Connie Mason (19 page)

Damian wasn’t surprised to hear Elissa’s kinsmen openly weeping, for he felt like crying himself. But he wasn’t allowed that luxury, for only he could reassure them. He turned and reentered the hall. He waited until everyone had gathered around him before speaking. Dozens of faces turned to him expectantly, some furious, some sad, and some dismayed.

“I know you are all upset about what just happened,” Damian began, “and you expected me to intervene. But this wasn’t the time to defy the king or challenge his soldiers. Neither Elissa nor I wanted bloodshed, and that’s what would have happened had I ordered my men to draw their weapons.”

“What do ye intend to do?” Dermot demanded. “Our lass is gone. She is yer wife; ’tis up to you to protect her.”

“I will protect Elissa with my life,” Damian assured him, “and I’ll move heaven and earth to return her to Misterly where she belongs.”

“Talk is cheap,” Lachlan spat.

Damian faced the angry clansman, his determination clearly defined in the harsh slant of his jaw. “As God is my witness, I will not rest until the Maiden of Misterly is back home no matter what the cost to me personally. I’m going to London to bargain with the king for Elissa’s freedom.”

“When?” Dermot asked.

“The king has forbidden me to leave Misterly and I don’t want Captain Harding to know I’m following, so I’ll give them two days head start. ’Tis best I arrive in London without fanfare so I’m taking but three men with me. The rest will remain behind to protect Misterly.”

His words appeared to placate the clansmen and they began dispersing to return to their homes. Suddenly Lora came hurtling at Damian and began pounding on him with her tiny fists. Damian snatched her up and held her close.

“Why did you let those bad men take Lissa away?” she cried between sobs. “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Lora, listen to me, sweeting. I had to let your sister go. We were in no position to stop those men. Trust me, little one. I won’t let anything happen to your sister.”

His pledge made little impact upon the distraught child as she continued to cry and flail at him. Damian suffered the weight of her condemnation with a heavy heart. Lora believed he had betrayed Elissa, and in a way he had. Had he accepted Kimbra as his bride and not wed Elissa, none of this would have happened.

But selfishly he had wanted Elissa for his own. Wanted her in his bed and in his life forever. Like a fool who would not be thwarted, he had turned Kimbra away and wed Elissa, endangering her life in the bargain. That Elissa loved him was a miracle. She had every right to hate him, just as Lora did.

“Lora, calm down, sweeting. Didn’t I just promise that nothing would happen to your sister?”

“Why dinna Lissa tell us good-bye? Mama wouldna let me come down to the hall. She said there were bad men in the keep.”

“Elissa wanted to see you before she left but there was no time. I’ll explain what happened to your mother.” He spotted Maggie hovering nearby and beckoned to her. “Take Lora to the kitchen and see if Winifred has a piece of warm gingerbread for her.”

He set Lora on her feet. Still sniffling, Lora took Maggie’s hand and followed her into the kitchen. Damian was about to mount the solar staircase when Dermot hailed him.

“Did you wish to speak to me, Dermot?”

“Aye, me lord. My clansmen wanted me to tell ye that they wish ye well. Bring our lass home to us.”

Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Damian squeezed Dermot’s shoulder. He dared not fail with so many people counting on him. Sometime during the past months he had become one of them. He felt as if he had always belonged to Misterly, and it to him. He would never be able to face Elissa’s clansmen if he disappointed them. His mouth flattened into a determined line as he mounted the stairs and rapped on Marianne’s door.

Nan opened the door to him. Damian regarded her through narrowed lids. Why hadn’t Nan warned them? Where were her so-called voices when he needed them?

Damian stepped into the chamber, praying for the right words to tell Lady Marianne why he had let Elissa leave without fighting for her freedom. He spied Marianne standing by the window, a beam of sunlight bathing her pale face.

Marianne turned to face him. Damian saw her tears and his heart sank.

