Connie Mason (14 page)

“This is important. I have an idea that should please you.”

Elissa didn’t think anything Kimbra had to say would please her, but she decided to listen anyway. “We can talk right here, no one is around to hear us. What is it you wish to say?”

“Your home is as inhospitable as these lands. After Damian and I are wed, I will convince him to take me to London. I’m confident I can persuade the king to let us take up residence in town.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I want to help you escape so my wedding can proceed as planned.”

“Damian will never agree to leave Misterly permanently.”

Kimbra gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I’d risk the king’s wrath for Damian. I’m sure you’re aware that Damian’s lovemaking is exceptional.” She preened for Elissa’s benefit. “He pleases me, and I him. I didn’t want to consummate our vows before the ceremony, but you know how persistent Damian can be. You are a distraction he doesn’t need. Therefore, I’ve decided to help you join your intended bridegroom.”

Pain sliced through Elissa. She’d suspected that Damian and Kimbra had been intimate, but hearing the truth from Kimbra’s lips made the hurt even more unbearable. Armed with that knowledge, Elissa knew she couldn’t…wouldn’t refuse Kimbra’s offer. It would mean leaving her mother and Lora behind, but she was convinced that Damian wouldn’t harm them. Once she was gone, Kimbra would probably convince him to send her mother and sister to the convent.

Elissa nodded slowly. “Verra well. Tell me how you’ll help me.”

Since Damian already knew about the secret tunnel and had stationed a guard near its entrance, Elissa was willing to listen to Kimbra’s plan. She was convinced that joining Tavis was the only way to end the siege.

“Listen,” Kimbra said, lowering her voice. “Here’s what we’ll do.”

The Gordons retreated into the forest under cover of darkness; their campfires could be seen from the bulwarks. A hot meal was being served to those men within the keep not on guard duty. Once they had eaten, they hunkered down before the hearth to catch whatever sleep they could before the Gordons’ likely attempt to storm the keep at dawn. The wounded had been treated and no deaths had been reported. After dining, Damian joined Dickon on the bulwarks.

Dressed in her father’s shirt, baggy britches held in place by a wide leather belt, and a too large jacket, Elissa slipped out the kitchen door. Pulling her father’s old bonnet low on her forehead, she hugged the shadows as she skirted around the keep to the front gate. It wasn’t as dark as she would have liked, for a pale moon hung low in the sky. Elissa prayed that Kimbra would uphold her part of the bargain, for without Kimbra’s help her escape was doomed to failure.

Elissa had explained the plan to her mother, and why she thought it necessary to place herself in Tavis’s hands. Lady Marianne had been adamantly opposed but failed to dissuade her.

Elissa breathed a sigh of relief when Kimbra sidled out from the shadows. “Reverend Trilby promised to distract the guard,” Kimbra whispered. “He agreed with me that your leaving was best for everyone inside the keep.

“Listen carefully,” Kimbra continued. “When we reach the gatehouse, distract the gatekeeper so he won’t see me sneaking up behind him. Once I render him unconscious, I’ll help you raise the gate. From there you’re on your own. No one will suspect me of helping you, and ’tis unlikely you’ll be missed until tomorrow.” She gave Elissa a shove. “Hurry.”

Elissa glanced at her home one last time before creeping toward the gate. Kimbra’s plan wasn’t perfect but it could work if everything went as planned, Elissa thought. She spied the night guard and the Reverend Trilby speaking together in low tones and circled around them.

Her heart pounding erratically as she neared the gatehouse, Elissa sensed the moment Kimbra was no longer behind her. Shoulders slumped, chin tucked low, she approached the gatekeeper and was immediately challenged.

“Who goes there?”

“The kitchen lad, sir,” Elissa said in a thick brogue.

“What are you doing here, lad? You’d best return to the keep.”

“The kitchen was hot, I needed some air.” She stepped past the gatekeeper and peered through the gate’s narrow iron slats, pretending interest in something beyond the walls. “What is that?” she asked excitedly.

The gatekeeper pushed her aside. “I see nothing, lad. Are you sure…” His sentence ended in a sigh as Kimbra struck him from behind with a rock.

