Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series (58 page)

Angus drew Wee William and the other men near as they made plans to rescue Nora and finally seek the retribution that had been long over due for Horace Crawford.

Nora couldn’t imagine what was taking her husband so long. She had been stuck in the blasted hole for days. David had promised her that William was on his way when he had visited her again last night to replenish her food and water supply. He had reassured her that it would not be long now.

Nora angrily asked him what
his
definition of ‘not long’ was. Either he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer her question. Instead, he begged her to remain steadfast and strong.
It won’t be long.

When David had first appeared he had lifted her spirits immeasurably. She had danced around her little prison, hummed and sang to herself, and mentally made plans for her return to Gregor. He had informed her that there was a regiment of English soldiers occupying the village. It was far too dangerous for him and his small band of men to rescue her. They simply must wait for their own reinforcements.

Now she fumed and paced and cursed her husband, along with David and Daniel and everyone else she could think of. She had gone from blissfully ecstatic to sullen and angry. She’d lost the urge to laugh and sing and had returned to bouts of crying and fretting.

It should not be taking him this long. Foolish man! Does he not understand how upsetting this is? I’d like to see him spend hours stuck in a rotten hole, wearing the same clothes for a fortnight! Sleeping in dirt, having people who used to call you ‘friend’ come now to call you whore and adulteress. I’d like to see how long he would last under these conditions!

Her anger would soon turn to worry.
 
But what if he can’t come? What if he were injured while trying to find Bree? Something must have happened to him, otherwise, he would have been here by now. What if he’s been gravely wounded? Who is taking care of him? Will he live? And if he dies, how long before word reaches David and Daniel?

So back and forth she went between outs of anger and worry as the hours stretched on. The longer she remained in the hole, the angrier she grew with herself. It was not like her to fret and worry to the point of vomiting.

Nay, she was a planner, a thinker, a doer. Aye, she may worry over situations, but she usually managed to come up with a plan or solution. Though it was true that most of her plans failed, at least she could think of
something
to do.

Now she was a muddled mess and was unable to think clearly. No matter how hard she tried, she could not think of a way to extricate herself out of her current predicament.

Though David had brought her more food, she found she could not eat. Food, blended with the worry over her husband and her fate, turned her stomach. Everything tasted foul and smelled like the damp and musty restrains of her prison.

She mulled over David’s promise that if things were to get
ugly
they’d not wait for William; they would rescue her without him. Nora snorted indignantly and wondered how much uglier things would need to get before she was rescued from this dark, black place.

Through a drunken stupor, Horace Crawford assumed the rumbling sound he heard in the distance was thunder. It had been raining steadily for two days so the sound of thunder did not surprise him.

As he sat at a table in a dark corner of the inn, he smiled as he conjured up the image of rain seeping into Nora’s grave. If starvation and freezing nights didn’t do her in, then mayhap she’d drown. The image brought only a small amount of relief to his frustrated, black soul.

Horace looked around the empty inn. It was not quite the noon hour and aside from the old innkeeper, he was the only one there. Donald still slept in a room above stairs, having drunk himself stupid the night before. Apparently Donald was angry that they’d left Nigel behind in Scotland and thus, refused to speak to Horace. Donald’s silence didn’t bother him in the least. Horace was too angry with the lot life had given him of late to worry over either of his brothers. As far as he was concerned, they could rot in hell with Nora.

He had sold everything he owned in order to go to Scotland. Now, he was left with nothing to his name but a few coins and the clothes on his back. No farm, no home, and no treasures.

When he had first learned that the
treasures
the Scots had stolen were nothing more than meaningless baubles and trinkets, he had never felt more the fool. It was all for naught. His only comfort came with believing that Nora would die soon.

He blamed his current predicament on everyone from his father to his stepmother to Aishlinn and Nora. As he drank, he mused how he should have sold Aishlinn to slave traders in the north. He could have earned quite a pretty penny for the stupid girl. And he should have chosen his wife a bit more carefully.