“She mourns her daughter,” Nan said. “I explained what happened after the soldiers arrived and advised her and Lora to keep to their chambers. If it eases ye, she knows ye couldna have stopped what happened. She grieves for her daughter, aye, but I told her she shouldna weep for something that was meant to be.”

Anger suffused Damian’s words. “Didn’t your voices warn you that Elissa was in danger? Why were you not present to comfort her when she was taken away?”

“I canna make me voices speak when they donna wish to,” Nan defended. “If ye recall, I told ye that danger approached, that ye and Elissa would be parted, but ye chose to ignore me warning.”

Shaking with fury, Damian grasped the old woman’s narrow shoulders. He would have shaken her had Marianne not rushed to Nan’s defense.

“Release her, my lord. Nan is an old woman; she means no harm.”

“Forgive me,” Damian said sheepishly as he released Nan. “I am overset with worry. I would appreciate any news you can tell me, Nan. Have your voices told you anything regarding Elissa?”

“Donna badger her, my lord,” Marianne gently admonished. “Nan can only repeat what her voices tell her.”

“’Tis true, me lord, I can tell ye naught else except…”

“Except what?” Damian asked impatiently.

“The king willna be kind to our lass. All may appear to be lost, but donna despair, ’tis only the beginning.”

“That’s it?” Damian all but shouted. “You’ve told me nothing!”

“I’ve told ye a great deal. Ye must prepare for yer journey, me lord. Yer stay in London willna be a short one.”

Damian felt his control slipping. One more vague prediction from Nan, and he feared he’d wring her scrawny neck.

“Bring my daughter back to me, Lord Damian,” Marianne implored. “I know in my heart that you love her.”

“You are right, my lady,” Damian admitted. “I’ve not regretted wedding Elissa. No matter what it costs me personally, I promise to return Elissa to you.”

The following two days were hectic as Damian prepared for his journey to London. He chose carefully the three men who would accompany him and informed Sir Richard of his decision to leave him behind. At first Richard balked, demanding that he be allowed to accompany Damian, but he soon saw reason and agreed to remain behind to defend Misterly.

“We’ve heard nothing of Tavis Gordon but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him,” Damian explained. “I’m depending on you to keep Misterly safe.”

“You can count on me, Damian,” Sir Richard maintained. “I hope Gordon doesn’t take it into his head to storm the keep while you’re away. It would be just like him to take advantage of your absence.”

“If something unforeseen occurs, send word to me in London.”

Damian left Misterly on a cold day that promised rain. Bad luck struck almost immediately. A day’s journey from Misterly, his horse threw a shoe. The nearest village was several leagues away, forcing him to make an unscheduled detour. Then the rain. It poured down in icy sheets for three days straight, turning the road into a sea of mud that literally slowed their progress to a crawl.

Instead of reaching London two days behind Elissa, as originally planned, the bedraggled party entered the city on the eve of the seventh day.

Elissa stood before the king, shivering beneath her wet cloak. Rain had fallen steadily during the past several days, leaving her damp and uncomfortable. The journey to London hadn’t been a pleasant one, even though Captain Harding had treated her with grudging respect. She had been put up at inns when possible and had slept in a tent when no accommodations were available. After they’d left Misterly, the weather had turned dreary and cold. Then a chilling rain had begun to fall; Elissa couldn’t recall when she had ever been so miserable.

Adding to her misery, she was taken before the king immediately after her arrival instead of being allowed to change her wet clothing and refresh herself with food and drink. Her knees were shaking as the stout monarch’s disdainful gaze swept over her with what could only be described as curiosity. Lord Pelham, the Prime Minister, stood beside the king’s chair, regarding her with frosty contempt.

“Is this the woman?” King George asked in German accented English so thick that Elissa could barely understand him.

“So it appears, Your Majesty,” Lord Pelham replied.

“Does she know why she is here?”

“She’s been told.”

Elissa blinked. Why were they talking as if she wasn’t there?