“Help me,” Kimbra said, struggling with the apparatus operating the gate.

Together they managed to lift the gate high enough for Elissa to slip through. The gate lowered behind Elissa and she hugged the wall a moment to catch her breath. When no alarm sounded, she blew out a sigh of relief and moved out from the shadow of the wall.

The guard who had been conversing with Reverend Trilby must have heard something suspicious, for he advised the Reverend to return to the keep before sprinting toward the gatehouse. Once he was gone, Kimbra emerged from the shadows.

Damian leaned against bulwarks, gazing at the numerous campfires visible through the trees.

“Do you think they’ll attack tonight?” Dickon asked.

“Nay, they appear to be settling down for the night. I look for a dawn attack.”

Suddenly a scream rent the air. Damian peered over the bulwarks to the courtyard below.

“I can’t see what’s going on,” Damian stated as he turned and sprinted toward the stairs, “but I’m going to find out.” Dickon followed him down the stone steps to the courtyard.

Damian braced his body as Kimbra launched herself at him. He tried to disentangle her arms from his neck but she clung to him like a vine.

“Calm down, Kimbra,” Damian bit out. “What are you doing out here? Was that you screaming? What happened?”

“Spies, Damian. Gordon spies. I heard them planning treason. They spoke of raising the gate and letting the Gordons inside. I followed them outside but became frightened and decided to return to the keep to warn you. Then someone shouted and I didn’t know what to do, so I screamed.”

“Go back inside, I’ll take care of this.”

Men-at-arms spilled from the keep, following close behind Damian as he raced to the front gate. Kimbra followed at a discreet distance though Damian had forbade it.

“Over here,” a voice shouted.

Someone held a lantern aloft. The circle of light revealed two men, one propped against the wall and the other bending over him. To Damian’s relief, the gate was down.

“What happened, Betts?” Damian asked.

“I was conversing nearby with the Reverend Trilby when I heard a suspicious noise. I ran to the gatehouse and found Corbin unconscious,” Betts said, “but he seems to be coming out of it.”

“Move aside,” Damian ordered, “I wish to question him.” He dropped to his knees. “What happened, Corbin? Did you see your assailant?”

“’Twas a lad, my lord,” Corbin said groggily. “But he wasn’t the one who hit me. Another attacked me from behind while we were talking. The lad must have had an accomplice.”

Kimbra pushed her way to Damian’s side. “I told you there was treason afoot. They must have let themselves out the gate.”

“Aye,” Betts concurred. “’Twas the sound of the gate opening and closing that alerted me. When I arrived, I found Corbin unconscious.”

“You have to stop them, Damian,” Kimbra said urgently. “No telling what the traitors have planned. They mustn’t reach Gordon’s camp.”

“I’ll take a patrol out,” Dickon volunteered.

Damian’s lips thinned. He wanted Gordon’s spies alive. “Can you describe the men, Corbin?”

“The one I spoke with claimed to be a kitchen lad,” Corbin recalled. “’Tis all I can tell you. ’Twas too dark to see clearly.”

“What are your orders, Damian?” Dickon asked.

“I’m going after the spies alone,” Damian decided. “One man is less likely to draw attention.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dickon insisted. “Shall I send someone for the horses?”

“Nay, we go afoot. Betts, open the gate.”

“Kill them, Damian,” Kimbra hissed. “They’re traitors.”

Damian slanted Kimbra an exasperated look. “Go back to the keep, my lady.”

As the gate cranked open, Damian and Dickon ducked through. “Open the gate to no one until we return,” Damian instructed. “Everyone else, return to your posts.”

“Keep to the shadows,” Damian whispered. “The spies couldn’t have gone far. Had they crossed open ground, the guards on the bulwarks would have seen them.”

Damian scanned the narrow open area between the fortress walls and the forest beyond. Nothing stirred. Campfires still flickered in the distance and the mournful wail of a forbidden bagpipe floated through the air.

“Something moved up ahead,” Dickon hissed. “Close to the wall.”

Damian peered intently through the darkness. At first he saw nothing, then a small form emerged from the shadows. Probably the kitchen lad Corbin had described, Damian decided. He watched intently as the boy pushed away from the wall and crept toward the forest. Blessing the moonlit night, he removed his pistol from his belt and took careful aim. He didn’t want to kill the lad, but the distance was too great to guarantee he wouldn’t.

