men who know how to blend into the shadows if need be.”

She glanced at Tormond. The fear in Isaac’s eyes had made her trust him. “Do it. I shall meet you in the courtyard in the turn of an hourglass.”

After dashing up to her chamber, the first thing Meg packed in her satchel was her new assortment of herbal remedies, including a vial of avens oil that she’d made under Hubert’s tutelage. She’d already learned that when it came to Duncan Campbell, a woman needed to be close by with a potent remedy.

It was nearly dark when Edinburgh Castle loomed on the horizon. Meg wasted no time and spurred her horse to a brisk canter. Duncan’s soul called to her, needed her. Nothing would stand in her way—not even the iron bars of the castle gaol.

Her guard had no choice but to match her pace. Isaac, too, rode beside her. He’d said little along their journey. Meg suspected he was deep in thought. Lord Percy must have done something abominable indeed to make his loyal man-at-arms turn traitor. And she gave thanks to God that he had.

Meg had visited Edinburgh Castle enough to know exactly where the dungeon was situated. Without slowing her horse, she drove the mare straight up the cobblestones past St. Margaret’s Chapel and to the prison gate. “I shall go in alone.”

“I cannot allow that, m’lady,” Tormond said from behind.

Yes, her guard would always be tenacious. Though Meg was the daughter of a peer, the man thought he had complete authority over her. She ignored him and spurred her mare faster.

Outside the ugly black doors, Meg didn’t wait for assistance. She quickly dismounted and pulled the latch. It didn’t budge.

“Allow me.” Tormond heaved on the door, and it slowly opened.

“My thanks.” Inside she was met by guards with their battleaxes held across the passageway. “I demand to have an audience with Lord Campbell immediately.”

“And who might you be?”

“I am Lady Douglas, daughter of the Earl of Angus.” She poured forth the words with such authority that no one would dare question her power to march into the gaol.

The guard looked at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. “I cannot allow a woman—”

She pushed his battleaxe aside. “Take me to the baronet forthwith, and I’ll not hear another word of dissension from
anyone
.” She glanced at Tormond and spread her palms out to her sides. “Besides, what harm could a mere woman possibly do?”

She marched down the dank stairs, her mouth growing dry, the stench of human excrement burning her eyes. Meg wasn’t about to allow them pause. If she showed a modicum of weakness, they might toss her into the courtyard and ban her from ever approaching the gaol again.

She tipped up her chin, hoping she looked important and in control, though her fingers shook like a nervous dog. In no way could she allow the guards to sense her fear. She would see Duncan this day, and she would do anything to ensure her success. Tormond followed closely behind.

At the bottom of the stairs, the stench nearly overcame her. She pulled the collar of her cloak over her nose and turned full circle.

“This way, m’lady.”

The guard led her down a dank passage lit by a sole torch on the wall. The further they went, the colder it became. They stopped outside a cell, shut off by iron bars. When Meg’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she gasped. A man lay curled in the middle of the tiny room, wearing only a pair of woolen chausses.

Duncan
. “Open this gate immediately.” She wrapped her fingers around the bars and squinted. To her horror, the flesh on Duncan’s back oozed with blood.

Her guard stepped beside her. “Lady Meg, ’tis not proper.”

She gave Tormond a solid whack on the shoulder. “I will see the prisoner now, and fetch my satchel. It has a vial of avens oil to soothe his wounds.”

Tormond scratched his beard. “He won’t be needing any remedies where he’s going.”

“Pardon?” Meg clenched her fists and faced him. “This man is innocent of all charges, and I will see him released. Hurry.”

The hinges creaked as the king’s guard opened the door. “If he survives,” the sentry mumbled under his breath.

There was no time to argue with the oaf. Meg dashed forward and dropped to her knees. Afraid to embrace him, she grasped Duncan’s filthy hands. “Duncan, can you hear me?”

His eyes opened and closed. “Lady Meg?” His voice rasped hoarsely and he grimaced. “Now I ken I’ve lost my mind. I’m even imagining her in the cell with me.”

Meg shook his hand and held it to her lips. “Duncan, ’tis me. I’m here.”

This time his eyes opened and focused. “Lady Meg? What? Why?”

She cared not if it was dirty, Meg cradled his hand to her cheek. “Hush. What matters is that I’m here and I know you are innocent.” She lightly touched his shoulder. “What did they do to you?”

Duncan hissed. “Singed off my flesh, then lashed me until I lost consciousness.” He licked his lips, but no spittle formed.

“Bring water,” Meg screeched. “Quickly.”

“Ye are an angel”—he sucked in a ragged breath—“sent from heaven.”

“I do not know about that, but I shall do what I can to see you released.”

Tormond entered with her satchel and a cup of water, followed by a guard carrying his battleaxe as if Duncan were going to jump up and give them a good fight.

“I should never have allowed you in here,” the guard said.

Meg grasped the satchel and pulled out the oil. “Your treatment of Lord Campbell is deplorable.” She pulled out the stopper. “I will have words with the king as soon as I’ve tended his wounds.”

As gently as she could, she spread the oil on each weeping welt. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nay . . .” Duncan’s voice trailed off.

Of course he was hurting. She’d never seen a man bludgeoned thus. She helped him drink the water, wishing she had some food to give him.

Conscious of the guards surrounding her, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Duncan’s ear. “Hold on, my love, for I
will
see you a free man, so help me God.” Tenderly, she pressed her lips to his temple and closed her eyes. Her heart twisted. If only she could take him into her arms, and lead him to a soft bed where she could properly nurse him back to health. “I thank you, Duncan, for your touching prose. You are truly a gift from heaven.”

Meg stood and faced the miserable guardsman. “Sir Campbell is a peer of the Kingdom of Scotland and you have discarded him in this cell like a common criminal.”

“But—”

She shook her finger. “I’ll hear no excuses. Your treatment of his person is unforgivable. Ensure he has a pallet of straw, food and watered wine at once. Clearly you’ve tortured him within a hair’s breadth of his life and left this valiant knight to starve.”

The man threw a worried glance to Tormond.

“I shall gain an audience with the king at once.” Meg eyed him. What could she do to ensure the guard followed her orders? She boldly stepped toward him. “If you see to Lord Campbell’s comfort, I will do everything in my power to ensure you keep your position in the king’s guard.”

“Y-yes, m’lady.”

She held up a finger. “But if Lord Campbell reports any further mistreatment, I shall make it my personal goal to see that not only you, but the entire prison guard is replaced.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

She bent down and smoothed her hand over Duncan’s head. “Hold on. I shall see you soon, my love.” Then she nodded to the king’s guard and headed out. When at last they reached fresh air, she faced him. “The Lord of Glenorchy will not die. For it is your head I will call for if his health should take a turn for the worse.”