“Send for Lady Kimbra,” the king ordered.

Lord Pelham spoke to a footman standing nearby, who left immediately, and Elissa prepared herself to confront her nemesis.

“Elissa Fraser,” the king said, addressing her directly for the first time. “Lord Pelham will explain the charges brought against you while we are waiting for Lady Kimbra to arrive.”

Elissa sorted through his words and finally understood what he had just said. “I am guilty of no crime, Your Majesty.”

The king glared at her.

“You were not invited to speak, mistress,” Lord Pelham reprimanded. “Listen carefully while I outline the charges against you.”

He read from a scroll he held in his hand. “You plotted treason with the outlaw Tavis Gordon. You lured Lord Clarendon to your bed and convinced him to keep you with him at Misterly despite His Majesty’s orders. You convinced him to send away Lady Kimbra, the lady he was to wed, causing her untold anguish and embarrassment.”

Elissa squared her shoulders. “May I answer to the charges, Your Majesty?”

King George nodded curtly.

“I planned no treason. I was going to wed Tavis Gordon because my father arranged it when I was a child—long before Culloden.

“To the second charge, I can say only that I dinna lure Lord Clarendon to my bed. To the last charge, I assure you ’twas Lord Clarendon’s decision to send Lady Kimbra back to London, not mine. I had naught to do with it. It was also his decision that I wed him.”

The king rose from his chair. “You wed Lord Clarendon? You
wed
Lord Clarendon? Treason! Treason! He did not have our permission. We sent him a suitable wife and he rejected her.”

Lady Kimbra entered the Reception Chamber while the king was still ranting. She must have heard the exchange, for she charged forward as if propelled. “Did I hear right, Your Majesty? Did you say that Lord Damian wed the Jacobite sympathizer? ’Tis an abomination. A harsh punishment is called for, Your Majesty.”

“Please sit down, Sire,” Lord Pelham urged. “You must not excite yourself so.”

“May I speak, Your Majesty?” Kimbra asked sweetly.

The king gave permission with a wave of his hand.

“Elissa Fraser poisoned Lord Damian’s mind against me. She wasn’t satisfied until she had him in her bed. Then she cozened him into sending me away.”

“Nay, she lies!” Elissa denied.

“Before I left Misterly, she tried to run off to join her lover, Tavis Gordon. She was caught and brought back. Once I was gone, she must have beguiled Lord Damian into marrying her. The Jacobite deserves to be punished, Your Majesty. Elissa Fraser committed treason and should be put to death.”

Fear coiled in Elissa’s chest. She was as good as dead, for she had no way to disprove Kimbra’s lies. She had hoped for lenience, but that expectation died the moment she heard the venomous words spill from Kimbra’s mouth.

“Death might be a little harsh, Sire,” Lord Pelham said in an aside to the king.

“We will make that decision as we see fit,” the king said. “Summon the scribe. The unsanctioned marriage between Lord Clarendon and Elissa Fraser must be ended. We will annul it forthwith.”

Elissa felt Kimbra’s eyes on her and intercepted a look of vindication, which quickly turned to unrelenting hatred. Then the scribe entered the Reception Chamber, and Elissa returned her attention to the king.

The scribe sketched a bow. “You summoned me, Sire?”

“Indeed. We require a writ of annulment prepared and presented for my signature immediately. We wish to annul the marriage between Damian Stratton, Lord Clarendon, and Elissa Fraser. We will require two copies—one for our records and the second for Lord Clarendon.”

“Aye, Sire,” the scribe said, bowing again.

The king waved him away.

Lord Pelham cleared his throat. “What are your wishes regarding Elissa Fraser, Sire?”

“We will think on it. Until we have reached a decision, lock her in the Tower.” His gaze swept over her bedraggled form. “If she has not brought a change of clothing, see that she is provided with something dry to wear.”

“You are too lenient, Sire,” Kimbra complained.