Damian squeezed the trigger at the same moment a gust of wind blew down from the mountains, stirring the dirt around his feet and ruffling his hair. As the bullet blasted from his pistol, the wind lifted the spy’s bonnet from his head. A terrible premonition shot through Damian as a wealth of red hair tumbled down the spy’s back. He cursed violently when the lad hit the ground and lay still, then he took off at a run.

“You got him!” Dickon crowed.

Damian skidded to his knees before the lad and turned him over on his back. A cry gathered in his throat.

“What have I done?” The beautiful face limned in moonlight belonged to Elissa.

When she didn’t stir, Damian scooped her into his arms and raced back to the fortress. He had no idea how badly she was wounded, but he felt her blood soaking his arm.

“Who is it?” Dickon asked.

“Elissa,” Damian cried as he ran past a startled Dickon, who turned to follow him.

Clutching Elissa to his chest, he sprinted to the gate. “Open up!” he cried.

The gate cranked open. Damian sped toward the keep with a lifeless Elissa in his arms. “Dickon, fetch Nan!” he called over his shoulder.

Kimbra was waiting at the door for Damian, but he paid her little heed. “Is she dead?”

Had Damian not been out of his mind with worry, he would have thought it strange that Kimbra knew immediately who had been wounded.

Nan came bustling down the stairs from the solar. She shoved Kimbra aside to reach Damian.

“Ye’ve gone and done it now, yer lordship,” the old woman charged. “Take her to her chamber while I fetch my herbs and medicines. I should have stopped ye before this happened, but I dinna think Elissa would act so soon.”

A flash of anger darkened Damian’s eyes. “You knew what Elissa intended and didn’t tell me?”

“Aye, I suspected, but there was no time to warn ye.”

“I swear I didn’t know it was Elissa out there. I wouldn’t have shot her had I known.”

“There’s one here who knew,” Nan said, pointing a bony finger at Kimbra. “Look to yer intended for answers before ye place blame.”

Before Damian could ask Nan to explain, she turned and hurried off.

“The woman is mad,” Kimbra charged. “Don’t listen to anything she tells you.”

“I don’t have time for this now, Kimbra,” Damian said, shoving past her, “but rest assured, I’ll demand answers later. Find Maggie and send her up to Elissa’s chamber. Nan might have need of her.”

Damian took the narrow steps two at a time. Elissa was still unconscious when he laid her on the bed. Her pale face was bathed in blood and she was as still as death. He stroked her face and murmured soothing words until Nan arrived a few minutes later.

“Will she live?” Damian asked anxiously.

“Move aside, my lord. I need to examine her before I can tell ye anything.”

“Bloody hell! I had no idea I was shooting at Elissa,” Damian defended. “Why did she do it? Who was her accomplice?”

“My lass was betrayed,” Nan spat. “She placed her trust in the wrong person.”

“How badly is she hurt?” He shuddered. “There’s so much blood.”

“Yer bullet plowed a furrow in Elissa’s scalp. She’ll recover, but she’ll bear the scar for the rest of her life.”

Damian heaved a grateful sigh. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Nan sent him an inscrutable look. “Donna fret, yer lordship, Elissa willna die. She will live to bear yer bairn.”

Damian thought he must have misunderstood Nan and let it pass. He had more important things on his mind.

Someone wanted Elissa dead.

Damian had intended to sit with Elissa until she regained consciousness, but duty intervened when Dickon came forward with the startling news that the Gordons had set fire to the village and that the villagers were at the gate, begging entrance.

“Open the gate,” Damian ordered. His expression turned grim. “The Gordons have gone too far this time. We’ll attack at dawn.”

Damian climbed to the bulwarks and stared at a sky turned blood red from the flames. Wishing Gordon to hell, he returned to the hall to address the villagers, who had been routed from their beds in the middle of the night. Father Hugh, the village priest, informed Damian that no lives had been lost to the fires.

“Do what you can to comfort your flock, Father,” Damian directed. “Tell them I will personally see the rebuilding of those cottages damaged by fire.”