The thunder in the distance drew nearer.
Good,
he thought to himself. He lifted his tankard as if to cheer some creature that sat invisible before him.
May the grave the stupid bitch sings in be beset with a deluge of rain!
He laughed aloud which caused the innkeeper to eye him curiously. Horace cared not what anyone else thought of his outburst.

He drained the last of his ale and slammed the empty tankard down on the table and ran a hand across his face. One of the first things he had done when he had returned to England was to shave and cut his hair. Every time he caught the reflection of his long hair and bearded face, it reminded him of Scotland and all that had been cruelly stolen from him. He was glad the reminders were gone.

Horace turned toward the innkeeper to call for another tankard of ale when he noticed the innkeeper had stepped toward the door of the inn. The old man stood in the open doorway, his attention drawn to something up the street. The sound of thunder had grown quite loud. Horace assumed it had been the storm that had drawn the innkeeper’s attention. But when he saw shock on the old man’s face, he realized it had to be more than lightning or thunder that had gained the man’s attention.

Horace pushed himself away from the table and staggered toward the door. Impatiently he shoved the old man aside and took a step out to find out what the bloody hell was going on. He was at first, confused by what he saw. His current state of inebriation did not help. When it finally dawned on him what was happening, he could feel the dread and fear clear to his fingers and toes.

Damned bloody Scots!

They were pounding toward him and leading the pack was the damned giant that all of Scotland seemed to be enamored with. There were hundreds of them.

It did not take long to surmise why they were here.

 
Nora.

He would kill her before he let the Scots steal her away again.

Nora was soaked to the bone from the rain that had seeped in through the dirt walls and the wood planks above her. Her teeth chattered incessantly, her fingers were stiff, and her entire body ached. Certainly Daniel and David would take her away soon, for she couldn’t imagine her current conditions improving. Things were ugly and she could not see them getting better any time soon.

Her dress clung to her skin and the blanket felt as heavy as lead from all the rain. Puddles had formed throughout the small prison. If she had figured correctly, it had been close to a fortnight since she’d last bathed, eaten a good meal or slept in a warm bed. She imagined she smelled and looked as awful as she felt.

Nora tried walking around the tiny area, bouncing from one foot to another, rubbing her hands over her arms to keep warm. Her efforts failed miserably, but she knew she had to keep her spirits up. Tonight, she was certain, would be the night that Daniel and David would rescue her from this horrid place. When they came later to give her more food and water, she would demand being removed no matter how many English soldiers might be milling about. She simply could not take any more. She hadn’t the strength or will left to suffer through another day in this dark hellhole.

She leaned her shoulder against the wall, fearful of sitting on the waterlogged ground. She let her mind drift to visions of warm, dry places where sunshine, clean clothes, and hot meals were abundant. She would take at least two warm baths each and every day. She would have candles lit all through the night even while she slept. Never again would she be in total darkness.

It was difficult to keep standing or to remain awake. She had to get out of here and soon for she knew she would not survive another night. Death would claim her before the sun rose again on the morrow.

As she leaned against the wall, she thought she felt the earth begin to shake around her. Terrified that the walls were collapsing in from all the rain, she jumped away and stood in the middle of the room. Water and mud seeped in through her already waterlogged boots as the earth continued to shake and the planks above rattled. Never in her life had she heard or felt thunder of such magnitude. It drew nearer and nearer, vibrating the walls and the earth where she stood on.

The sound was so tremendous that it drowned out the sound of her hammering heart. There was nowhere to hide from it or from the chunks of dirt that fell all around her. This was it. Her end. Her death. She was going to die under a wall of dirt and mud.

Just as she resigned herself to her fate, the thunder came to an unexpected halt. She stood with her arms out, bracing herself for the earth to come crashing down around her. Moments later, the planks overhead were lifted and thrown aside and what little light the clouds hadn’t blocked came streaming through the opening.

Either she had lost her mind or a promise had just been kept.