“We will consider your recommendation, Lady Kimbra. The charges brought against Mistress Elissa are grave indeed; therefore we shall mete out punishment accordingly. If death is warranted, we shall do our duty.”

Elissa blanched. “I demand a trial, Sire.”

King George scowled. “You are in no position to demand anything, mistress. No trial is necessary. I will act as both judge and jury.” He waved a lace handkerchief languidly back and forth in front of his face. “Leave me, I am weary.”

Kimbra fell into a deep curtsy. Elissa’s curtsy was neither grand nor respectful. Her fate was in the hands of a man who had dealt cruelly with Highlanders after Culloden. She could expect little mercy from the Hanover.

“Follow me, mistress,” Lord Pelham said, shattering her dismal thoughts.

Elissa followed Lord Pelham from the chamber. She’d heard horror stories from people who had been incarcerated in the Tower and knew to expect no special treatment. Lord Pelham led her through a maze of hallways and then a door which led into a small courtyard. To her surprise, she found Captain Harding waiting.

“Captain Harding was instructed to wait for you,” Pelham explained. “He will escort you and whatever personal belongings you brought with you to the Tower.”

“Let me assist you,” Harding said, as he helped Elissa to mount one of the horses he’d brought with him.

“Inform Lieutenant Belton that Mistress Elissa will be his guest in the Tower until His Majesty decides her fate, Captain,” Pelham said as he turned away.

Captain Harding mounted his own horse, grasped Elissa’s leading reins, and guided them both through the arched gateway into a narrow street crowded with men and women who stared at her with open curiosity. Hawkers, beggars, pickpockets, and men of means blended together in a cacophony of sights and sounds that Elissa found confusing after living in near isolation at Misterly. Never had she seen so many people gathered in one place.

Someone from above shouted a warning and she ducked in time to avoid the stinking contents of a chamber pot. She wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw raw sewage running down the gutters on both sides of the narrow street. Not for the first time she wished herself back at Misterly, where the air was pure and sweet with the scent of flowers.

When they reached Tower Street, Elissa stared in abject horror at the platform and gallows atop what she assumed was Tower Hill, where countless Highlanders, some of her own clansmen included, had lost their lives. They crossed the Thames over a stone causeway and then a wooden bridge that spanned a moat, entering the complex through the raised portcullis of Middle Gate. Captain Harding reined in before a heavy oak door studded with iron rivets and helped Elissa to dismount. He thrust her satchel at her, pushed the door open, and ushered her inside. Elissa stepped into a dark anteroom and came to an abrupt halt.

“Up the staircase, my lady,” Harding urged.

Elissa’s legs turned to butter as she stared at the damp stone walls and narrow winding staircase leading to Lord only knew where. Was this to be her tomb? she wondered dismally. Would she swing from the gallows on Tower Hill?

Harding poked her in the back and she moved woodenly toward the staircase. She shivered uncontrollably as an icy chill seeped through her damp clothing, chilling her bones.

Damian, my love, I need you,
her heart cried out in mute appeal.
Will I ever be warm and safe in your arms again?

She reached the top landing and waited for Captain Harding to direct her.

“Veer left,” Harding said.

Elissa turned down a dank, smoky passageway lit by torches placed in sconces along the wall. It looked like something out of the Dark Ages. Her teeth chattered and she hugged herself, but found no warmth in her arms.

“Stop.”

Elissa halted before a closed door. Harding knocked and opened the door when bidden to enter. He held open the panel and gestured for Elissa to enter ahead of him.

“Your new prisoner has arrived, Lieutenant Belton.”

Elissa regarded the man sitting behind the desk with curiosity as well as a healthy dose of fear. He was a big man, with a ruddy complexion and large nose. His sausage-like body was encased in a uniform that strained at the seams. Rising from behind his desk, he studied Elissa with rapt interest.

“Who is she? What has she done?” Belton asked.