The priest, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and kindly face, regarded Damian with new respect. “Thank ye on behalf of my people, my lord. The majority of Highlanders are Catholic, ye know. Their faith is an important part of their lives. As we speak, God has answered our prayers. Do ye hear it? ’Tis raining. A sign that God is on our side.”

Damian heard the splash of raindrops against the windows followed by a clap of thunder, and rejoiced along with the priest. “God is indeed looking after you and yours, Father. Are Lady Elissa and her mother of the Catholic faith?”

“Aye, did ye not know?”

“Nay. Lady Elissa has been sorely hurt. Would you offer her comfort?”

Father Hugh gave Damian a startled look. “Hurt, ye say? Aye, my son, I will go to her as soon as I see to my parishioners.”

“Thank you, Father.”

After Father Hugh left, Damian sought out Lachlan. “What think you of the Gordon chieftain now?” he asked harshly.

Lachlan shook his head. “I canna believe a man in his right mind would attack his own allies. He doesna deserve to wed our lass. How is Elissa? I understand she was hurt attempting to leave Misterly.”

“Aye. ’Tis a story better left for later. There are unused chambers in the keep. Sir Brody will help find beds for the women and children. The men can bed down in the hall.”

They parted company. Damian returned to the solar to check on Elissa. Maggie met him in the hallway, her brow creased with concern.

“Lady Marianne is distraught,” Maggie revealed. “She knew about Elissa’s attempt to escape and warned her against it, but Elissa wouldna listen. I told Lady Marianne that Elissa wasna seriously hurt but she is upset nevertheless.”

“I’ll speak to her,” Damian said.

Damian entered Marianne’s chamber and found her every bit as distressed as Maggie claimed.

“Lord Damian, thank God. Please tell me the truth. How is my daughter?”

“Nan says she’ll be fine and I have no reason to doubt her. I didn’t aim to kill and my bullet only grazed her. I had no idea I was shooting at Elissa until a gust of wind tore her bonnet from her head and her hair tumbled down her back. But it was too late. What can you tell me about her decision to leave now? Who helped her?”

“I canna say why she chose to leave now, but I can tell you who helped her. ’Twas Lady Kimbra.”

An unassailable rage shook Damian. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, aye, Elissa explained everything before she left. I warned her not to trust your lady, but you know Elissa. She was that determined. Something or someone upset her.”

Damian took a deep breath and asked, “Does she love Gordon? Is that why she was so anxious to go to him?”

“’Twas not a love match,” Marianne explained. “Elissa’s father wanted the marriage and Elissa is a dutiful daughter.”

“Thank you for telling me this, my lady. I will settle with Lady Kimbra when I’m done with the Gordons.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Drive the Gordons from my land,” Damian bit out. Then he bid Lady Marianne good night and took his leave.

Before seeking his bed, Damian returned to Elissa’s chamber to check on her. He found Nan dozing in a chair beside the bed. She lifted her head and beckoned him inside.

“How is she?” Damian asked. “Has she said anything?”

“The lass hasna stirred since ye left,” Nan replied. “Ye should find yer own bed, yer lordship. Dawn will arrive sooner than ye wish. I know ye go to meet the Gordons, for my voices speak of yer victory. Ye are an Englishman and I shouldna wish ye well, but Tavis Gordon showed his true colors when he torched the village. And ’tis my belief that Misterly will prosper with ye as its lord.”

“Thank you, Nan,” Damian acknowledged. “Take care of Elissa, I’m going to follow your advice and get some rest.”

“What about Lady Kimbra?” Nan asked.

Damian smiled grimly. “I will deal with her in my own good time.”

Sleep eluded Damian. The knowledge that he could have killed Elissa weighed heavily on him. But for an errant wind and a quirk of fate, Elissa might be dead now. He was an excellent shot; he hadn’t aimed to kill but one never knew. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he slain the woman he cared for.

And he did care for Elissa. No woman of his acquaintance had ever affected him like the redheaded vixen. Though other women might be more conventionally beautiful and refined, Elissa had a special quality that made her unique.