“Her name is Elissa Fraser; she’s a Jacobite sympathizer.”

Belton moved from behind the desk, his gaze fixed on Elissa’s face. She shrank back when he extended a hand and pushed a damp curl from her forehead.

“I like red hair,” Belton said, grinning. “Is she bound for the gallows?”

“The king hasn’t decide the lady’s fate. And make no mistake, Belton, she
is
a lady,” Harding warned, surprising Elissa. “Treat her like one.”

Belton shrugged. “She has nothing to fear from me. My wife doesn’t allow it. But I can’t speak for the warders, they’re a rough lot, as you well know.”

Harding sent Elissa a pitying look, then left her in Belton’s care. Elissa trembled as she waited for Belton to tell her what came next in this nightmare into which she’d been cast.

“I’ll show you to your chamber so you can get settled in,” Belton said. “A warder will bring food and water to you later. Meals aren’t as grand as you’re accustomed to, but they should be sufficient for a little thing like you. Come along, mistress.”

Gathering her courage, Elissa said, “I am a lady. You may address me by my proper title.”

“You are a bloody nobody here, mistress. Follow me.”

Clutching her satchel with nerveless fingers, Elissa felt her bravado falter as she followed him down the narrow corridor and up another flight of stairs. Finally Lieutenant Belton halted before a sturdy oak door. He fumbled with the ring of keys dangling from his belt, selected one, and turned it in the lock. Then he shoved the door open and pushed her inside.

Elissa set down her satchel and looked around her with growing apprehension. The chamber smelled of dampness and rot. She felt a cold draft and glanced at the small barred window across the room, shivering as another blast of chilling air wafted through. Forcing her gaze from the window, she saw a narrow cot covered with dingy sheets and a single blanket, and prayed they weren’t infested with vermin. An empty candleholder resting on a small table and a low stool were the only furnishings besides the cot. There was no source of heat that she could see, and she didn’t even want to think about the slop bucket sitting in a dark corner.

The foul odor arising from the bucket rocked Elissa back on her heels. Appalled, she returned her gaze to Belton, her brows raised, silently questioning his judgment in placing her in such wretched surroundings.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Belton advised. “You’ll grow used to it in time.”

Her heart thumping wildly against her chest, Elissa knew she’d never grow accustomed to such depressing accommodations.

“A warder will bring food and a candle. Use the candle sparingly, for it is replaced only every third day. The slop bucket will be emptied each morning and you will be provided with two meals daily. Breakfast, and another later in the day. The warder will see to your needs as he deems necessary. If you have blunt, or can get your hands on some, give it to him and he will provide you with small comforts you wouldn’t otherwise have.”

“Small comforts?” Elissa asked. “I donna understand.”

“Things like a warmer blanket, or a piece of meat in your soup. Perhaps a brazier to keep you warm.”

“I have no money and know no one in London.”

“Ah, well, too bad. Good day, then, mistress.”

He let himself out the door and locked it behind him, cutting Elissa off from the world. Never had she felt so abandoned or been so frightened—it was as if her life were slowly slipping away.

Elissa sank down on the cot, too dejected and dull witted to think straight. Straw crunched beneath her and a moldy odor wafted up from the lumpy surface. Then a curious rat appeared from beneath the cot and scampered under her damp skirt. A scream froze in her throat as she leapt to her feet and scrambled atop the stool. The rat raised up on its hind legs and gazed at her through bright, beady eyes. It was a standoff of sorts, until the rat finally became bored and scampered off.

Frantic with despair, Elissa feared she would never survive the Tower. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t supposed to survive, that the king meant for her to die here. Where was Damian? Had his promises been hollow ones?

She stepped down from the stool, gathered her skirts about her, and sat down on its hard surface. She remained there for what seemed like an eternity, shivering, yet lacking even the energy to change into dry clothing. The shadows had lengthened considerably when she heard the key turning in the lock.