As dawn approached, Damian rose and readied himself for battle. He strapped on his sword, placed his pistol in his belt, and descended the stairs to the hall. Servants were moving about the tables, setting bowls of porridge and platters of fried ham before his men, and from the corner of his eyes he saw Dickon and Maggie in a shadowed corner, conversing in hushed voices. He watched as Dickon touched Maggie’s face in a tender farewell.

“Maggie arranged to have an early breakfast served,” Dickon explained when he pulled up a chair beside Damian. “Our mounts are waiting in the courtyard for us.”

Damian clasped Dickon’s shoulder. “You’re a good man to have around, Dickon. Shall we break our fast?”

A soggy dawn that promised more rain crept over the gray horizon when Damian rose and signaled the end of the meal.

“’Tis time, men,” he said. “The enemy awaits us.”

The Gordons were just stirring from sleep when Damian and his men burst into their campsite. Staggering from their bedrolls, the Highlanders quickly rallied under their battle cry and engaged the attacking Englishmen in hand to hand combat. The forest resounded with the sound of battle. Damian’s forces were outnumbered but the Highlanders’ weapons were crude and their warriors lacked the fighting skills of trained and seasoned knights.

The fighting was fierce and bloody, but Damian had the weight of countless battles and as many victories on his side. He was a canny strategist and soon devised a plan to surround and divide the Highlanders into small groups.

Too many men had fallen, Damian decided, as he deflected a sword thrust aimed at his heart. Spying Tavis Gordon, he fought his way toward the chieftain.

“Surrender, Gordon,” he demanded.

“Never,” the man snarled, immediately engaging Damian in swordplay. “We outnumber ye.”

Damian turned aside Gordon’s sword and thrust beneath his guard, smiling in satisfaction when he drew blood.

“You can’t win,” Damian asserted. “Look around you. Your men are falling. Despite your numbers, our superior weapons and skill will win the day.”

His face a mask of rage, Gordon raised his sword with both hands and slashed downward. Damian danced aside to avoid the sharp edge of the blade but the tip caught his arm, cutting a shallow groove from shoulder to elbow. Ignoring the wound, Damian became the aggressor, driving Gordon back.

“English butcher!” Gordon snarled. “A Gordon! A Gordon!”

His battle cry went unanswered. Apparently he realized the futility of continuing, for he abruptly broke contact with Damian. Raising his voice, he gave the cry for retreat.

“Ye havena seen the last of me, Englishman,” Gordon hissed as he turned and fled into the dim reaches of the forest.

Dickon appeared at Damian’s side, his sword dripping blood. “Shall we give chase, Damian?”

“Nay. What’s the point? This is their land; we’ll never find them. Let’s hope they learned a lesson.”

Dickon nodded. “I’ll arrange for the wounded and dead to be conveyed back to the fortress.”

Damian returned to the keep, his mind churning with the problems now facing him. The first thing he had to do was provide for the villagers. Since their cottages were constructed of stone and thatch, he assumed that the damage would be confined mostly to the roofs and furnishings. Last night’s rain had been a godsend. It had contained the fire and kept the damage to a minimum. He hoped to have the cottages inspected yet today and arrange for repairs.

Then he would deal with Lady Kimbra.

Damian strode into the hall, stopping short when a tense silence ensued, every nerve ending he possessed alert and on edge. What was amiss? He sensed hostility. For him? For Gordon? Were the Frasers willing to forgive Gordon his vile attack upon their village simply because they hated Englishmen?

“The Gordons have been routed and driven back to their stronghold,” Damian announced to the hushed crowd.

No one spoke. The silence was deafening. Then a voice rose up from the sea of faces.

“We thank ye, Lord Damian. ’Tisn’t right what the Gordon did.”

A few “ayes” followed; then suddenly the hall rang with cheers. Stunned, Damian stared at the villagers in confusion.

“What about our homes?” a woman asked in a timid voice.

“Every cottage will be repaired,” Damian promised, finally finding his voice. “Whatever you lost in the fire will be replaced.” He turned to the priest. “Father Hugh, appoint some men to inspect each cottage and list the repairs needed. I’ll expect a full report tomorrow.”

“Can we return to our homes before the repairs are made?” someone asked.

“’Tis entirely up to you. Most of you are anxious to see how badly your homes were damaged, so I won’t stop you from returning, if that is your wish. Keep in mind, however, that whatever assistance you need will be made available. Food and staples will be provided from Misterly’s stores.”

“God bless ye, yer lordship,” a woman sobbed. “Yer a good man, for an Englishman.”

Damian stifled a smile, wishing that a certain redheaded vixen agreed. Then he turned his mind to a more pressing matter: Lady Kimbra. He was moving away to confront Kimbra in her chamber when Maggie tugged at his sleeve.

“Yer lordship, yer wounded. Let me fetch Nan.”

Damian glanced at his arm and shrugged. “’Tis nothing, Maggie.”

“’Tis indeed something,” Maggie scolded. “Sit down, it willna take a minute for Nan to bring her herbs and poultices.” She paused, then asked shyly, “Have ye seen Sir Richard? He’s not among the wounded, is he?”

“Sir Richard is unscathed,” Damian assured her. Maggie nodded and hurried off.

Damian was surprised at Maggie’s concern for his welfare and wondered if the Frasers were finally beginning to trust him. Nothing would please him more.

Nan arrived posthaste with her basket of herbs and medicines. “Are there many wounded besides yerself?” she asked as she set her basket on the table and pushed Damian’s shirtsleeve up to inspect his wound.

“A few. Both sides suffered casualties. You’ll find the wounded in the infirmary. They will be grateful for your attention.”

“I’ll tend them after I see to yer wound. Yer lucky, yer lordship. ’Tis but a shallow cut. You’ll be good as new once ’tis cleaned and bandaged.”

“How is Elissa?” Damian asked as Nan worked over him.

“She’s awake and in control of her senses. She doesna know ’twas ye who hurt her, but she does know that Tavis Gordon set fire to the village. Will ye go to her now?”

“Later,” Damian replied distractedly.

“Aye,” Nan nodded. “Ye know in yer heart what must be done. ’Tis our lass ye must think of now. There ye be, yer lordship,” she said, tying off the bandage.

“Thank you, Nan.” He rose. “I know what must be done no matter how unpleasant it is.”

His body taut with determination, Damian marched up the stone staircase to Kimbra’s chamber. He paused a moment on the top landing to bring his rampaging temper under control, then knocked on the door.

No answer.

“Kimbra! Open up. I know you’re in there.”

Still no answer.

Damian cursed aloud and turned the knob. The door was locked. He was considering breaking down the door when it swung open. The Reverend Trilby’s stocky figure blocked the doorway.

“Where is she?” Damian demanded, pushing Trilby aside. He spied Kimbra cowering in a corner and ordered Trilby to leave the room.

“No, stay!” Kimbra pleaded.

Damian sent the reverend a quelling look. “Leave now, or I’ll throw you out.”

“Reverend Trilby, please,” Kimbra whispered in a quavering voice.

Apparently Trilby took Damian’s threat to heart, for he sent Kimbra an apologetic look and backed toward the door. “You must promise not to hurt her, my lord.”

“No matter how much I might be tempted, Lady Kimbra will suffer no physical harm at my hands.”

Trilby nodded and made a hasty exit. Damian slammed the door behind him, then rounded on Kimbra.

“Beneath your beauty, you’re a ruthless bitch. Admit it. You deliberately planned Elissa’s death.”

Kimbra’s chin notched upward. “If Elissa told you that, she’s lying. I am innocent.”

“Tell that to someone who will believe you. What did you hit Corbin with? You could have killed him.”

“I didn’t hit him hard enough to hurt him!” Kimbra cried. Suddenly her eyes rounded and her mouth clamped shut, as if realizing what she had just admitted.

Fury blazed from the depths of Damian’s eyes. “What did you expect to gain by Elissa’s death?”

“She didn’t die.”

“No thanks to you. ’Twas a miracle my bullet didn’t hit something vital.”

Kimbra sidled up to Damian and wound her arms around his neck. Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “Can we not forget what happened? I can make you happy, I swear it. I want to be your wife.”

Damian removed her arms and pushed her away. “That’s not going to happen. I’m sending you, the Reverend Trilby, and your escort back to London.”